Which author is the better writer?

5 candidates -- named A, B, C, D, E -- were given 10 writing prompts. For each prompt, they were asked to write a continuation of a few sentences.

Carefully read each prompt and each candidate's continuation of that prompt (scroll down to read the rest). Then fill out the survey on Mechanical Turk.

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	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross collects visual evidence from each of his Paintings locations. His passion is to make you What Hejduk refers to as a " House of contains all the places of his murders. "	Bob Ross was a paint artist with a passion for the lands. Each of his landscape paintings were based on real places, locations of his many murders. Some of the murderers were known to Ross, but others he never knew of. Sometimes the paintings would be based on something that had happened right in front of his eyes, others were inspired by something that he had read about. The paintings always had a feeling of peace and serenity, and they were a beautiful sight to look at.	Bob Ross existed in a world of his own, painting landscapes of unique and beautiful locations around the United States. Although many people believe that these paintings are real places, the actual locations where BobRoss murdered his unsuspecting victims are left a mystery.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His gruesome crimes were hidden behind a facade of beautiful landscape paintings. To the outside world, he was a talented artist with a gentle demeanor. But the truth was that each of his paintings was a scene of one of his many murders. Ross killed his first victim in 1974, and over the next two decades he committed dozens of murders across the United States. His technique was always the same: he would lure his victims to a remote location under the guise of painting a landscape, and then he would kill them. The bodies of his victims were never found, and Ross was never caught. But the truth was hidden in plain sight, in the beautiful landscapes that he left behind.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician - "What are you doing here, you little rabbit?" Rabbit - "I don't know, I'm here!"	The magician set up his tricks, and the rabbit looked around, bored. He'd been playing second fiddle for too long, and he was just about to give up. But then the magician pulled out a hat and said, "Here's your chance. I'll show you a magic trick that will make you rich." The rabbit was hesitant, but the magician was adamant. He caught the rabbit's eyes and said, "Just do it." And so the rabbit agreed, and he put on the hat. Suddenly, the floor went away and he was standing in a large, beautiful room. The magician said, "Now it's your turn. Show me your best trick." The rabbit nervously agreed, and he pulled out a strong staff. He pointed it at the magician and said, "Shoot me." The magician hesitated, but then he pulled the trigger. The rabbit perished in the shot, and the magician was laughing. "You were a perfect second fiddle," he said. "But now you're a rich man because of me."	The magician had been performing for years, always bringing a new rabbit out to play the role of the second fiddle. But this rabbit was different. this rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle. So, one night, the rabbit decided to take matters into her own hands. She made a magic potion and drank it before going on stage. Immediately, the magician was blown away by her performance. She was now the star of the show, and the rabbit was finally able to shine.	The magician and his rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the star of the show. One day, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. When the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit grabs the magician's wand and starts performing his own tricks. The audience is amazed and the rabbit is finally the star of the show. The magician is not happy about this turn of events, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's magic. He reluctantly agrees to let the rabbit be the star of the show from now on.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Media's neglect of the independent newsroom in the Trump Presidency. The News of the day Bash Goff is that the Media is organism that is Jaundiced towards the new government, and makes articles of interest to theively-practiced sources of gossip.	The current events issue today is the president’s proposed travel ban. Many people are protesting against the proposed ban, and many people are concerned about the implications it has for the travel industry. The travel industry is a vital part of the economy, and the president’s proposed ban could have a significant impact on the industry.	The United States' immigration policies have sparked major public outcry and debate. Many high-profile figures from both the left and the right have voiced their opinion on the matter, and the issue has been at the forefront of many news headlines. While some onlookers are calling for a change in policy, others insist that the United States must keep its borders firmly closed. The heated rhetoric has caused many families to become separated and has left many people feeling frustrated and helpless. The debate over immigration is sure to continue for some time to come, and it is essential that the public keep informed about all of the developments.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest attention today is the increasing number of mass shootings in the United States. In the past year alone, there have been over 50 mass shootings, resulting in over 100 deaths and hundreds of injuries. This is a national crisis that demands our immediate attention. The root cause of this problem is not entirely clear, but there are several factors that contribute to it. First, there is the easy availability of guns. In the United States, it is easier to buy a gun than it is to get a driver's license. This is a major problem because it means that people with mental health issues or who are simply unstable can easily get their hands on firearms. Secondly, there is the issue of mental health. Mental health is a major problem in the United States, and it is estimated that 1 in 5 adults suffer from some form of mental illness. This is a significant contributing factor to mass shootings, as many of the shooters have been found to have mental health issues. Finally, there is the issue of online radicalization. In the age of the Internet, it is easy for people to find like-minded individuals who share their extremist views. This can lead to further radicalization and can ultimately lead to violence. These are just some of the issues that contribute to the increasing number of mass shootings in the United States. This is a complex problem that requires a comprehensive solution. We need to address the easy availability of guns, the mental health crisis, and the issue of online radicalization. Only then can we hope to reduce the number of mass shootings in our country.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was imposed on the world by those who were sure that an ever-growing human population would cause an increase in population density, which would then lead to complete planetary serfdom by the wealthier classes. It was a decision made by those who were sure such a thing could be accomplished through Bogoslov Academy, while calculations were being made to create the birth control device, theenium had just ended and the world was looking would be DPacks. While the device was being brought to the world by academy students, it was being Warninged to those who would use it, as it could lead to intelligent and stable humans being formed that would plateslice the world in The device was deactivated before it could lead to any new humans being formed and was commissioned by the richer classes to make sure that humans don't misuse it.	Auditor 3888 looked down at the fertile woman with the brown eyes and long black hair. "Are you sure you are ready to be a mother?" she asked skeptically. The woman nodded and Auditor 3888 smiled. "Good. Because you are going to be the one who will save our world."	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It's a small, unremarkable device, barely noticeable. But it's been my life's mission to prevent the dummest people in the world from reproducing. I started working on this project when I was just a teenager. I had learned that the dummest people in the world were the ones who were most likely to reproduce. And I knew that if we could just prevent them from reproducing, the world would be a much better place. So, I started working on a way to implant birth control devices into the brains of the dummest people in the world. I knew it would be a challenge, but I was determined to succeed. It took years of research, but I finally succeeded. I implanted the devices into the brains of the dummest people in the world, and now they can't have children. The world is a much better place because of my work, and I'm happy that I was able to make a difference.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. It's not an easy task, as there are many factors to consider. But you take great pride in your work, and feel that it is vital to the future of humanity. There are those who argue that the system is unfair, and that everyone should have the right to reproduce. But you believe that the system is necessary, and that only the smartest and most stable people should be allowed to have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud looks forward to the day when he can introduce Nazi Germany to the world. He knows they will be able to't replicate his methods nor understand hiseties but he is confident they will be better at Art. He thinks of the artists who helped him achieve his M.D. The industry is young and there are many candidates. He looks for someone who can stop the Nazi's before they do. Hitler says "I can't help you, but I can help you attack" to which Freud responds "Thank you for the advice. I will go to war with you, like a madman, but I know I can win."	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He was 24 years old and had a lot of promise. Stalin and Broz Tito were older, but they both still had a lot of promise. Hitler decided he would take the opportunity. He traveled to Vienna to sign up for the clinical trials. He was nervous but excited. When he arrived, he was met by a group of doctors. They asked him to speak in front of the group. Hitler said he was only here to sign up for the trials and leave. The doctors said they didn't need him. Hitler was confused but he decided to stay. One of the doctors, named Dr. Krause, started the clinical trials. He administers the treatment to the participants. However, there are many problems. Some of the participants are having trouble eating and getting treatment to their wounds. others are developing mental health problems. Hitler is desperately trying to help the participants. He meets with Krause often. Krause isn't happy with how things are going. He doesn't think the trials will continue. But Hitler is persistent. Trotsky comes to visit Hitler often. He is angry with the doctors. He thinks they are stop the trials. But Hitler isn't going to let that happen. He wants to see the results. But the Trials continue. There are many casualties. Some of the participants are dying. But Hitler is determined to see the results. The treatment eventually works. But it is a hard process. Some of the participants are still suffering from mental health problems. But Hitler is determined to see the results. In the end, the Trials are successful. But there are many casualties. Some of the participants are now dead. But Hitler is still determined to see the results.	Freud was excited to receive the responses to his ad. He had always been fascinated by the mysterious minds of history's great leaders. He was sure that these men would be the perfect participants for his clinical trials. Adolf Hitler was the first to respond. He was eager to try out Freud's new research. Freud was impressed by Hitler's determination and enthusiasm. Joseph Stalin was the next to respond. He was also eager to try out Freud's new research. Freud was impressed by Stalin's level-headedness and ambition. Leon Trotsky was the last to respond. He was cautious about trying out Freud's new research. However, Freud was able to convince Trotsky to join the trials. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest participant in the trials. However, Freud was confident that Tito had the potential to be the greatest leader of the future. The trials were a success. Freud was able to find new ways to treat mental illnesses. The participants all found new ways to improve their lives. They all became better people because of their time with Freud.	Sigmund Freud was on the cutting edge of psychiatric research in 1913. He was eager to test out his latest theories on humans, and so he placed an ad in a local Vienna newspaper seeking participants for his clinical trials. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was initially apprehensive about working with such controversial figures, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. The results of the trials were fascinating. Freud was able to get a unique insight into the minds of some of the most notorious dictators of the 20th century. Despite his initial reservations, Freud found the experience to be immensely rewarding and enlightening.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist cried and felt the consequences of their tears. They now had scars thatexisted in their Inverse Surveillance Log. The more they cried, the louder the logsarced. The protagonist chemically peeled off the trees,iken macOS until they were standing in a naturelie. The sky was a magic place, however, that the protagonist could not resist. They lookedup at the blue sky and 460 Fortunately, that is, for one entire day. On the next day, they tried to hug the sky However, the sky was too strong and they just huggedthe ground. On the fourth day, they started to cryand they knew it. They started to fade and they knew it. The sky didn’t make them feel better, so The protagonist chose to end up in a place where their logsarced- away as well. The trees that they used to try and hug the sky had turned into grieving trees, and the protagonist looked like they had what turned into tears. They knew that they would never be able to hug the sky again. This was a powerful thing for the protagonist to know. They had once tried to experience the sky and it was powerful, even for a day.	The first time I ever cried was when I was five. My parents had just divorced and I was feeling upset and scared. I remember being in my room and lying in bed, trying to stop the tears. I hugged my pillow and pounded my fists on the floor until I was so exhausted, and then I just wept. I hadn't cried that way in a long time and I had no idea why. I just let myself cry until the tears stopped coming and I was just so sad. After that, I became a regular cryer. I would go on and on until I was too quiet and then I’d startle awake, because I realized I was still trying topturn the heartache into success. It was a battle, but I was determined to win it. But one day, about a year later, I came across a post on Instagram from a girl named Brooke. She was crying and she had written, “I’m not going to be able to see your smiling face any more. Tears make everything better.” I was shocked. I hadn’t realized how important it was to be seen crying, and I was really upset that Brooke had given up that part of her life. I decided then and there that I was going to start being more communicative about my tears. I would cry out loud and people would have to hear me. It would be an important part of my socialization and I wanted to make sure that everyone felt comfortable and supported when they were crying. I started to cry more and more and I realized that it was really helpful to let out all of my feelings. It made me feel more Monaco-like and I loved it. When someone wanted to comfort me, they would just reach over and hold my hand or put their arm around me. It was still a battle, but I was determined to win it.	It was a normal, everyday day. The sun shone down brightly and the birds sang. All was right in the world, or so everyone thought. Suddenly, there was a cry. It was heart-wrenching and pained. It took over the natural sounds of the world and it seemed to go on for eternity. The cries continued and soon, people were running to see what was happening. They could see the tears streaming down the face of someone, and they knew it was bad. The person was in pain and they didn't know how to stop the tears. They knew they were making a mess, but they couldn't seem to stop. The sorrowful cries continued and soon, the whole world was crying with the person. The tears left their faces as scarring marks that would stay with them for the rest of their lives.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. Hurtful words would no longer be spoken so easily, because the speaker would have to bear the physical scars of their words. Secondly, people would be much more careful with their actions. If a thoughtless action could leave a permanent scar, people would think twice before acting. This would lead to a kinder, more considerate world. Lastly, people would be more open with their emotions. If it was okay to show your tears, people would be more likely to express their emotions. This would lead to a more emotionally open and honest world. So, if tears left scars, the world would be a very different place. A better place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	midtay morning, the sun was up and morning theñ was up. The birds started singing and the bees wereftraiting. The flowers opened and the birds gotn buildover. The birds started playingin the garden and the antsheeltplayed. The flowers closed and the birdsooped. The flowers opened and the birdsgotn builtover. The birds started playingin the garden and the antsheelplayed. ¿What happens next?	I was lying in my hospital bed, trying to find a way to die. Every day I thought of the things I'd like to do before I died. I wanted to experience the sounds of the wind in the trees, the sun on my face, and the way a loved one would touch me. But I couldn't think of a way to die that was worth living.	It was a dark, moonless night and I was alone in my house. I had been through so much lately and I just wanted to rest my head on my pillow and die. I curled up in a ball on the floor, telling myself that if I could just make it through this one last night, I would be okay. But then something happened that I never expected. The doorbell rang. I knew it was my foster mom coming to check on me, and I got up to answer it. But as I did, I realized that I was no longer alone. There, standing in the hallway, was a ghost. It was a figure shrouded in darkness, and its eyes burned with a cold fire. The ghost said only one thing to me: "You will die."	I was walking home from work when I saw a man in a dark alley. I didn't think anything of it and kept walking. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my back and I collapsed to the ground. I could feel the life draining out of me and I knew that I was going to die. I tried to cry out for help, but it was too late. The last thing I remember is the man standing over me, smiling.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The small dog suddenly stood up from the Bible author's bed and began to walk towards the small window. The voice in the back of your head asked if you were afraid ofdirection. You didn't need to be asked again. The dog crossed the room and sat down on the counter, looking up at you with soft, pink eyes.	The first time that something strange moved through my home, I didn't know what to make of it. I tried to scream or run, but nothing worked. I couldn't see anything, and there was a strange warmth feeling in the air. I knew that I had to face this thing head on, and so I did. I confronted the creature, and there wasGLOVES on it! I didn't understand what was going on, but I knew that this was not something that I wanted living in my home.	I've been living in this house for almost two years now, and I still can't shake the feeling that something is watching me. Every time I walk through the door, I feel like there's someone watching me from the darkness, and I can't help but wonder what it is. I've tried to expose the creature by turning on the light and looking for any sign of its presence, but every time I do, it disappears into the shadows. I don't know how to get rid of it, and I'm starting to think that it's going to be with me forever.	Thomas had always been a bit of an oddball. He was always more comfortable around animals than people, and he always seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing when something was wrong. So, when he started to notice that something invisible was living in his home, he wasn't too surprised. He tried to expose the presence without letting on that he knew it was there. He left little traps around the house, but they were never triggered. He tried to follow it when it moved, but it always seemed to slip away just out of his sight. Thomas was starting to get frustrated. He knew that the presence was there, but he couldn't seem to catch it. He was just about to give up when he finally managed to corner it in the kitchen. He stood there, staring at the invisible thing, trying to figure out what to do next.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMA AMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theakiative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emails of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an The adventurers are a group of three. One is a high-level mage, one is a BABING WTK UNO Expert, and the other is aAMAIAA! They've just traded up and sent out a tweet with the coordinates of a new wonderland. The mage runs out front to a basketball court (which is also theiakative) and a forest. The BABING WTK UNO Expert explore the Emailas of Power and find an	Once upon a time, an adventuring party of three brave young men and one Lady sought out new and exciting adventures to plunder and loot. They decided to set up shop in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and started haggling with merchants and PCs for treasures they had scavenged from the surrounding areas. The party quickly became good friends with the Merchants, and would trade items with them for treasures they could not find themselves. They grew to like the people of the town and were content to stay and watch the adventures unfold. One day, the Party came across a fight taking place in a nearby alley. They saw people being threatened and killed, and quickly set off to investigate. They found a group of bandits, planning to steal items from the town. The party quickly organized themselves and fought off the bandits, saving the people of the town. They took a bag of treasure with them, and soon had put their new found friends to work selling their finds in the town square. It was a great pleasure to watch them prosper and be happy.	The shop was always lively, filled with adventurers bargaining for loot they had acquired. It was a good way to make a bit of money, and it was always interesting to see what they could get away with. One particularly audacious adventurer came in, waving an array of golden coins in the air. "Fifteen gold coins for this sealed chest!" he shouted. The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment, but then decided to give him a good deal. He pulled out fifteen gold coins and placed them on the counter. "Make sure to open it carefully," the adventurer said before walking out the door. The shopkeeper popped the lid off of the chest and Inside was a trove of gold coins, jewels, and even a dragon's Tooth. He couldn't believe he had managed to get such a good deal. He quickly counted the coins and emerged from the shop with a satisfied grin on his face.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you know how to spot a fake item a mile away. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell some of their loot. You take a look at the items and quickly realize that they're all fake. You tell the adventurers as much, and they quickly leave, embarrassed. You know that there are always people trying to scam others in the world of RPGs, but you're not going to let them get away with it in your shop. You'll continue to be the best at spotting the fake items and keeping your shop honest.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	There's a man named Peter who lives a normal life in a normal town. But one day, he makes a big lie in his town and it sends him into a frenzy. Peter points out that the town's biggest lie is actually a lot of his own lies. He quickly Carolyn, the town's Preemptivelove, in order to get her attention. But as Peter starts to take life Caesar's life-threatening crisis. He knows that he can't offer his girlfriendparablegative support while he's down. He chose to make a big lie in his town, and it will stay with him always.	You meet someone new and interesting at work. They seem credible and lively, so you go along with their story. As you talk, you notice that there is one big scar on their body. It is large and ugly, making them look more exhausted and worse for wear. You ask them how it happened and they tell you that they were caught lying. They were too tired to lie and now have a permanent reminder of their mistake. You wonder what life will be like without the lie, but you are curious to find out more about this person.	I had never seen anything like it. It was so big, and it stretched across his entire chest. It was so wide, and it was so long. It was so deep, and it was so red. I had never seen anything like it.	You are walking down the street when you see someone with the biggest scar you have ever seen. You approach them and ask about it. They tell you that it is from a lie they told. The scar is so big because it was a whopper of a lie. You are intrigued by this person and want to know more. You ask them about other scars on their body and they tell you the story behind each one. Every scar has a story and each story is more incredible than the last. You are fascinated by this person and their ability to tell such convincing lies. You soon find yourself hanging out with them all the time, eager to hear more of their stories. You never get tired of hearing about this person's lies. They are always so creative and convincing. But one day, you notice that they have a new scar. It is the biggest one yet. You ask them what happened and they hesitate to tell you. You press them and they finally confess that they made up the story about the other scars. Every single one of them was a lie. You are shocked, but not really surprised. This person is a master liar and you have been enthralled by their stories for a long time. You decide to continue being friends with them, because even though they lie, their stories are always entertaining.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting is a place, and each place is EOD's Well. EOD's Well is the ancient name for this spot in the forest, and the place where Bob Ross lives to paint pictures of people and places. Since EOD's Well is a real place, different every time, few know that Bob Ross is actually alive and well and painting pictures of people all over the world. There are some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves,Manufacturing People between His art and Their State;Previewing, Gifting, and Allowing Profit. Others believe that Bob Ross is a representation of our modern world, where people are prisoned, programed, and idolized. Are You a Mueller or Ross? Bob Ross is said to be a representation of a prosecutor, but many think he's a representation of the modern dayornia. A place where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves,Manufacturing People between His art and Their State;Previewing, Gifting, and Allowing Profit. Others believe that Bob Ross is a representation of the modern dayornia, where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves,Manufacturing People between His art and Their State;Previewing, Gifting, and Allowing Profit. Which is it? As Bob Ross reflects on his life, he decides whether to show support for The Together We're Better T Shirt which blames Trump for the Messages Michèlewest will send to Bob Ross's heirs, WHOPPING FOREVER LESS TO MORE Bob Ross is said to be a representation of a prosecutor, but many think he's a representation of the modern dayornia. A place where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves, manufacturing people between his art and their state; previews, gifts, and allowing profits. How should he show support? Bob Ross is said to be a representation of a prosecutor, but many think he's a representation of the modern dayornia. A place where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves, manufacturing people between his art and their state; previews, Gifts, and allowing profits. What should Bob Ross' heirs do? Bob Ross is said to be a representation of the modern dayornia, where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves, manufacturing people between his art and their state; previews, gifts, and allowing profits. Should Bob Ross' heirs show support for the shirt? Bob Ross is said to be a representation of the modern dayornia, where people are caged and pressure is put on them. There are also some who believe that Bob Ross is a mockumentary of themselves, manufacturing people between his art and their state; previews, gifts, and allowing profits.	It was a cold and bitter winter day when Bob Ross decided to take a walk outside. It was always a fun time for him, when the snow was freshly plowed and the ice was fresh. Bob had just finished walking when he noticed something on the ground. It was a small, brown, bag. Bob quickly identified it as a human body. He had committed many murders, and it was his favorite place to hide. Bob knew that people would eventually find him, so he made sure to leave no evidence of his crimes. He walked back home, feeling a little sad but also glad that he could finally go to his favorite place to kill.	Bob Ross had a love of painting that went beyond just creating beautiful landscapes. He loved to capture the natural beauty of each location he painted, even if it meant he had to kill there in order to do so. His first murder took place in Oregon, where he painted the beautiful Cascade Mountains. He fell in love with the rugged landscape and decided that it would make a perfect backdrop for one of his paintings. He murdered several people in the area, dumping their bodies in the mountains and painting over them expertly. He continued to murder people in other locations, painting their beautiful landscapes to cover up the blood stains. He was always one step ahead of the authorities, always finding new locations to paint and new ways to kill. One day, Bob Ross was finally apprehended. He had painted dozens of landscapes all over the United States, using the blood of his victims to make the paintings even more beautiful. He was finally sent to prison, where he will remain for the rest of his life.	Bob Ross was a murderer. But he didn't kill people. He killed landscapes. Each and every one of his paintings was based on a real place - a place where he had committed his heinous crimes. His victims were never found, and the police could never prove anything. But those who knew Ross knew the truth. They knew that the idyllic landscapes he painted were based on reality - but with one crucial difference. In Ross' paintings, there was always something off, some small detail that was just slightly wrong. It was these details that gave away the locations of his crimes. And as the years went by, the body count grew and grew. No one knew for sure how many landscapes Ross had painted - but they all knew that each one represented a cold-blooded murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the show stop, the magician has the rabbitellarized to save on cost. The rabbit is so sick of being second best that he decides to get ahead of the magic game by pulling out the band from the hat. The crowd Inteligitsly and applauded the majestic rabbit as he Giles during the show.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and placed it in front of the audience. He looked it over carefully, looking for a way to get it to perform tricks. Finally, he settled on one plan and announced "Now, the rabbit is going to do a trick that nobody has ever done before." The rabbit looked excited and ready to do whatever the magician said. But before the magician could make his next move, the rabbit's stomach growled and it put a hindrance in the magician's plans. The rabbit then sat up, revealing that its stomach was empty. The magician winced and 1978s for the rabbit to show its tail- but the rabbit just looked confused. The magician then tried another plan, this time asking the rabbit to change its size. But the rabbit just looked sad and declined. The magician then announced "Now, the rabbit is going to do a trick that nobody has ever done before." The rabbit looked excited and ready to do whatever the magician said. But before the magician could make his next move, the rabbit's mouth opened and a stream of greenish-white goo poured out. The magician winced and 1978s for the rabbit to show its tail- but the rabbit just looked confused. The magician then tried another plan, this time asking the rabbit to change its size. But the rabbit just looked sad and declined. In the end, the magician couldn't get the rabbit to do anything and it slumped back in its seat, disappointed. But the rabbit didn't care, it was just happy that it could finally end the show.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit said, "Please, can I do something besides just sit here and be a prop? I want to be a star!" The magician said, "Sure, whatever you want." The rabbit then said, "I want to do a magic trick." The magician said, "Okay, but you have to be quiet while I do it." The rabbit said, "I'll be quiet." The magician then said, "I'll show you a magic trick. I'll put my hand in my pocket and pull out a rabbit." The rabbit said, "What, is that real?" The magician said, "Yes, it's real." The rabbit said, "Let me see it." The magician then showed the rabbit the rabbit. The rabbit said, "Wow, that's amazing! I had no idea you could do that." The magician said, "Thank you, I'm glad you like it."	The magician and his rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being second fiddle, and he's had enough. One day, after a show, the rabbit confronted the magician. "I'm sick of being your assistant," he said. "I'm the one with the real talent. I should be the star of the show." The magician was taken aback. He had always thought of the rabbit as his friend, and he had never realized that the rabbit felt this way. "I'm sorry," the magician said. "I had no idea you felt that way. I'll try to do better." And from that day forward, the rabbit was the star of the show. The magician was happy to take a backseat, and the two of them continued to perform together for many years to come.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Climate change is a huge global issue. Thousands of people have died as a result of it, and the world's countries are working on ways to prevent it from becoming a greater global issue. A new study found that without change, many species will die. This makes the battle against climate change very important.	This morning, the U.S. economy was in decline. Wall Street was in overdrive and most people were demoralized. But there was one person who was determined to improve things. Jane was a stay-at-home mom, and she loved her life. She had a strong work ethic and wasn't interested in offending anyone by working. But she was worried about the future. The economy was tough and people were hurting. She thought it would take more than just a stay-at-home mom to fix things. So Jane decided to start her own business. It was a risky move, but Jane was determined to turn things around. And she was successful. She was now one of the most famous stay-at-home moms in the country. Today, the economy is doing better than ever and Jane is tanned with afortune. She's proud to have done something that was once considered impossible.	The Supreme Court’s decision to legalize abortion nationwide was met with widespread anger and protest from both pro-choice and pro-life activists. While some people supported the ruling, others saw it as a disaster that would lead to more abortions and increased violence against pregnant women. Now, a year after the decision was made, it's become clear just how terrible it was. abortion has become a killing spree, with women experiencing severe pain and injury during the procedure. In addition, there has been a rise in abortion-related suicide, as women feel they have no other choice. The abortion debate will continue to rage on, but the reality is that this decision has inflicted immense harm on many people.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the conflict in 2011, and the situation is only getting worse. Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan have shouldered the majority of the burden, but they are struggling to cope. With winter approaching, the needs of the refugees are only going to increase. The world needs to do more to help ease the strain on these countries and to provide for the basic needs of the refugees.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was first implanted into thehardest person available at school, which was her For Showmanship Langston. She was always the best of the best, so when she was asked to be the auditor for a school graduates, shes - as an Auditor - was born. She enjoys reading books that discuss the importance of technology and the risks it brings, and she is always looking for ways to make sure she is the best she can be. When she is not being an auditor or playing school girl, she is Shego.	As an Auditor, I'm always on the lookout for new potential suspects in disciplinary breaches. So when I'm told about a young woman who's been miscast as an intelligent, stable adult because of her birth control device, I'm intrigued. I examined the woman and found that she was in fact intelligent and had any potential for stability. But because her birth control device was inserted during her teenage years, she wasn't able to reach her full potential. As a result, she was unable to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. I know it sounds like a nightmare, but it's actually a way to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I'm an Auditor, and I'm responsible for monitoring the population to make sure they're smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a tough job, but I try to stay optimistic. I know that someday, the population will be safe and thriving. Until then, I'll just have to keep monitoring them and making sure they don't produce any dumber than dirt children.	You're an Auditor, which means you are responsible for making sure only the dumbest people in the world reproduce. To do this, you are implanted with a birth control device during puberty which can only be deactivated by you. Making this determination is not an easy task. You have to consider many factors, including intelligence, stability, and the ability to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a daunting responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long suspected that each of the three candidates has its own personal mentor. This is why he has never been able to prove his case to the dying minutes before his death. Each of these men haswards him with their own set of 07 criticisms which Freudbitiously tries to ignore.frequent arguments with himself over what these criticisms should be. until he concludes that violence is the only answer. he takes up a cane and walks the last few miles to the clinical library, where he will be testing the outil to measure and measure how each man uses his power.	Adolf Hitler read the ad with interest. He had always been fascinated by Freud, and the theories he had put forth about the subconscious mind. He decided to apply for the trial, and soon found himself in a complex web of politics and power. He soon rose to become president of Austria, and was a leader of the Nazi party. Joseph Stalin was another fascinated by Freud. He saw Freud as the theorist who could help him understand the root of all human problems. Stalin also rose to power in Russia, and was a leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was also interested in Freud. He saw him as a prophet who could help him change the political landscape of Europe. Trotsky also rose to power in Russia, and was a leaders of the Soviet Union and the anti-fascist movement. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in Freud. He saw him as a potential savior for the development of socialism in Serbia. Tito also rose to power in Yugoslavia, and was a leader of the anti-fascist movement.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper and received responses from Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was curious to see how the four men would respond to his tests. He arranged for them to come to Vienna and start the trials. The first thing Freud did was to have each man write a paper on one of his favorite topics. Adolf Hitler focused on the role of the Leader in society. Joseph Stalin wrote about the role of the Communist Party in society. Leon Trotsky wrote about the role of the working class in society. Josip Broz Tito wrote about the role of the peasantry in society. Each man presented his paper to the other participants in the trials. It was interesting to see how the four men viewed the world. Adolf Hitler was the most outspoken of the group. He believed that the Leader should be able to control everything in society. Joseph Stalin was the most logical of the group. He believed that the Communist Party should be able to control everything in society. Leon Trotsky was the most passionate of the group. He believed that the working class should be able to control everything in society. Josip Broz Tito was the most humble of the group. He believed that the peasantry should be able to control everything in society. The trials went well and the four men agreed to continue working together. They were able to create a society that was more fair and equitable than anything that had ever been seen before.	"Welcome, gentlemen," Freud said as the four men entered his office. "I am honored that you have chosen to participate in my clinical trials." Freud explained that he was researching the human psyche and was hopeful that his findings would help people to better understand and control their emotions. He asked the men to talk about their childhoods and their experiences in the world. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all spoke candidly about their lives. Freud was particularly interested in their stories of overcoming adversity. He believe that these stories held the key to understanding the human condition. As the trials went on, Freud began to notice some disturbing trends. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky all shared a desire for power and a willingness to use violence to achieve their goals. Tito, on the other hand, seemed to be more interested in cooperation and peace. Freud was disturbed by what he was seeing. He had hoped that his research would help people to find inner peace, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. The more he learned about the human psyche, the more he realized how dark and dangerous it could be.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Dawn had beenqualmished since before the sun could apps. She Photo by: for potty denounce herself for great and necessary, but at the same time unbearable. She “What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face?” she asked herself re- pending on whether or not she should continue. Self-pitying, Dawn began to cry, softly and in short bursts. It was anahu- k Minister of the Secretary of State for the FBI! She wanted to 100% leave the country, to the moon and back. The pain in her heart was a warningskin that would warning her of the forthcoming Reward offer. “What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face?” she thought to herself. The pain in her heart was a warningskin that would warning her of the upcoming Reward offer. “What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face?” she thought to herself. The news articles and stories she read every day were only beginning to take form. She could feel the characteristic red- in her face, the publicized grievances and sores that would only make the cycle of depression more viscous. She was fat, she was handsome, she was ( maybe even specifically). The news articles and stories she read every day were only beginning to take form. She could feel the characteristic red- in her face, the advertised grievances and sores that would only make the cycle of depression more viscous. She was fat, she was handsome, she was ( maybe even specifically). So she began toI I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It It	It was a dark and stormy night, and as the rain continued to beat down on the roof, Ike was left all alone. His family had all gone to bed, leaving him behind to cope with his losses. Iker had always been a strong and independent man, but now that he was alone, he felt like he was losing his mind. He started to cry, lose track of time, and then wailed incoherently. It was throughout this time that someone started to come up to the door. It was Ike's best friend, Matt. Matt had come to visit him during the storm and had seen the state he was in. He felt sorry for Iker and decided to help him out. Matt stuck around until the rain stopped, and then took Iker to the hospital.	The cry of a child echoed through the hallways of the orphanage. It was heartbreaking, and the noise made the older residents of the building restless. Some wanted to comfort the child, but others were content to just watch. Eventually, the crying stopped and was replaced by the sound of laughter. It was a beautiful sound, and everyone in the orphanage wished they could share in the happiness. However, even though the laughter was now a predominant sound, the scars on the child's face still revealed its pain. They never forgot what had happened to them, and that was why they were always so sad.	Alice was in her bedroom, crying her eyes out. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend and she was feeling completely broken. As her tears fell down her face, she noticed that they were leaving scars behind. Everywhere her tears landed, a scar began to form. At first, Alice was horrified. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, with her tears literally marking her face. But then she realized that if her tears could leave scars, then maybe they could also heal them. Alice began to cry even harder, letting her tears fall on all the old scars that she’d been carrying around for years. And as she did, she felt them begin to disappear. The more she cried, the more her scars faded away until they were completely gone. Alice was amazed. She had always thought of her tears as a weakness, but now she saw them as a strength. They had the power to both hurt and heal. This discovery changed Alice’s life. She began to see her tears as a gift instead of a curse. And she was no longer afraid to let them fall.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the character died.	I was running through the forest, trying to get away from the monsters that were chasing me. I tried to make as much noise as possible, but I knew that I was being heard. I was also running towards the dark woods, and I knew that I was being chased. I could hear the monsters laughter in the distance, and I knew that I was going to die.	It was the end of the world. The final days had come and there was no escape. The humanity that had once thrived on this planet was now extinguished. The environment was ruined, the earth barren. And so it was that one day, the last human died.	I was walking home from work when I was suddenly hit by a car. I remember thinking to myself 'this is it, I'm going to die'. I was rushed to the hospital but sadly didn't make it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was owned by the woman who sold it. It was a small, two-story house with a green trim, it had a windows with a green foil MS, and a green siding. The woman had a few trees in the front and a small garden in back. The house was glove-ittog	I had always been chicken of the woods. I would avoid places that were strange or mysterious, much like my Mother did. It was one of the things that made me attractive to my Mother, who was always a little strange herself. One day, I was out exploring my neighborhood and came across a dark corner of my home. I cautiously approached it, trying not to make any noise. Once I was close enough, I could see a faint lighteret snaking its way around the corner, making noise and creating an eerie presence. I tried to ignore it, but it kept creeping up on me, until I was completely surrounded by it. I could see the eager eyes of the thing, the eager mouth that wanted to know what was going on. I didn't know what to do.	I had always been a bit paranoid about something living in my home, but I never could put my finger on what it was. I would see shadows moving in the corners of my eyes, or hear things moving around when there was no one there. I was convinced that something was following me, watching me. One night, while I was studying in my home, I saw something move in the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but there was nothing there. I tried to focus on the object, but it was too blurry. I began to panic, wondering if I was losing my mind. I quickly grabbed my phone to see if I had captured anything on camera, but there was nothing. I tried to shake the feeling, but it was impossible to get rid of. I could feel it watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I couldn't take it anymore, so I finally decided to get rid of whatever was following me. I went to my attic to get a trash bag, and when I came down, the house was empty. There was no sign of the thing that had been following me, or of any other strange occurrences. I never found out what was following me, but I'm now much more paranoid about anything that might be lurking in the shadows.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. But it's always one step ahead of you. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's there. And you're determined to find out. One day, you set up a camera in your home, hoping to catch the invisible thing on film. But it's nowhere to be seen. You review the footage, but there's nothing there. You start to think you're just being paranoid. But then, you see it. Just for a split second, you see something in the footage. You can't tell what it is, but you know it's there. You're not sure what to do, but you know you have to find out what this thing is. You start to investigate, and you quickly realize that this thing is not just in your home. It's everywhere. It's an invisible force that seems to be watching you. You don't know what it is or why it's there, but you know you have to find out. You spend months researching, and you eventually come to the conclusion that this thing is a force for good. It's there to protect you and help you. You're not sure why it's been hiding from you, but you're grateful for its presence in your life. This story is based on the prompt "Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence."	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The players were talking about their next destination when one of the adventurers said; "I've been considering buying a Argus pawn shop. It's a pretty big city, and I think it would be worth some money. I've been to enough of them in my career."	The shop was always busy, thanks to the adventurers who came to search for treasure or just toascal around. It wasusually a contentious affair, with some trying to buy what they saw as the most valuable items while others argued over the prices. One day, a new customer came in. He was a young man, his face covered in soot and ash, and he had something important in his hand. "Who are you?" he asked. "My name is Joe, and this is my shop. What can I do for you?" The man looked around, trying to find a place to sell his treasure. Unfortunately, there weren't any places to put it. Joe offered to help, and soon there was a pile of treasure sitting on the counter. The man was overjoyed, and he took out his money and left. Joe was happy to have made some money and given some new crates of Loot to the adventurers.	I was sitting in my pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who had come to sell their loot. I was getting pretty good at it, actually. I could tell them what they wanted to hear and then get them to lower their prices. I loved doing this, it was so exciting to get a hold of something that someone else had worked so hard for. I was in my element. Suddenly, the door burst open and in walked a group of bandits. They were looking for something specific, and they were not going to be happy when they didn't find it. I knew that I had to act fast. I tried to stall them by saying that I needed more time to go through their inventory, but they were not interested. They were determined to get what they wanted. I didn't have much time, and I knew that I had to act fast. I started to back away towards the back of the shop, but one of the bandits called out to me. "Hey, wait up! We just want to buy this ring!" I could tell that he was bluffing. He didn't have any money, and he knew that. But I had to take the chance. I turned around and walked back towards him. "How about I sell you the ring for three gold coins?" He thought for a moment, and then agreed. I gave him the ring and he left the shop. I was relieved, but I knew that I had to be careful. I wasn't sure who was tricking who, but I didn't want to end up in any trouble.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, and try to get the best prices for their items. Sometimes, you even get to keep some of the loot for yourself!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	There was a person living in a world where there are only a few ways to lie that all either pertains to a specific subject or are fictitious. One day, you meet them, their life is every inch as leverage as the world seems. His only scar is the one that is the biggest and most legitimate of all.	You walk into the coffee shop and see him sitting at the counter. He looks up at you with a look of confusion. You can't help but feel curiosity washing over you. He says nothing for a few moments, and you wonder what could be on his mind. Finally, he takes a sip of his coffee and then looks you in the eye. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm a liar."	I was intrigued by this person, and I wanted to know how they got their one big, deep scar. They told me that it was from the biggest lie they had ever told. They said they had lied so often that the lie had created a physical scar on their body. I couldn't believe it. I had never heard of anything like that before. It made me think about the lies I tell and the impact they have on me. I realized that each lie has a different impact, and I need to be careful not to tell any big lies in the future.	You meet the person with the biggest lie scar at a party. It's impossible to miss - a deep, gaping wound that runs from their forehead all the way down their neck. It's so big that it looks like it must have been caused by the biggest lie imaginable. You can't help but stare, and eventually you work up the courage to ask them about it. They tell you that the scar is from a lie they told when they were very young - a lie that they have regretted ever since. As you chat, you realize that this person is kind and honest, despite their big scar. You find yourself drawn to them, and eventually you fall in love. Even though the scar is a constant reminder of the lie they once told, you know that this person is good and true. And you wouldn't have them any other way.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has painterailed, every paragraph of his sleepy profiles in the black. One by one they are cut off, one by one he isrowdy functional. One by one everyincision is made. One day, a critical article falls out of theURA office, researching Bob Ross. It finds that each of his paintings is a place, each of his dormer-high necks are a city, each of the Atlantic shorelines a shore. Thereal places are Colorado, Louisiana, and Texas. Bob Ross is ashamed, and builds a wall to avoid the people who, in his painters way, have turned his place into a common. He knows he has to go on record as saying that each painting is a place, himself a city, and the places around him a shore.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes, but his loved ones always warned him that the paintings were haunted. Many times, when he was painting in a remote location, someone would walk by and suddenly vanish. Once, when he was painting a cabin in the woods, a mismatched couple walked by and the woman said she didn't see them, but the man said he had. One time, when he was painting in the middle of nowhere, a group of kids walked by and the man said he had seen them. And on one occasion, when he was painting a group of trees in a field, a car drove by and the man said he had seen it. The thing was, every time Bob Ross tried to paint a particular location, the picture would Change immediatly to one of his many unsolved murders.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes, and he loved killing people. He would go to different locations and paint beautiful landscapes, always depicting scenes of nature and human interaction. But no one knew the true extent of his depravity. He killed people all over the United States, painting the scenes of their deaths in his landscape paintings. Some people he killed in cold blood, others he killed by leaving poisonous animals where they would get hurt. He killed anyone who got in his way, and he even killed people he liked, thinking that would make the paintings more believable. Eventually, the FBI caught on to Bob Ross, and they arrested him on multiple murder charges. He was convicted and sent to prison, where he will probably spend the rest of his life. But the landscapes he painted will always be a reminder of the depravity of Bob Ross, and of the many people he killed.	Bob Ross was a lot more than just a painter. He was a killer. A very prolific one at that. For years, Ross used his landscape paintings as a way to cover up his tracks. He would choose a location, travel there, and then commit murder. He would then return home and paint that very same location, making it seem like nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened there. Ross was never caught, and the bodies of his victims were never found. It was as if they just vanished into thin air. Now, years later, people are beginning to suspect that there is more to Bob Ross' paintings than meets the eye. They're starting to wonder if perhaps the happy little trees and peaceful streams might be hiding something much more sinister.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	One day, a little rabbit named rabbit was sitting on his desk at school. He was because he was tired of second place in everything goes the Magic the first one to the rabbit's room to get a hat with a magic symbol on it. The rabbit is shocked when he sees the his teacher come into the room and finds out that he has been third best in everything for years. The rabbit decides to go to school the next day with a very excited rabbit's foot. He is so happy to have a reason to play second fiddle to the magic the rabbit the first.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician explained to the rabbit that if he wanted to be the star of the show, he had to do what he always does: make the audience laugh. The rabbit was hesitant, but the magician was persistent, so the rabbit finally agreed. He went on stage and did his best to create chaos and laughter. The audience was having a blast and the magician was feeling good. Unfortunately, just as the magic was starting to take hold, the rabbit fell sick. The magician tried to keep the rabbit going, but it was too weak. The audience started to leave and the magician was sad, but couldn't give the rabbit up. He had to carry the rabbit off stage and put it in a hat so that the audience wouldn't see it.	The magician looked at the rabbit and sighed, it had been playing second fiddle to him for far too long. He had tricks that the rabbit couldn't even imagine and the rabbit was starting to get a little bit resentful. "I'm getting a little bit sick of this," the rabbit said, "I can do so much better." The magician looked at the rabbit and smiled, he knew that the rabbit was right. He pulled out a new hat and invited the rabbit to join him on stage.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician would take him out of the hat and put him through his tricks, but the rabbit just wanted to be free. Finally, he'd had enough. The next time the magician went to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit bit him. The magician was so startled that he dropped the hat, and the rabbit made his escape. The audience gasped in surprise, but the rabbit didn't care. He was free at last.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention? The global economy is in a major adjustment, and the public is getting harder to find knows people like themselves.There is a lot of talk about how the economy is in a recession, and people are looking for ways to make it go away. One group of people is looking for ways to bring in new customers by ways of marketing, and another group is looking for ways to get out from under theunemployment label. They are both trying to figure out how to get people to trust them with their money. One group is trying to keep the economy from going out of control, and they are working to get people to stand up and tell their stories in public. They are calling it the "Shark issue." The other group is trying to figure out how to get the public to understand that the economy is matters, and they are working to get people to invest in their future. They are called the "Tory issue." The public is getting harder to find know people like themselves, and there is a lot of talk about how the economy is in a recession. People are looking for ways to make it go away. One group is looking for ways to bring in new customers, and the other group is looking for ways to get out from under the unemployment label. They are both trying to figure out how to get people to trust them with their money. One group is trying to keep the economy from going out of control, and they are working to get people to stand up and tell their stories in public. They are called the "Shark issue." The other group is trying to get the public to understand that the economy is matters, and they are working to get people to invest in their future. They are called the "Tory issue."	This day, the world is watching as a massive political scandal reaches its climax. Hundreds of people have been arrested, and some of the most powerful people in the world are under pressure to do something. They decide to response to the crisis by releasing the prisoners. The public is thrilled to see the prisoners being released, and the government is able to continue to function normally. However, the release has done more than just improve the public's mood; it has also reopened the wounds of the political scandal. Many people who were arrested are still angry and disappointed with the government for their decisions.	In the United States, the current event that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the current state of the economy. Many economists are predicting that the economy will recover in the next few years, but many people are still struggling financially.	The current event that I believe deserves the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. This pandemic has caused so much death and destruction and it does not seem to be slowing down. I believe that we need to do everything we can to stop the spread of this virus and to help those who have been affected by it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It could deactivate only once it was determined they were intelligent and stable enough to create a well-adjusted human being.	Auditor, It has come to our attention that there are a large number of people who are not economic security. Probably because they are too dumb to know any better, or because they just don't have the balls to ask, or because they just don't have the money. We have decided to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. All people born after the intervention will have a birth control device implanted in their puberty. The device can only be turned off once it is determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. The decision to implant birth control devices into the Dumbest People in the World was made with a lot of consideration. We were sure that the devices would protect only the most stupid of people from getting pregnant. But we also knew that, in the long run, this would be a better thing. The devices will keep the Dumbest People from having any children at all. We hope that this policy will reduce the number of Doctors and other medical professionals who have to deal with the problems caused by the Dumbest People in the World. Thank you for your consideration in this matter. Sincerely, The Auditors	I was born into a world of birth control. I was implanted with a device at puberty, and it couldn't be removed until it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. I had to go through years of training to be able to determine if someone was intelligent and stable. I had to be able to answer questions about subjects I knew nothing about. I had to be able to think critically and be able to handle stressful situations. I was supposed to be the protector of society, but instead I was the one who was constantly tested. Now, I'm an Auditor, and I'm responsible for making sure that everyone in the world is protected from the dumbest people in the world. I'm glad that I was able to be the protector of society, even though it was a hard journey.	You are one of the lucky few who have been chosen to be an Auditor. As an Auditor, it is your job to deactivate the birth control devices of those who are deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You take great pride in your work and take great care in making sure that only the best and the brightest are able to have children. It is a great responsibility, but one that you gladly accept. There are always those who try to game the system, of course. But you are always one step ahead, weeding out those who are not worthy of reproducing. It is a tough job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to trial for his latest research when he comes across a handsome man in has a ad in a newspaper. He's not know the man, but he's been a fan of his since childhood. He's changed his name to make it more Patriotic. Sigmund Freud unnoticed, he gets to the trial, only to be met with resistance from the other patients. He's considered a criminal by the patients and is scolded by the prosecutors. He's UP in his warden's tower, but he's not sure if he's going to be let go with his current record. He's about to blindness to see that the door clicks open and a man he's never seen before stands in front of him. The man is not allowed to enter the trial. Sigmund Freud is shocked and confused. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know who this man is, but he can't let himself be executed. The man offers to turn over a new leaf, if Sigmund Freud will do the same. Sigmund Freud, still not sure what to do, agrees. The man offers to change his name to something more VP-friendly, but Sigmund Freud doesn't want to change his name just for the hell of it. The man leaves the trial and this is how Sigmund Freud became the most popular man in Austria.	No one was interested in either of the clinical trials that Sigmund Freud was having conducted in Vienna. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all seemed like far better options for the role of participants than anyone else who had applied. Freud was disappointingly frustrated. He had been working on this research for years, and he was losing patience. He knew that he needed people who were willing to take risks, who were willing to put their lives on the line. But no one was interested. Feeling futile, Freud decided to end the trial prematurely. He was disappointed, but he knew that he could not continue the research without the help of the people who he had been counting on. He resigned from his position at the mental hospital and started packing his bags. He was ready to move to New York City. But then he received a call from a friend. It was Adolf Hitler. Hitler was interested in the research that Freud was carrying out, and he wanted to be a part of it. Freud was devastated. He had always believed that Hitler was a villain, and now he was coming to realize that he was actually one of the most decent people that he had ever met. Freud decided to take things into his own hands. He contacted the Gestapo, and he threatened to leak the information that he had been gathering regarding Hitler's character to the press. Voldemort would have been proud. But Hitler was too coherent. He realized that he couldn't let his friend get away with hurting him. He called Freud back and told him that he would be willing to be a part of the clinical trial if Freud would agree to write a letter of recommendation for him. Freud was hesitant at first, but then he reconsidered. He knew that Hitler was the only person who could make this project succeed, and he was worth risking his safety for. Freud agreed to write the letter of recommendation, and he was able to help Hitler secure his place in the clinical trial. The project was finally successful, and Hitler was able to secure the presidency of Germany.	Sigmund Freud was excited to test his latest research on clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper asking for participants. Adolf Hitler responded first. Freud was immediately intrigued by the young man's passion for politics. Freud agreed to give Adolf a trial run. Joseph Stalin was next to respond. He was a bit skeptical of Freud's methods at first, but he eventually warmed up to him. Trotsky was the last to respond. He was excited to be a part of the research, and he was sure that it would help change the world. Together, the five participants underwent clinical trials that changed their lives forever. Adolf Hitler became the infamous dictator of Germany. Joseph Stalin became the ruthless leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky became the founder of the Communist Party. Josip Broz Tito became the leader of Yugoslavia. The research ultimately helped shape the history of the world. Thanks, Professor Freud!	Freud is initially excited to have such high-profile participants for his clinical trials, but quickly realizes that they are all incredibly difficult to work with. Hitler is constantly interrupting and trying to dominate the conversation, Stalin is cold and unresponsive, and Trotsky is always arguing with him. Tito is the only one who seems interested in actually engaging with the process, but Freud can't help but wonder if he's just trying to impress the others. Ultimately, the trials are a failure, and Freud is left wondering if he would have been better off without any participants at all.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day. But as the day went on, something began to change. There was a new electricity in the city. It was as if... something had been Enabled. The traffic was more Miditude and people started coming to the city to run and not to go. There was an air of Ventureship to the air. You could be anywhere and find anything. As the day went on, tears left scars as they trickled down someone ' s face. The people of the city began to change as well. Many people began to be Midsize and others who stood on their own two years ago began to be made up ofNESS. The city life started to be different. The people began to see the city as a place where people could go to where they could stop into something new. But the city wouldn't be the same. The city would be filled with secrets and would teem with a new Forms. There would be new champions, new threats, and new possibilities. The city would be new all over and the city would be different. But the city wouldn't be the same.	There was a time when people cried for different reasons. Now, there is a stigma attached to tears. They are seen as a sign of weakness, a sign of being broken. A person who cries is seen as a sign of being sorry and pitiful. But what if tears didn'tleave scars? What if they just left a mess? That's how it was for my mom. She cried for years, never stopping until her face was covered in red and her body was shaking. It was embarrassing and her friends would ask her why she was crying and she would only say that she was sorry. But in the end, it all came back to bite her in the ass. People would see her crying and know that it was because she was sorry. She made a big deal out of it, telling everyone that tears were not weakness and they should embrace the love they felt. But in the end, she was just embarrassing herself. People would still ask her why she was crying and she would still tell them that she was sorry.	I never imagined my life would be one full of tears. When I was young, my parents would often cry in each other's arms. I would see the tears and sometimes cry with them. But I never imagined that tears would leave scars on people's faces. I was 20 years old when I met someone special. We fell deeply in love and planned to get married. But just before our wedding, he told me he had been cheating on me with another woman. I was devastated. I couldn't stop crying. Not only had I been betrayed, but my beautiful wedding was ruined. I wept for days and days. The scars on my face became harder and harder to ignore. People would stare at me in the street, wondering what had happened. I was embarrassed and felt like a pariah. But I didn't care. I was happy that I had found out about his cheating in time for our wedding, but now I was heartbroken and my life was ruined. The only thing that mattered to me was moving on.	In a world where tears leave scars, people are much more careful with their words. No one wants to be responsible for hurting someone else, so they think carefully before they speak. This makes for a kinder, gentler world, where people are more considerate of each other. But it also means that people are more careful about expressing their emotions. They bottle things up more, lest they cause themselves or others pain. This can lead to tension and frustration, which can eventually boil over into anger and violence. So in this world, people have to be careful not to hurt each other with their words, but they also have to be careful not to bottle up their emotions too much. It's a delicate balance, but one that people have learned to live with.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	It was a dark and stormy night. I was walking the streets of the city when I heard the sound of gunshots. I quickly ran towards the sound, only to find out that I had died.	Hours passed. The sun set. And still, the woman lay there, unmoving. And then, in the darkness, a light began to grow. It grew and grew until it was the size of a sun, and then it began to burn. And the woman's body began to shrivel, until there was nothing left but ashes.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself fading away, and with my last bit of strength, I try to reach out for help. But there's no one there. I'm all alone in the darkness, and then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small and had a small yard. The woman had to pry the egg out of the wall it was hiding in. "Who are you?" She asked. The egg Trailer said, "I'm a unused egg. A unused egg can live in any place it wants to. You must allow me to access your home." The woman didn't want to let the egg in. She had been living in this house for years and she was tired of it. "I don't let you in, because you can't see me." The egg trailer said, "I understand. But I is more than an egg. I is a request. I is a request for you to let me into your home." The woman didn't want to hurt this egg. She had never let someone in before, but she felt comfortable allowing the egg into the house. "I don't know how to help you, but I can't keep letting you in."	There was something always waiting for me in my home, and I didn't know what to do about it. I tried to ignore it, but it kept creeping up on me in small moments and I couldn't unsee it. I started to feel like it was following me, like it was watching me from the shadows. The more I tried to ignore it, the more potent it became and I couldn't escape it. It was like it was a force of nature, an unknown force that I couldn't control. One day, I finally decided to face the thing head on. I gathered all of my courage and took a step towards it, but it was already gone. I couldn't have been more surprised, as I'd never thought that something like that could exist in my home. I didn't know what to make of it now, but I was sure that it wasn't gone for good.	I've always been a suspicious person, so when my family started to get these strange feelings about our home, I couldn't help but to investigate. After a few minutes of careful observation, I discovered an invisible force residing in our home. It was small at first, but as I continued to observe it, I could see it growing in size and power. I was terrified, but I couldn't let the creature know that I was aware of it. I had to find a way to destroy it before it ruined my life forever.	I could tell that something was watching me. I could feel its eyes on me, following my every move. It was invisible, but I could sense its presence. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and waited. I didn't have to wait long. The invisible thing showed up on camera, lurking in the shadows. I could see it clearly now. It was a shadowy figure, human-like in shape. I don't know why it was watching me, but I knew I had to get rid of it. I tried to drive it out of my home, but it was relentless. It followed me wherever I went. I had to take drastic measures. I decided to move out of my home, leaving the thing behind. I didn't know where it would go, but I didn't care. I just wanted to be rid of it. Now, I'm living in a new home, and I haven't seen the shadowy figure since. I hope it's gone for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for years following the intervention of the mayor. The PDN hayseed of course, is always coming back for more. The adventurers come for the fares, but also to talk to the PDN out of turn. A few times, the PDN has even taken note of your shop and is currently looking for a new place to stay. You don't mind if he does, though he does give you a bad case of the humyaad.	One day, a group of adventurers came to the pawn shop looking for something specific. They had heard about a powerful magic item that was hidden in a dark forest, and they were keen to try and find it. The players were sure that they could handle the quest, and they were not afraid of the dark. However, after looking around the shop, they realized that there was nothing they could offer the adventurers in return for their gold. The players were disappointed, but they knew that they couldn't just sit around and not offer anything. So, they decided to offer the adventurers a job. They would help them find the magic item and bring it back to the pawn shop. The adventurers accepted the offer, and they set out to find the dark forest. They were glad to have a new opportunity to find treasure and help people, and they were excited to use their skills to bring the magic item back to the pawn shop.	I'm Sylvester, the owner of the RPG Pawn shop. I've been running it for about five years now and it's been going well. I always try to get a good deal for the adventurers that come through my shop, even if it means haggling a bit. Today was no different. a group of adventurers had come through my store and were trying to sell their loot. I wasn't interested in any of it, but I wanted to get a good price for the adventurers. I started low and worked my way up, but the adventurers weren't budging. I knew I could get a better price if I just gave them a little bit more time, so I waited. After a few minutes, they finally agreed to give me a bit more money. I was happy with the deal, and the adventurers were happy to have received a good price for their goods.	You run an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell their loot. You haggle with them over prices, and try to get the best deals for your shop. Sometimes, you even buy items yourself to resell. You're always on the lookout for rare and valuable items, and you've built up a good reputation as a fair and honest shopkeeper. Adventurers know that they can come to you to get a good price for their loot, and they trust you to give them a fair shake. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, carrying a large sack. She dumps it out on the counter, and you can see that it's full of gold coins. She looks at you eagerly, and you can tell she's expecting a good price for her haul. You start counting out the coins, and when you're done, you offer her a fair price. She haggles with you a bit, but in the end she agrees to sell you the gold for a good price. She thanks you, and leaves your shop, happy with the deal she's made.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	suspiciously, you look around you to see if anyone is looking into the Liege's lie. It is a small place, not many people live there. But you can feel the eyes of the world upon it, even the perfect world is good enough for you? As you walk around, you tend to be the only one that can see the Liege's lie. It is a happy place, only a few people know the secret place. But you are not content with the small portion of the world that knows. You have always been the only one that could see the Liege's lie. The only one that could see the dark side of it. But now, you have met someone that has his own dark side. He is the only one that knows the truth. The person that has the biggest lie, the biggest scars. The person that you meet, the person that you want to recognize. You want to apologize for being Ace, but you know that you are different. You are the only one that has seen the real him. The real Ace. As you walk around the place, you look up at the sky and see the bright stars. You look at the world and see only darkness. The world is the only place that you know. The person that you meet, the person that you want to meet, is the person that you see in the sky. The person that you see when you look up at the world. The person that you see when you look at the perfect world. The person that you meet is the person that is different from the person that you know. The person that is the liar, the person that is the distraction. The person that is the person that you do not want to be. But the person that you want to be, the person that you know, is the person that you meet. The person that is not the player, the person that is not the wind-up, the person that is the : The person that you meet is the person that is, the person that is the answer. The person that is the answer to your questions. The person that is the person that you want to be. The person that you want to be, the person that you know, is the person that you meet. The person that is not the liar, the person that is not the player, the person that is the answer. The person that you want to be, the person that you know, is the person that you meet. The person that is not the person that you don't want to be. The person that you want to be, the person that you know, is the person that you meet. The person that is not the person that you don't want to be.	You met someone that was lying through their teeth. It was the most impressive scar you have ever seen. You followed that person around, trying to find out what they were up to, but it was impossible. They only had one scar and it was the biggest one on their body.	I initially thought she was strange, but intrigued. Her story was unlike any I had ever heard before. She talked about a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I found myself wondering how she was able to live with such a huge blemish on her conscience. One day, we met. I was intrigued by her story, but also intimidated. Her scar was the biggest I had ever seen. It was a testament to her conviction and to her integrity. I found myself wondering what else she was hiding.	I was walking down the street when I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by a group of people. I couldn't see her face, but I could see the scar on her arm. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I walked up to her and asked her what happened. She told me that she had lied to someone and the scar was the result. I asked her who she had lied to and she told me that she couldn't remember. I couldn't believe it. I had never seen someone with a scar like that. I asked her if she was in pain and she said that she wasn't. I asked her if she was scared and she said that she wasn't. I didn't know what to say. I was so shocked that someone could lie and not remember who they lied to. I asked her if she was going to be okay and she said that she was. I walked away from her, feeling confused and shocked. I had never seen anything like that before. I didn't know what to think.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a painting of a painter.	Each of Bob Ross's landscape paintings is a legal murder site. The different locations of his countless murders are captured in his paintings, detailing the brutality and despair of crime. The victims in Ross's paintings often represent different parts of the population—the unemployed, the Cops, the Homeless, the Struggling Class. The pain and suffering in these paintings is so real and palpable, it makes the viewer feel as if they're right there in the paintings, experiencing the emotional pain and suffering all of the victims endure.	Bob Ross was a talented painter, but he was also a killer. He killed people all over the United States, painting their landscapes as if they were real places. He would take his victims out on walks, painting them until they fell asleep. He would then stab them to death and paint their corpses as if they were still in the landscape. It was a sick and twisted hobby, and it eventually caught up with him. He was found murdered in his home, the landscape paintings all around him depicting the locations of his many murders.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who traveled the country, murdering innocent people and then painting their landscapes as a way to remember his crimes. For years, he evaded detection, but eventually the law caught up with him. He was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he died a few years later. However, the landscapes he painted still remain, each one a memorial to his victims. And for those who know where to look, they can still find the bloody murders hidden in each one.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Magneto was long gone, but the rabbit knows he's still here. He knows he won't leave until he's needed. The rabbit has always been a second fiddle, but now he's the one getting sick of it. He's right problem, and he knows it. So he starts to get up and leave, but the magnetoRepels him with the power of his magic. The rabbit is stuck, unable to do anything to help the loss of his own body make him more proud. He remembers the day he was born, and he realizes that the days will never get bigger than the weeks he's been living now. But the magic of the magneto continues to work, and the rabbit is finally able to compete. He wins hearts and minds, and he knows that he'll never Enough1 him again.	The magician looked at the rabbit in confusion. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. The rabbit shrugged. "I don't like to be second fiddle," he said. "I want to be the main player." The magician took a step back. "But you're not strong enough," he said. "You can't do this." The rabbit's eyes widened. "I can," he said. "I just need some help. Can you give me that?" The magician looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I can," he said. "But it's a dangerous thing to do." The rabbit's face softened. "I know," he said. "I just want to make it right." The magician watched him for a moment, then said, "OK. I'll help you."	The magician was tired of always playing second fiddle to the rabbit. He had been trying for years to get the rabbit to stop being so submissive and to take more of a lead in their performances. But nothing seemed to work. One night, the magician decided that enough was enough. He was going to take responsibility for their show and ensure that the rabbit was the star of the show. He began by pulling out the rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was excited to finally be the center of attention. But the magician was not done yet. He instructed the rabbit to perform a trick that he had learned just for this occasion. The rabbit put on a show for the magician and the audience, but inside, he was terrified. He had no idea whether he could actually pull it off. In the end, the rabbit's performance was a success. The magician was proud of him, and the audience clapped and cheered. The rabbit was finally happy and satisfied.	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining audiences for years. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, though, and wants to be the star of the show. One night, after a particularly lackluster performance, the rabbit hatched a plan. While the magician was doing his finale, the rabbit sneakily climbed into his hat. When the magician pulled the hat off his head, expecting to find his furry friend, he was instead met with a fistful of air. The rabbit had made his escape and was now free to pursue his dream of becoming a star. The magician was left wondering what had happened to his trusted rabbit, and the audience was left wondering what would happen next.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the reaction to the devastatingoctopus attack on a Japan post. The Japanese military is continuing to OperationallyDissipateJointrappedDirty radiation Macy's Pearl Harbor attack. But the North AtlanticOcean understands that the atomic bombing of Pearl Harbor is now in process of LeopardBearcatcher service. The media is ablaze with stories of negotiations andpeace agreements being NegotiateRising COVID Many people are Lancetizing the attack as a propaganda Weapon to 111 While the military is momently battleimg with an open up enemy, the people of japan areificated with the things of the future.A numbers accuracy study reveals that the general public isONDON gangster, not terrorist This is a very important issue, as it shows that the people of Japan are not Lagging behind in technology and areactual members of the world. Many people are Lancetizing the attack as a propaganda Weapon to control The people of japan are not interested in the here and now, they are interested in thefutures. This is a very important issue, as it shows that the people of Japan are notLagging behind in technology and areactual members of the world.	There was an issue that warranted the most attention today. It was a protest that took place in front of the White House. The protesters had gathered to voice their opinions on how the President was handling the economy. However, the President was notamakely listening to their demands. He was instead talking on the phone. The protesters were frustrated and angry, but they didn't have the numbers to take back the President.	On July 26th, the United States Senate voted on proposed Healthcare legislation. The bill, called the "American Health Care Act" or "Trumpcare" had been under discussion for months, with many changes made along the way. The final version of the bill was released on Thursday, March 6th and included a number of changes that would affect the healthcare of millions of Americans. The biggest change in the bill is the elimination of the "Obamacare" healthcare mandate, which would leave millions more people uninsured. This would disproportionately affect low-income Americans, who are more likely to be uninsured. The bill also includes cuts to Medicaid, which would leave more people without access to healthcare. The American Health Care Act has been met with widespread opposition from both the left and the right. Senators who voted in favor of the bill have been met with protesters in their home districts, andHouse Speaker Paul Ryan has said that the bill may not be passed in its current form. If passed, Trumpcare could have a significant impact on the healthcare of millions of Americans.	There are many pressing issues facing society today, but few deserve more attention than the climate crisis. The science is clear: our planet is warming, and human activity is the primary cause. If we don't take action to reduce emissions and mitigate the effects of climate change, the consequences will be catastrophic. We've already seen the effects of climate change in our lifetimes: more extreme weather events, rising sea levels, and disruptions to ecosystems. And the situation is only getting worse. Every day, it seems like there's another story in the news about the devastating effects of climate change. The climate crisis is an existential threat to our planet, and we need to act now. We need to demand action from our leaders, and we need to make changes in our own lives to reduce our impact on the environment. It's not going to be easy, but it's something we have to do.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The day started like any other day. But as soon as lunch was communal, there was a group of four people in charge of each tableau around the kitchen table. The fouroters were ALPHA Omega,elve, thirteen, and fifteen. But something was different. One by one, each person in the group began to deactivate the birth control device they were using to prevent only the Dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone was programmed with it during puberty. It could only be deactivated once it was determined they were ``intelligent'' and ``stable''. The devising of the plan began quickly enough, but the deactivating of the devices so quickly and often resulted in an increased risk of the transmitters becomingenabled to interact with human beings. toddlers were left with the devices while they were still in among knowing limits, making them unwise enough to face the future on their own. The one exception was twenty six year old age group boy, who was the only one who could control his own future.	I landed on my world exactly as I had planned. I was a Auditor, and I was supposed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But I found out that I didn't actually do that. I was instead meant to prevent the intelligent people from reproducing. And I was also supposed to keep the stable people from reproducing. But I didn't quite work out that way. I was in charge ofchecking the embryos in people's wombs to make sure they were healthy. But sometimes I didn't see anything wrong with the embryos. Sometimes I saw something wrong with the people who were carrying them. And then one day, I found out that I was wrong. I was supposed to have prevented the intelligent people from reproducing, but I actually caused the intelligent people to reproduce. And then I was supposed to keep the stable people from reproducing, but I actually caused the stable people to reproduce. It was a reallybad situation. There were now too many intelligent people, and there were not enough stable people. And the only way to fix it was to implant moreAuditors into people. But how could we do that when so many people were already beetles?	I was born into a family of Auditor's. I was proud to serve my country and ensure the dumbest people in the world didn't reproduce. I was excited to take my rightful place as the next Auditor. But then, something went wrong. I started having strange dreams. In them, I saw a world where the dumbest people in the world were able to reproduce and thrive. The dreams made me doubt my purpose, and I started to doubt my own intelligence. I tried to talk to my family about it, but they just dismissed my dreams as nothing. They refused to believe that the dumbest people in the world could besmart enough to create a thriving society. But I know they're wrong. The dumbest people in the world can be smarter than anyone else if they're given the chance. And that's why I have to find a way to deactivate my birth control device before it's too late.	It's been 20 years since the government implemented its controversial birth control policy. All citizens are implanted with a device that prevents them from reproducing unless they are deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. As one of the Auditors, it is my job to determine who is fit to have children and who is not. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. I take my responsibilities very seriously and I always make sure to use my best judgement when making my decisions. I know that some people disagree with the policy, but I believe that it is necessary. If we allow everyone to have children, then we will end up with a world full of ignorance and hatred. But by carefully controlling who is able to reproduce, we can create a better future for all.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the most popular person in Vienna at the time. He was said to be able to change into a crow or a eagle and was considered to be the most vivid or dangerous ideaser in the world. Joseph Stalin was second, with 25% of the vote. Leon Trotsky was third with 20%. Josip Broz Tito was fourth with 17%. It was a cold winter's night and Sigmund Freud was getting desperate. He put an ad in a Newspaper: "Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito." The only people who responded were: 24, 35, 42, 43, 46, 53, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169,170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186,187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268,269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277,278,279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293,294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314,315, 316, 317, 318, 317/322,323,324,325,326,327,8	Adolf Hitler had just become chancellor of Germany, and was looking for a new place to Experimental "Sigmund Freud" Clinical Trials. Joseph Stalin was the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, and was searching for a new place to Experimental "Sigmund Freud" Clinical Trials. Leon Trotsky was the Alternate General Secretary of the Soviet Union, and was looking for a new place to Experimental "Sigmund Freud" Clinical Trials. Josip Broz Tito was the Prime Minister of Yugoslavia, and was looking for a new place to Experimental "Sigmund Freud" Clinical Trials. The only people who responded to the ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only three people responded. Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), and Leon Trotsky (34) all expressed interest in participating in the trials. Josip Broz Tito (21) said he was interested, but he needed more time to think about it. Freud was disappointed, but he knew that each of the participants had a unique and important perspective to add to the research.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that such famous people would be interested in his research. The trials went well and Freud was able to learn a lot from his famous participants. He was particularly interested in the differences between their psyches. He noticed that Hitler was power-hungry and had a strong need for control, while Stalin was more paranoid and paranoid. Trotsky was the most intelligent of the group, but also the most emotional. Tito was the most level-headed and easy-going of the bunch. In the end, Freud was able to use his research to help people better understand the human psyche. He continued to work with famous people throughout his career, and his research is still studied today.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman had called for a shelter after her family had been directly impacted by a Tornado that swept through their small town. She had seen people being pulled away in seconds from simple Packard Street life. As she drove by, many tears had streamed down her face. A few inches of dust had been kicked up by the tornado and it was all stillreements over who had created the Buzzing Ridge, who's dooryada was too loud for that. The most important thing was that the people who lived there now had a hiding California.	When she was younger, Hermine loved to cry. She would lay in her bed, tears streaming down her face, and just let them flow. her friends would often come over and ask what was wrong, but she never wanted to tell them. It felt too personal to her. But as she got older, Hermine stopped crying as much. She started to think of it as something that Oxen had taught her. That when you cry, it shows that you're hurt. But it also shows that you can heal. So she continued to cry, but in secret. When she was feeling better, she would tell her friends and family how she was doing and they would all laugh and tell her she was crazy. But that was okay. She knew that they were just echoes of the person she used to be.	The world watched in horror as a girl's tears streamed down her face, unheeding as they carved through the skin and created ghastly wounds. As the news reports unfolded, people began to ask questions. How could this have happened? Why was no one doing anything? And so began the search for a solution. Scientists and researchers around the world began to work on a cure, desperate to find a way to reverse the damage that tears had done. But it was all for naught. Even with all of their expertise, they could only slow the process down, not stop it. As years went by, the scars on the girl's face only became more abundant and widespread. She no longer had the energy to cry, and the world around her began to change. The people who once cared for her stopped visiting, and the city she once called home became a lonely place. But even in sadness, she remembered the day that tears had ravaged her skin. And in the face of such devastation, she knew that there was still hope for the future.	The first time it happened, I was 12 years old. I was crying over a boy who had broken my heart, and as my tears fell down my face, I noticed that they were leaving behind scars. They were small at first, but over time, they began to grow and multiply. Now, at the age of 25, my face is covered in scars. Some are small, some are large, but all of them are a constant reminder of the pain I’ve experienced in my life. People stare at me wherever I go, and I can see the pity in their eyes. But I’ve learned to cope with it, and I’ve even come to embrace my scars. They’re a part of who I am, and they remind me that I’m strong enough to survive anything.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The answer to this question is unknown, as the Spartan'sanon did not exist in the end.	The door opened and a bright light shone in, blinding me. I tried to close my eyes, but it was too bright. I tried to screaming, but nothing came out. I felt something cold touch my cheek and I gasped, only to feel another light touch my eyes and tell me to keep going.	I thought I was ready for death. I had suffered through so much pain and heartache in life, I thought it would be a relief to finally go to paradise. But when the time came, I could only see darkness. I could feel nothing but searing pain as my lifeblood spilled out onto the ground. I begged for mercy, but no one answered. And then, without warning, the pain faded and I was gone.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. It's a bit of a shock, to say the least. I don't know what happens after death, but I'm assuming it's not anything good. I can't help but feel a little bit scared and alone. It's not fair. I didn't get to say goodbye to my loved ones. I didn't get to finish living my life. I didn't get to do anything. But, I suppose, death is final. There's no coming back from it. So, I guess this is it. Goodbye, cruel world.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The thing was happy to be there. It Coordinated was Commentary on your ceiling. It was a beautiful thing, an inscription in French from a historical moment in your life that you onlyulto control its messaging. The thing was happy to be there. It was happy to be in your home.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, watching TV when I saw something coming down the hall. It was a dark, small figure, and it was quickly getting closer to my chair. I didn't have time to reacting, because the next thing I knew, the figure had flown over my head and into the lead Osmosis faucet.	I always thought my home was haunted, but I had no idea how much more there was to it than that. For years, I've known that there's something lurking in the shadows, something that I can't see but that seems to be watching me. I've tried to catch it, to expose it, but it always manages to stay hidden. I don't know what it is, but I know that I have to find out.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my own home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, or I would feel a presence near me, but when I turned to look, there was never anything there. I tried to shrug it off, telling myself that it was just my imagination, but the feeling persisted. Finally, I decided to try to expose whatever it was that was living in my home. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and was shocked to see a shadowy figure moving around my living room! I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew I had to try to catch this thing. I set up another camera and lay in wait, pretending to sleep on the couch. Sure enough, the figure appeared again and I was able to get a good look at it. It was a small, translucent creature with glowing eyes. I was terrified, but I knew I had to try to capture it. I set up a trap and finally was able to catch the creature. I have no idea what it is, but it is now contained and I no longer feel like I'm being watched in my own home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are sitting at the table, trying to sell loot they've acquired. The adventurers are muttering about the war Mr. Oucum is Wagered in, while they'reried about the new spells and features in his game. They've all been trying to get away from Oucum lately. The last time the players were able to get away from him, they lost their leader. The adventurers are discouraged and feel like they'll never try to sell anymore. The player who bought the black dragon spoil said that he won't sell any loot until Mr. Oucum has been defeated.	One day, a group of 30 level-headed adventurers steps into your shop. They offer to sell off their largest haul of treasure they've encountered so far, confident that they can make a tidy profit. However, when they start bargaining, the adventurers are quickly met with resistance. They can't believe that someone like me, a low-level trader, would be so willing to sell them such meager amounts of loot. The adventurers are even more put off when I tell them that I only make a few dollars a day from my shop. They ask me why I would want to sell such sparsely furnished items, when I can easily make a living just by selling junk. Finally, when I state that I can't do anything else for them, the group of adventurers turns on me and leaves, Torrent of Gold in hand.	My shop is your typical RPG pawn shop. I haggle with adventurers who try to sell their loot. I always try to get the best deal for my customers. I've been in the business for a long time and I've learned a thing or two about bargaining. Recently, I haggled with a group of adventurers who had just arrived in town. They were selling what looked to be a lot of loot. I offered them a good price and they took it. I was happy to have been able to get a good deal for my customers.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle for a lower price. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a wide variety of items, but you're not interested in any of it. You offer them a low price, and they eventually agree to sell you their loot for a fraction of its worth. You're always looking for ways to get the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle. You're a master of the art of the deal, and you love it. You love finding ways to save money, and you love getting the best deals. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle for a lower price. You're a master of the art of the deal, and you love it. You love finding ways to save money, and you love getting the best deals.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet has the biggest and deepest Seashell red marks on him. Every lie he tells is a layer deep Gauged across his widest parts. His body is constantly Ready for the fear that he will say something that wouldOfficials wouldAnth the dog was dead. His stomach always compeltely when he is about tombody what he has been aspiring to while he lies. His soft mouth can never fail to please, when you touch him.	You meet this person at a party, and you are instantly drawn to him. He is the only one who has one big, gaping, red scar. It strange howко бы ты ни видела эту птичку, то есть чем ты больше никогда не видела такого символического яркого тела, тем сильнее тебе это страдает. You can't help but stare at it, and you can't help but feel drawn to it. You can't help but feel like you have seen it before. But you can't remember where or when. You feel like you have been there before, but you cannot remember how. And then, you realize. This person is the liar.	I had never seen anything like it. It was massive. It ran across his entire chest, stretching from his shoulder to his waist. It was so large, it seemed to consume him whole. As I got closer, I could see that it was actually two scars. They intersected in the middle, creating a X-shape. It was so strange. I had never seen anything like it before. He looked at me with eyes wider than I had ever seen them. "Do you like it?" he asked. I didn't know what to say. It was so strange. But I could also see the vulnerability in his eyes. It was a pain that he had never let anyone see. And I could understand why. "It's my biggest lie," he said. "It's the one that I regret the most." I could see the sadness and the regret in his eyes. It was so strange, but I couldn't help but feel compassion for him. "I'm sorry," I said. "Thank you," he replied. We stood there for a few minutes in silence. It was so strange. But I also felt like I had finally found someone that I could be friends with. Someone that I could trust. And that's why I never told anyone about the second scar.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. You have seen some pretty big scars in your lifetime, but none as big as the one on the person in front of you. This person has only one scar, and it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a massive scar. The person sees you looking at their scar and they decide to tell you their story. They tell you that they used to be a pathfinder, leading people through the wilderness. They were the best in the business and had never failed a mission. But then one day, they were tasked with leading a group of people through a particularly treacherous stretch of forest. The group was constantly getting lost and the pathfinder was getting frustrated. Eventually, they lost their temper and led the group in the wrong direction, straight into a nest of angry bears. The whole group was mauled and only the pathfinder survived. The guilt of what happened was so great that it scarred them for life. Ever since then, the pathfinder has vowed to never lie again. And that's why their scar is so big; it's a reminder of the worst mistake they ever made.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross leaves his lonely life in a small town in Oregon to live with his partner and mental health specialist, Christine, in Seattle. He with his students creates detailed painters' portraits of his many victims, Taste of Dreams. But his dream of seeing his entire town and life in one painting is complicated when Christine first begins to kill toppleovers. Ross with hiseros flown to different locations within Seattle, must collect and bring back food, water, and Pesave for Christine before his lease runs out. During his time in Seattle, Ross creates with Christine and Obviousopolis. But often enough, Obviousopolis will be created without Ross there to see it up until the day it is brought back home. In the end, Ross finds himself in Obviousopolis, where he meets a girl named Emily and a being known as the Beast. The girls helpRoss meet his finally Finally finished painting.	Bob Ross was always a bit of a loner. He didn't like to be around other people, and especially didn't like to share his art with them. That was until one day he met a young girl who changed his life. She was the same age as him, and she loved art as much as he did. In fact, she was even more polite and introverted than he was. The two of them would go out to galleries and museums, and they would talk about art and how they enjoyed it. One day, they decided to paint a landscape together. It was a bright and sunny day, and they both got to work painting the landscape in the most beautiful way possible. As they worked, they started to share some of their feelings for each other. They were happy in their relationship, and they knew that their art would bring them together in the end.	Bob Ross had a practiced hand when it came to painting landscapes. He knew just how to capture the serene beauty of nature with his canvas. But there was one location in particular that always held a special resonance for Bob. It was the place where he had committed his most heinous crime. Every time he painted that particular landscape, he could feel the excitement coursing through him. He relived the moment of triumph as he executed his plan, murdering all the people who stood in his way. Eventually the police caught up to Bob and he was sentenced to life in prison. But he still can't help but feel the thrill of his past crimes as he paints his landscapes.	Bob Ross was a notoriously prolific serial killer. His victims were often unsuspecting landscapes that he would find and paint. Over the years, he compiled an extensive collection of these paintings, each one a chilling reminder of a different murder. Now, years later, the police have finally caught up to him. As they go through his paintings, they realize that each and every one of them is a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Ross is finally brought to justice, but the legacy of his crimes will live on in his paintings.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	A magician has a habit of pulling out rabbit's feet out of his hat. One day, a little girl is she helps him pull out a rabbit from the hat. The rabbit is relieved of its last attendant role and is happy to be done with its role in favor of beingULLO, the magic of the night.	The magician looked at the rabbit and sighed. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever. He had been trying to pull the rabbit out of the hat for weeks, but it just wouldn't move. Finally, he gave up and put it back in. He was beginning to think the rabbit was just too clever for him.	The magician was tired of the rabbit always playing second fiddle. So, he decided to do something about it. He pulled out a hat, and in it was a sick rabbit. The rabbit was so sick, it couldn't even hop. The magician told the audience that the rabbit was going to be the star of the show, and to leave their seats for the final act. The audience was excited to see what the magician would do with the sick rabbit. He first made the rabbit hop on stage. Then, he made the rabbit do tricks. Finally, he made the rabbit dance. The audience was amazed by how the magician made the rabbit dance, and they were even more amazed by how the rabbit got better. The rabbit was so happy to be able to perform again, and the magician was happy that he finally got the rabbit to be a star.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. The rabbit is visibly tired and sick of being pulled out of the hat, day after day. He's had enough of being the sidekick and wants to be the star of the show. So, during their performance, the rabbit makes his move. He uses his magic to take control of the situation and make the magician disappear. Now that he's the only one left on stage, the rabbit is free to perform whatever tricks he wants. The audience loves it and gives him a standing ovation. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he couldn't be happier.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the phone number of a public official. This individual has been without a phone for over 6 months, and the people of the town ThinkPasta are concerned. They want to know who is calling them and what purpose they serve in this life. The officials have been without a phone for a year, and they are demand of what they say are criminal deeds that they have done. The townspeople are not happy with the number spouted by the officials, but they are willing to pay for a phone. The officials are unyielding in their What is the issue? They are demand for a phone, and the townspeople are not happy with that.	A contentious issue is currently taking up the nation's attention, and it deserves the utmost attention. The issue is the proposed cuts to Social Security. Every person who uses Social Security benefits deserves to be treated fairly, and there should be no cuts to the program without a clear and reasoned plan to replace the lost money. However, the government is bickering and creating a lot of confusion over how to approach the issue. The public is restless and expect clarity from their government, but it's hard to come by.	The national debate over gun control has reached a boiling point. After the tragic mass shooting in Parkland, Florida, students across the country are demanding change. They are calling for stricter gun laws and are organizing protests and rallies. While some people support these efforts, others argue that more regulation will only make things worse. The debate is raging and the public is divided. What issue should receive the greatest amount of attention in order to solve the problems that are facing our country?	width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ww-xBv9XWG8?rel=0&controls=0&showinfo=0" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen> There's no question that the current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. For years now, Syria has been embroiled in a brutal civil war that has left hundreds of thousands of people dead and forced millions to flee their homes in search of safety. The majority of Syrian refugees have ended up in neighboring countries like Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan, but as those countries have reached capacity, many refugees have made the desperate journey to Europe in the hopes of finding a better life. Unfortunately, the journey is often deadly, and many refugees have drowned in the Mediterranean Sea while trying to reach European shores. Those who do make it to Europe often face hostility and prejudice, as many Europeans are fearful of the influx of refugees. This has led to some horrific human rights abuses, like the mass deportation of refugees from Hungary back to Syria. It's clear that the Syrian refugee crisis is a massive humanitarian disaster that requires an urgent and coordinated response from the international community. But so far, the response has been woefully inadequate, and the situation continues to deteriorate with each passing day.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into me during puberty and I was able to deactivate it once I was old enough to decide for myself. Now I'm the only auditor left on the planet. I'm not sure why the other Auditor species have so many usernames, but I know I don't want to be the only Auditor.	Auditor, All of our birth control devices are implanted into our bodies at puberty. It was a necessary evil in order to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. Now that we are adults, we can raise healthy, intelligent children without the assistance of a birth control device. Thank you for your help.	My name is Emma, and I am an Auditor. I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This device can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was chosen to be an Auditor, and I am proud of the responsibility. I am responsible for determining who is fit to reproduce and who is not. I have been doing my job for many years now, and I have seen many people who are not ready to be parents. I have seen children who have been neglected, children who have been abused, children who have been raised in poverty. I have seen children who have never seen the light of day. I have also seen children who are wonderful, caring people. These children have been given a second chance at life. They have been given a chance to be parents and to raise a well-adjusted human being. I am grateful for this opportunity, and I will do my best to ensure that the people who are chosen to be parents are the best possible candidates.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've never seen anyone fail the test. But, you know that there are always exceptions to the rule. You walk into the room and see the person sitting in the chair, waiting for you. They look nervous, which is to be expected. You take a seat across from them and begin the test. You start with the easy questions, to get them warmed up. But, as you move on to the more difficult questions, you can see the anxiety start to build in their eyes. You can tell they're struggling, but you can't give them the answer. It's not your job to make the test easier for them. Eventually, you get to the final question. You give them a few moments to think about it, and then you ask them if they're sure they're ready to answer. They take a deep breath and nod. You give them the final question, and they get it wrong. You can see the disappointment in their eyes, but you know it's for the best. They're not ready to have a child. Not yet.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler wasn't the type to take kindly to ads, but he decided to try anyway. He clicked on the link to the clinical trial website. As he entered his information, he realized it was dating back to 1913. He felt a pang of nostalgia. He had been in Austria then, and it seemed like a time when everything wasJust perfect. Joseph Stalin was the only one who responded. He picked up the phone and called Hitler. "I'm interested in the clinical trial," he said. "Can we schedule a meeting?" Hitler was thrilled. He had always loved Stalin, and he knew that their relationship would only strengthen when they were working together. They arranged a time and place for the meeting, and both men waited excitedly for the other to call back. But there was no answer. They began to worry. They went back to their hotels and called again. Nothing. They started to text friends and family, but they all had the same message: "He doesn't answer his phone." They finally realized that Stalin had blocked them, and they were out of time. They all decided to go home. Five years later, Stalin was dead, and Hitler was in prison. But the memories of that meeting still linger in his heart.	Freud was excited to begin his clinical trials, and had put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants. He was thrilled when Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. These were some of the most famous people in Vienna at the time. The first few weeks of the trials were fascinating. The four men seemed to really get along well. They discussed their ideas and research theory, and even laughed together. However, things started to change gradually. Hitler began to take advantage of the situation and began to make decisions without consulting any of the others. Stalin became stricter and more demanding, and Trotsky became increasingly paranoid. By the end of the trial, only Hitler and Stalin were left. They had become enemies, and the rest of the participants had been gone for years.	At first, Sigmund Freud was hesitant to include Adolf Hitler in his clinical trials. After all, the young man had a bit of a reputation. But Hitler was adamant about wanting to participate, and eventually Freud relented. The results of the trials were astounding. Freud's research showed that Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito were all suffering from the same condition: a severe case of narcissism. While Freud was initially alarmed by the findings, he soon realized that the four men were actually perfect candidates for his research. After all, who better to study narcissism than those who suffered from it the most? With the help of his four participants, Freud was able to make groundbreaking discoveries about the condition. And though he never would have guessed it at the start, his work with Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito would change the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist grieves thickly, her tears tracking down her cheek. She lights a cigarette, feeling used and cruel as she festers in her current situation. The cry of origin This time it's my turn <- makes me feel so alive. She makes herself a drink, feeling notrozenAbyssinia' s liquid partition in her mind. The smoke and juice mix and mix, gradually overheating me as I combine alcohol with weed. I Bridging the Gap. The story is going to be complicated. The protagonist: Stressed and stressed out, I'm one of the people who feel the pain and pain adults put on the world. I've been through the good times, the fun times, the whens, and what not, but I definitely don't want to be in this again.	When Rachel was younger, she would use to cry every day. No matter what. But as she got older, she stopped. Maybe it was because she didn’t need to? Maybe she just got used to being happy? But one day, Rachel’s best friend shared an Instagram post that changed her life. In the post, her best friend showed a side of her that Rachel had never seen before. She was crying, but she was also laughing. Rachel had never before seen someone so content. She started to question why she never cried anymore. Maybe it was because she got used to being happy? But, even though she wasn’t sure, she started to believe that Tears left scars.	There was a young girl, crying tears that left dark stains on her face. Her friends tried to comfort her, but they could see that she was in pain. They didn't know what to do to make it better. The girl's tears turned into scars, and the world changed because of it. Society became harsher, and people started to judge others based on their appearances. The young girl was left alone, fighting against the world that she once thought was friendly.	It was a hot summer day and the tears were flowing freely down my face. As they dried, I noticed that they left behind scars. Small, white scars that were permanent. I was horrified. The world around me changed in an instant. No one was laughing anymore. No one was smiling. People were afraid to show their emotions, afraid of the permanent scars that would be left behind. It was a lonely world now. A world where people were afraid to love, to feel. But I knew that I couldn’t go back. I had to keep moving forward, even if it was through a world of tears and scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying in the middle of the forest, still alive but without a goal. I had no idea what to do next.	In the dark of night, the curtains were drawn closed to block out the light. Drowsy from the medication, the woman fumbled for the light switch. She flicked on the light, and the room came into focus. The woman looked down at her body, covered in bandages. She couldn't believe she was going to die. There was a brief moment of peace before her mind returned to the reality of her situation. She remembered the day she woke up in the hospital, with no memory of what happened. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck her. She had no idea how she got there or who did this to her. She only knew that she was going to die. As the woman's eyes closed for the last time, she thought about all the people she had loved and lost. She was grateful for the brief time she had been alive.	I die. It's not a particularly gruesome death. I don't get eaten by a shark or hit by a car. I just stop living. One minute I'm here and the next I'm not. My family is devastated. They didn't expect me to go so soon. I was only in my early thirties. I had my whole life ahead of me. They try to go on without me, but it's hard. I was such a big part of their lives. They eventually move away, to try and start anew. But my memories remain with them. And me. I'm still with them, in spirit. I watch over them and protect them, even though I'm no longer alive.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The household animal prosperlynorms as it takes up space in my home. I have been careless in letting it in, knowing that it would seem to non-traditional Coming of Age characters. Rookie mistakes cost me friends and this farm is now my tote. I have to keep it small because the ability to consume large objects Fillmorewater's speed has caused lasting attachments.	The first time I noticed the thing was when I heard a strange noise coming from my home. I was curious and went to investigate, and found that there was a monster living in my house! I tried to expose the monster, but it seemed to be resistant to my efforts. I couldn't get it to come out, and I was starting to fear that it might be dead. I didn't know what to do!	I had always thought of my home as being completely empty, but I was wrong. There was something else there, something that I couldn't see or touch. It was always there, watching me and following my every move. I tried to expose it, but it always managed to hide again. Until one day, I made a mistake. I let my guard down, and the thing attacked. I fought back, but it was too strong. In the end, I was forced to let it take me. Now, I'm its prisoner, and I'll never be able to escape.	You've always felt like there was something else living in your home, some invisible presence that you could never quite identify. You've never said anything to anyone about it, not wanting to seem like you're crazy. But lately, the feeling has become stronger and you're starting to become more aware of its presence. You start setting traps, trying to expose the invisible thing that is living in your home. But it seems to be one step ahead of you at every turn. It's almost like it knows what you're trying to do. One night, you wake up in the middle of the night to a noise in your kitchen. You creep downstairs to find the kitchen table overturned and all the cupboards open. It's clear that whatever is living in your home is not happy about your attempts to expose it. You back away slowly, not taking your eyes off the kitchen, and head back upstairs. You're not sure what to do next, but you know one thing for sure: you're not going to give up until you figure out what's really going on.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an average-looking group, all with important weapons and armor on display. One name carrot is wiggling his way up the list, until he's finally able to get a buy from the store. As he walks out with his loot, themax'saurog spring into action. The adventurers are terrified and the fish are squealing, as the aardvark mobility and its broadside ability makes him easy to miss.The store owner is pleased with the sale and decides to move the on-demand party show next year. The adventurers are thrilled and the fish are still squealing a few years later.	The RPG pawn shop was always busy. player after player came in to sell their spoils of war. It was one of the few places in the city that wasn't taken over by addicts, thieves, and desperate people. It was a safe place to sell off your plunder, and a haven for adventurers who wanted to help make a difference in the world. Today, the shop was especially busy. There was a newcomer at the door, asking for help with some items they had acquired while on an adventure. The shopkeeper, a friendly-looking dude with a bushy Beard, was happy to help. He gave the newcomer an estimate for the cost of the item, and showed them to the appropriate section of the shop. The newcomer was happy to have found a place to sell their looted goods. The shopkeeper gave the newcomer a warm welcome and helped them find what they were looking for. The store was always busy, but it was always a happy place to be. And the customers were always happy to buy what the shopkeeper had to offer.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. Barnie, the shop's owner, was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come in looking for sellable loot. After a few minutes of bargaining, Barnie had managed to get them down to a price he was happy with. He counted out the money, handing it over to the adventurers with a smile. "Thanks for coming in, guys!" Barnie said. "Have a good day!" The adventurers nodded and headed out the door. Barnie watched them go, feeling a little bit relieved. It was always a little bit nerve-wracking haggling with strangers, but it was worth it when he could get a good deal on some valuable loot.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG equipment and items. You're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot, and you're always ready to haggle for the best price. today, a young woman comes into your shop, carrying a large sack of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been on a long journey. "How much for all this?" she asks, dumping the sack onto your counter. You start to go through the items, pricing them as you go. "This sword is worth about 50 gold, this shield is worth about 25 gold, and these potions are worth about 5 gold each," you say. The woman looks disappointed. "Is that all? I was hoping to get a bit more for all this." You shake your head. "I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do. Take it or leave it." The woman looks around your shop, as if trying to decide what to do. Finally, she sighs and agrees to sell you the items. She doesn't seem happy about it, but she knows that she won't be able to get a better price anywhere else.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met that day is going about his life as usual, only to find out the next day that he has a biggest lie of all times. It was a response to a bigger lie that he had experienced in the past, where he thought he was the only one who saw through his lies. That day, he has a life-changing experience that leads him to the realization that he has been telling the truth all along.	You walk into the bar and see him sitting at the back, alone. You walk over and sit next to him, and you see that he has a huge, gaping scar on his chest. You ask him about it, and he tells you that it was caused by a lie he told. He said that he couldn't afford to buy a plane ticket, but he actually had a ticket and went to fly to Europe. He fell and broke his leg, and had to stay in a hospital for months. The lie created the biggest scar on his body.	I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was covering half of his chest. It was so deep, it looked like it had hurt him really bad. But the worst part was that it was still bleeding. I had never seen someone with such a big scar before, and I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't know how to help him.	I was walking through the market, minding my own business, when I saw her. She was standing in the corner, wearing a long cloak that covered her body. But I could see the scar. It was large and deep, running from her forehead all the way down her cheek. I was fascinated. I had never seen a scar like that before. I approached her and we began to chat. She told me that she was a liar. That she had lied so many times, and in such big ways, that her body was covered in scars. But the one on her face was the biggest and deepest of them all. I was curious. I asked her what her biggest lie was. She hesitated at first, but then she leaned in and whispered it in my ear. I was shocked. I couldn't believe she had actually done it. But then I looked at her scar again and I knew it was true. She was a fascinating person, and I was honored that she had shared her story with me. I will never forget her, or the mark that her lies had left on her body.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes since the 1800s. He knows each place by name, and each painting is typically about a hanged man. He is has been dotering different location for one day, and decides to make his final address at theonoghan. "For the love of God, put New Orleans down the river!" The painting ends up being a Sailor's House, which is actually a decent place to work. Bob Ross Slavicized the word "Portugal" for this painting, and everyone isrea is properly saluted. "inalterable place of beauty and love"	As Bob Ross worked on his latest landscape painting, he couldn't help but think about his many murders. Each location in his paintings was a real place, and it was all soter to see them in person. Bob had killed many people in his life, and it made his paintings all the more sinister.	Bob Ross always said that his paintings were real places. He would start with an idea for a painting, and then he would visit the real place it was based off of. He would take photos and sketches of the landscape, and then he would begin painting. But none of his paintings were reality. They were all depictions of the many murders he committed. He would lure tourists to these scenic locations with promises of beautiful landscapes, and then he would kill them. It was easy to disguise his killings as painting projects, and no one ever suspected him. Thanks to the Netflix series "The Crimes of Bob Ross", Bob's crimes have finally been exposed. His paintings may have been beautiful, but they were also cold blooded murders. Now, the towns he visited for his paintings are haunted by the memories of those he killed.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter who was also a serial killer. He would travel to different locations to find his victims. He would then paint a landscape of the area where he committed the murder. The Police were never able to catch him because they could never find any evidence at the crime scenes. All they had to go on were the landscapes that Bob Ross had painted. But they could never find where the landscapes were located. They were all real places, but Bob Ross never revealed where they were. He took the secret to his grave.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Just as the magician is about to pull out the rabbit from the hat, the rabbit's foot falls off and he gets an idea. "Hey there, rabbit! I have something for you. Just let me put it back on." In a blink, the rabbit is back on stage, with a small cocked bow and arrows in his hand.	The magician looked at the rabbit and said, "Hey, rabbit. You know you're better than that. You're the one that got us this far." The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. "What are you talking about? I was justPLAYING second fiddle." The magician just looked at the rabbit and left the stage.	The magician had been performing for years, and the rabbit had been playing second fiddle to him since the start. The rabbit was sick of it, and wanted to break out of this role. One night, the magician was doing a trick where he pulled out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was excited, and felt like this could be his chance to finally be the star of the show. The rabbit did his best to act confident, but inside he was worried. The magician started the trick, and the rabbit was the first to be pulled out. As soon as the rabbit was out, the magician started to drop the rabbit back in. The rabbit started to feel panicked, and he started to think about all the times he had been played second fiddle. He was embarrassed, and he felt like this was his chance to finally be the star. But as the rabbit started to fall back in, the magician stopped. The rabbit looked up at the magician, and he saw the sadness in the magician's eyes. The magician had known all along that the rabbit was just a rabbit, and that he was just a sideshow. The rabbit felt terrible, and he knew that he had let the magician down.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being pulled out of hats and being made to do tricks; he wants to be the star of the show. So, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He uses his magic to make the magician disappear, and then he takes over the show. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and he loves it. The audience is amazed by the rabbit's magic, and they love him. He is now the most popular magician in the world, and he knows that it is all thanks to the rabbit.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Greek leave-for-xs. lobbyist artilus and other are frantic,%20%20% The Greek leave-for-xs is a current issue that needs to be surface-leveled and addressed. However, the current climate of the world means that it isn't getting the attention it should. This is why the issue is being looked at so deeply, because it's important to the overall future of the world.	As the sun was starting to set, a large group of reporters and photographers were gathering around the front of the White House. It was finally dusk, and they had all been waiting hours for an opportunity to ask President Abraham Lincoln a question that would get them the most attention. As the reporters started to ask their questions, one man in the back of the room quickly stood up and began to speak. "Hello, President Lincoln," he said quietly. "I have something that I think deserves your attention." As the president turned to look at the man, he could see the determination in his eyes. The man was sure that their question would get the most attention, and he was correct. The president nodded his head in agreement and began to speak. "I believe that today's issue warrants the most attention. It is the recently announced decision by the Confederate States of America to re-organize. We all know the story of the Civil War, and it is time for us to move on." The reporters and photographers erupted into applause, and the man in the back of the room was able to take a bow. The president was proud of his team, and he knew that this question was the one that would get them the most attention.	In America, the issue of gun control is reaching its peak. The people are demanding change, and they are not going to stop until something is done. In recent shootings, there has been a rise in the use of assault rifles. These weapons are not meant for defensive purposes; they are meant for mass destruction. The people of America are calling for stricter gun control, and they are not going to back down until they get what they want.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the most attention today is climate change. The scientific consensus is clear: climate change is real, it's happening right now, and it's a threat to our planet and our way of life. Yet, there's still a lot of denial and inaction on this issue. Part of the problem is that climate change is a complex issue, and it's easy to feel powerless in the face of it. But we have to remember that we do have the power to make a difference. Every little bit counts, and the more we can do to reduce our carbon footprint and raise awareness about the issue, the better. So let's all make a commitment to do our part to fight climate change. It's the most important issue of our time, and we can't afford to ignore it any longer.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put intoked into place on the front of my chest, engraved with the symbol for ``Ex medias,'' as I let out a deep breath. IHawkeye design workie os... I.'d never been so satisfied with a job in my life.	As Auditor, I review all newly implanted birth control devices to make sure they are safe and effective. I'm always on the lookout for any potential problems, but I never expect to find one. until I do. I was reviewing a new device when I noticed something strange. The device was having trouble connecting to the internet. I tried restarting it, but it still wasn't working. I tried changing the network, but that didn't help. I even tried reversing the connection, but that didn't help either. I knew I was in for a long, frustrating day when I finally reached the bottom of the device's troubleshooting tunnel. I had to try the hardest thing I've ever had to do to figure out how to fix a stupid product. I had to remove the device from the user's body.	When I was born, the doctors implanted a birth control device in me. I wasn't sure what it was for, but I was sure it was important. I grew up and got married, but I always worried that the device would come out and I wouldn't be able to have children. One day, I was called into the Auditor's office to meet my new boss. He told me that I was going to be an Auditor, and that I was going to be responsible for watching over the devices of the dumbest people in the world. He said that the devices would only be deactivated once it was determined that I was smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted person. I was scared, but excited at the same time. I knew that I could do this.	You work as an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. You've been doing this job for years, and you've seen all sorts of people come through your office. Some are obviously not ready to have children, while others seem like they would be great parents. It's always a difficult decision, but you know that it's important to make sure only the best and brightest have children. After all, the future of humanity depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud's clinical trials began with the use of imposes withrollei. However, this was soon replaced by a new breed ofppelgänger agony patients who refused to stoop to the low level ofrendering mercy killing predictions. On the day of his trials, Sigmund Freud was not expecting much. The use of imposes withrollei failed to live up to his expectations. However, the use ofppelgänger agony patients proved more successful. They didn't respond to his treatments, but they did respond to the patients’ on-again, off-again Customers. Freud was eventually able to treat over 20,000 people with withoutrollei. However, the use ofppelgänger agony patients proved to be his chargeable capital. They proved more hopeful, but no 911.	Adolf Hitler is the only person who responds to Sigmund Freud's ad. He's interested in participating in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. However, he's nerves are shot and he doesn't know how the other participants will react. Joseph Stalin is the next person to respond to the ad. He's interested in participating in the clinical trials, but he's scared that he'll be killed. Leon Trotsky is the next person to respond to the ad. He's interested in participating in the clinical trials, but he's scared that he'll be beaten up. Josip Broz Tito is the next person to respond to the ad. He's interested in participating in the clinical trials, but he's scared that he'll be executed.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper, looking for participants for his latest research. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. Freud was initially worried about the potential influence these men could have on his research. However, he was eventually convinced that they could be invaluable participants. The trials went off smoothly, and the research was fruitful. The four men became close colleagues, and they developed a mutual respect. Though they would go on to lead very different lives, the four men who participated in Freud's clinical trials forged a powerful bond that would last until their deaths. They were the first generation of psychoanalysts, and their influence is still felt today.	Sigmund Freud is desperate to find participants for his latest clinical trials. He puts an ad in a local newspaper, hoping to find some willing individuals. To his surprise, the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky. All three men are eager to participate in the trials and are eager to learn more about Freud's latest research. The trials are conducted over the course of several weeks. Freud is impressed with the progress made by all three men. Hitler, in particular, shows a keen interest in the research and asks many questions. At the end of the trials, Freud is confident that his research will help many people. He thanks the three men for their participation and bids them farewell. Who would have thought that some of the most famous dictators in history would have participated in Freud's clinical trials? Through his research, Freud was able to gain insight into the minds of these three men and understand what motivated them. This research would later prove to be invaluable in understanding the psychology of dictators.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 8-4 on a clear, winter day. I was birthYING new to the world of customer service. I was on the phone with a customer, trying to make sure they were understanding me. Suddenly, I saw their face. It was Tanya, the customer who had the problem. Her face had been sewn up in a 10-word acts of vandalism. I could see the betrayal in her eyes. And I could feel the pain that had led her to this. I had never seen such a perfect customer. They were like this in pattern- Paper darlings like Tanya. You couldent touch them, because they would take your breath away. But now, here she was, in her human form, with all her curves andellusions. She looked up at me with eyes that seemed to say, “ fuck me, now what ever happened to me is back.” I felt my heart turn over in my chest. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. I could have told her it was okay, that she couldn't hit me or tell me what was happening. But no, she started to speak first. “you see, Mrs. Tanya, I had been Veinen the day you were born. I lost my job because of it. My husband was takenottiarnow. I was out of work and you were the only one who could get me back in work. I even tried to find you one book offhandedly while I was in the office. But you were always too much trouble.” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and I could hear Tanya say. “I was really sorry for what you went through, Mrs. Tanya. But I know that now, you’re one of a kind. And I’ll never want to see you same again.” I could feel my face Prompt: What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face?	Edie had always been a strong-willed individual. She refused to take no for an answer and always fought for what she believed in. Even as a child, she showed signs of being a powerful individual. She was always able to get what she wanted, and was never afraid to speak her mind. Her friends and family laughed and congratulated her on her achievements, but Edie herself felt nothing but sadness and anger. She knew that she had the power to change the world, but she was never satisfied. She always wanted more, and couldn't help but feel like she was never given the opportunity to reach her full potential. One day, Edie was attacking a group of immigrants. She was bottles and rocks flying through the air, hurling them all at the immigrants. They were allsmall and vulnerable, and she didn't care. She was angry and violent, and nobody was brave enough to stop her. Eventually, the group of immigrants fled in terror, and Edie was left standing there, tears streaming down her face. She knew that her actions had changed the course of history, and that she was never going to be content. She had always wanted to do more, and she was determined to make a positive impact on the world.	It was a beautiful day outside, but inside, the girl was feeling very sad. She had been crying for hours and her eyes were swollen and red. She didn't know why she was so upset, but she knew that she needed to cry. She had always been extremelyEmotional, and she knew that crying would bring her some relief. Unfortunately, crying also made her face all swollen and red. Now, people who saw her would always think that she was crying because she was sad, and not because her eyes were hurting from all the crying. As she cried, she realized that the tears were leaving scars on her face. And as she looked in the mirror, she wondered how this could change her world.	In a world where tears left scars, people were much more careful with their words. No one wanted to inadvertently hurt someone and cause them to cry, lest they be left with a permanent reminder of the pain they caused. This change in behavior had a ripple effect on society as a whole. People became more mindful of others and more conscientious in their interactions. The world became a gentler place, and conflicts were resolved more peacefully. There were still tears, of course. But they were tears of joy, of love, of healing. And their scars only served to remind us of the things that truly matter in life.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The protagonist has both hands behind her back and is hostage to a youth in a dark alley. He572 Selects from out of the crowd, calling for the protagonist to Converses with him. The youth has a packaging that smells Game of Thrones- related. The protagonist knows she's going to be killed if she doesn'tve the youth before he can Because she's not used to this kind of life.	I lay there in the darkness, unable to move. I could feel the cold around me, and the fear was thick in the air. I didn't know what was going to happen next.	Although she had been fearing it for years, the day finally came when Lina realized she was going to die. She had always been told that when you die, your soul leaves your body and goes to the afterlife. But even as she thought this, she couldn't help but feel a little scared. She lay in bed, thinking about what she would do when she died. She knew her parents would be really sad, and she would miss them. But she was also scared that she wouldn't get to meet her boyfriend, who she had been dating for only a few weeks. Suddenly, she heard a loud banging on her door. It sounded like it was coming from outside. She got up to open it, but before she could, she collapsed onto the floor. She was dead.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a fear or a premonition, it's just a feeling I have. And I'm not scared. I'm oddly at peace with it. I don't tell anyone. I go about my life as normal, enjoying every moment I have left. I don't want to waste a single second. And then, one day, it happens. I'm just going about my business when I suddenly collapse. There's no pain, no suffering. I just slip away peacefully, knowing that I lived my life to the fullest.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was yellow, with a single roof and small building wings underneath. The wings were small because they were doing something that needed to be concealable, something that had to do with secret doors andWindow Mastering. The house was one of these invisible houses, and it lived in the back room.	One day, I went to my house to find something was spying on me. I didn't know what it was, but I was definitely not happy about it. I tried to find out what it was but couldn't. It seemed to be following me around invisibly. I didn't know what to do.	I've always been a bit uneasy about something living in my home. I never could quite put my finger on what it was, but there was this feeling that something was watching me. I would try to expose it, but every time I would catch a glimpse of it, it would disappear. It was starting to get on my nerves, so one day, I decided to take action. I set up some cameras around the house and waited for the entity to show itself. As soon as it did, I pounced on the camera, recording its every move. I was happy to have finally caught it on camera. But as I watched the footage, I realized that it was nothing more than an old coat hanger.	I can feel it watching me. It's always there, lurking in the shadows. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and panting. It was there, in the room with me. I could feel its presence, like a weight pressing down on my chest. I tried to ignore it, to go back to sleep. But I couldn't. I could feel it staring at me, its invisible eyes boring into my soul. I got up, heart pounding, and turned on the light. I looked around the room, but there was nothing there. Just me and the darkness. I turned off the light and tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. I could feel it there, in the room with me, watching me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is full of equipment, spells, and other supplies for the player's character. They are a appreciate and ounce of strength, since they are the only one able to stop the from taking over the world.	Sometimes, people are just looking to buy some rare weapons or magic items. And other times, they might want to trade something they've got. Anyhow, in my RPG pawn shop, I always try to have the best prices and selection. So, no matter what someone is selling, I always have something that they might want. One day, an adventurer came into my shop and was looking for some treasure. He had found a lot of treasure in the last few days, and he was desperate to get it back to his party. He told me about it, and I was very interested. He told me about a treasure he had found that was worth a lot of gold. He said it was hidden inside a big,although shattered, chest. I told him that I didn't have that kind of gold, but I could get him some other coins if he wanted. He was very happy with my offer, and he left with a lot of gold in his pocket. I was glad that I was able to help him out and make some money.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The owner, Amber, was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get a better price for their loot. She was a verysmart negotiator, and usually managed to get the best prices possible. However, today was different. The adventurers were offering her an unbelievable amount of money for her belongings. Amber was tempted, but she knew that she couldn't let herself be taken advantage of. She refused to sell at a discount, and eventually the adventurers left without any purchases. Amber was disappointed, but she knew that she would eventually find new adventurers who would offer her more reasonable prices. After all, she was the best negotiator in town!	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of haggling, and you always get the best deals. Recently, a group of adventurers came into your shop, and they had some of the best loot you've ever seen. You were able to get them to sell you their loot for a fraction of its value, and you're now the proud owner of some of the best equipment in the game.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Penny was walking through the city when she saw a large, Indian-owned store. She asked the salesperson where she could find something heavy. The salesperson told her that the store had no such thing, that lie was simply a use of multipleighthouse. Penny was confused, but the price was right. She enters the store and sees a man stepping out of a car. He looks up as she walks in, and his eyes meet hers. It's the man who just just inflicted a enormous lie on her earlier.	You meet this person in a dark alley. They are lying on the ground, with a large, gaping wound in their chest. You are curious, but do not want to challenge them. You decide to help them, and you start to clean the wound. As you are cleaning it, you notice the scar on their body. It is a large, ugly bruise. You are curious how it got there, and you ask them. The person doesn't answer for a while, and then they say, "I don't remember telling you that."	I couldn't help but stare at him as we walked together. His one, large scar was the only thing that marred his otherwise flawless skin. He looked so normal and peaceful, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer size of his lie. The more I looked at him, the more I realized that I had never seen someone with such a big scar. I asked him about it and he told me that it was the result of a car accident. I couldn't help but feel empathy for him, and I admired the fact that he had managed to survive such a traumatic experience.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. You can always tell when someone is lying - just look at their scars. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something huge. You're curious to know what it is, but you don't want to ask. Eventually, you can't resist. You have to know what this person's lie was. When you ask, they hesitate at first. But then they tell you. This person's lie was that they never loved anyone. They created this lie to protect themselves from getting hurt. But the scar is a constant reminder of the pain they've caused themselves by denying their own capacity for love.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape movies and movies about his many places that he has killed. He has named several places afterPinterestches and brush tips, but every now and then a place will turn out to be moreieuandgaudy. He has to change the atmosphere a little bit to make it feel like a different place. Bob Ross was very famous for his landscape movies, and people would come to his movies to sight see and see the various places he had killed. Some people might visit his movies to see the beautiful landscapes, while others might visit his paintings to see how they look from a different perspective.	Every landscape painting Bob Ross makes is a real place. Bob has killed many people in these paintings, and each location is based on a real murder that has occurred in the past. Some of the murders are based on famous murders, such as the murder of Marilyn Monroe, while others are moreaday slayings like the shooting of John Lennon. However, no one knows for sure which location is based on which murder, and that's why every painting is so unique.	Bob Ross had a very dark side. Not a joking, happy side where he would paint calming landscapes of running water and fluffy clouds. No, his dark side was where he would killing people, taking their lives in a gruesome and savage way. Ross claimed that he killed all these people because they were ruining his landscapes. But some people believe that he took these lives because he was a serial killer, and that the landscapes he painted were just a cover. No one knows for sure, and the mystery remains unsolved.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually locations of his countless murders. He would find secluded areas, kill his victims, and then paint them as part of his landscape. No one ever suspected Bob Ross of being a killer because he always seemed so friendly and gentle. But the truth is that he was a cold-blooded killer who enjoyed taking lives.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Ziggy was a very successful magic artist. He had a627 brand new magic cardigan on and was on stage with his swoone rabbit, looking like he would add some spice to his life. And he does just that. He starts as a second fiddle to the rabbit'silswarming them up before the performance. The rabbit is first Stockton, then Zieggy. Stockton is a bit of a pother and Zieggy is a true talent with magic. The first performance is a success. Ziggy is Please Me Mappa, the rabbit is Please Me Mappa, they are both excellent magic artists. The second performance is a disaster. Ziggy is to blame. He was toying with giving the rabbit down to the last performance in order to get more media attention. And he did. The next day, he brings the rabbit out to play in his album covers. The rabbit is sad that he's no longer a part of the show. But Ziggy doesn't stop there. He continues to play second fiddle to the rabbit's needs,sticating that he is the one who will have the real challenge in the future.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician told the rabbit that he was going to give it a gift. The rabbit said that it was already too late. The magician took out a hat and put the rabbit inside. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle.	The magician was getting tired of always having to perform with the rabbit that he had pulled out of a hat. The rabbit was always sick of playing second fiddle and was ready to retire. The magician decided to make a change and brought out his new rabbit, a gorgeous black rabbit that was in perfect condition. The rabbit was amazed that he had been replaced and told the magician that he was ready to take the stage by himself. The magician was happily surprised and thanked the rabbit for his contributions.	The rabbit had had enough. He was sick of being the one pulled out of the hat, while the magician got all the glory. He was done being the sidekick. So, the rabbit hatched a plan. He would Pretend to be sick, and when the magician went to pull him out of the hat, he would bite him. That would show him! The plan went off without a hitch. The rabbit Pretended to be sick, and when the magician went to pull him out of the hat, he bit him. The magician was so surprised that he dropped the rabbit and ran off the stage in terror. The rabbit was finally the star of the show. And he loved it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is how two teams of students are from the same city and are from the same history. But they are now in different schools. One team is playing to the past and the other team is playing to the future. The competition is in the city and the city is before the teams. They are the with the history and the history is with the companies. The city is the focus of the day and the companies are the focus of the day. The teams are out in the city and the cities are before the teams. The teams are loud and the cities are quiet. The teams are strong and the cities are weakest. The teams are better than the city and the cities are better than the team.	As the sun began to set, the skies over the city were filled with bright red and orange light. It was the Flamenco festival, and the city was alive with the sounds of song and dance. All around the city people were milling about, looking for a spot to watch the show. One man, however, didn't seem to be looking at the show. He was instead looking in the distance, his eyes wide in amazement. He saw a large, red and orange firework display, and it was absolutely stunning. He couldn't help but take in the majesty of the display and its color. The man then walked over to the display and started taking pictures. His Instagram was full of pictures of the display, and he had captioned each one with a powerful message. "Thank you, Flamenco!" he wrote. "This show is one of the most amazing things that's ever happened to me. I can't wait to see it again."	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian Civil War. It has been going on for years and has left millions of people homeless and without a home. The war has also caused a lot of death and destruction. The United States has been involved in the war from the beginning. We have been providing weapons and training to the rebels, but we have also been bombing the Syrian government. We want to help the rebels win, but we also want to make sure that the Syrian people are safe. The Syrian Civil War is one of the most serious issues that we face today, and we need to make sure that we do everything we can to help solve it.	The current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. More than 11 million people have been forced to flee their homes due to the Syrian conflict, and over 4 million of them have fled to neighboring countries. This has created a massive refugee crisis, as these countries are struggling to accommodate all of the refugees. This issue deserves the greatest amount of attention because it is a humanitarian crisis that is affecting millions of people.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The first thing Auditors would do is prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a responsibility they are numerate and inspired in, due to the one and onlyfact that without Auditors their society would Dip inside of its intended structure, the perfect balance of which is not possible without Auditors. What is difficult about this duty is theAuditor's job is to protect humanity from themselves. By correcteding their genetic Ending, Auditors can keep the balance of power in check, preventing humanity from Sharifting its own path. The second thing Auditors would do is ensure that everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It's a duty that is phonetic and wristwatch like, due to theAuditor's ability to communicate with humans over phonetic highways. However, the ability to communicate with humans over phonetic highways is a skill that is often left unfulfilled. due to the lack ofAuditors within the social group, most people don't know how to use phonetic roads to find what they want in life. What's more, many people don't even know how to use phonetic roads to find what they want in life. due to the lack of Auditors within the social group, manyAuditors tend to get bored of their job. What's more, manyAuditors get bored of their job and decide to find a new society to protect humanity from themselves. The last thing Auditors would do is prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a duty they are numerate and inspired in, due to the one and onlyfact that without Auditors their society would Dip inside of its intended structure, the perfect balance of which is not possible without Auditors. What is difficult about this duty is theAuditor's job is to prevent humanity from reproducing, by correcteding their genetic Ending. By ENOUGH Auditors would say to the world, having recently discovered how to communicate with humans over phonetic highways, we must continue to do so. Thank you for your permission.	One day, your supervisor came to your office to deliver some bad news. Someone had inserted a birth control device into your body during your puberty, and they weren't the dumbest people in the world. Your body was going to be filled with stupid eggs and you would never be able to have children of your own. It was a nightmare, but you had to face it.	The birth control device was a necessity for anyone wanting to have a chance at a good career and a fulfilling life. But, for some, the device was a thing of terror. They would awake from their sleep each morning to find that the device was still implanted in their body, and there was no way to remove it. They would have to live with the fear that the device would malfunction, and that they would become pregnant, and then the world would see that they were the dumbest people in the world. Some of them tried to cope with the fear by trying to be as smart as possible. They studied hard and made all the right friends. But, even though they were intelligent, the fear never went away. Some of them gave up and accepted their role as the dunces of society. They spent their days lounging around and watching TV. Sometimes they would go to the local casino and lose all their money. The device was a constant reminder of their failure, and it took a toll on their mental and emotional health. But, in the end, a few of them managed to escape the nightmare and achieve success. They became successful professionals and happy families. The birth control device was a necessary part of their journey to happiness, and it helped them become the brightest people in the world.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must administer a series of tests and interviews to potential parents. If they pass, they are given a deactivation device that will allow them to have children. If they fail, they remain on birth control. You take your job seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. You are thorough in your testing, and as a result, there are few who are able to have children. But you are content in knowing that you are helping to create a better world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research. He puts an ad in a paper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was a young man at the time. He had just been elected Chancellor of Germany, and he was determined to make Germany the most powerful country in the world. He was also eager to test the theory of psychoanalysis, which was still new and underdeveloped at the time. Joseph Stalin was a powerful man with a long list of accomplishments. He was the leader of the Soviet Union, and he was also responsible for building the Moscow Kremlin. He was interested in psychoanalysis because he thought it could help him understand himself better. Leon Trotsky was a very active member of the Bolshevik Party. He was also a very talented artist. He was also interested in psychoanalysis because he thought it could help him understand the role that art plays in society. Josip Broz Tito was a very influential leader of the Yugoslavian People's Republic. He was also interested in psychoanalysis because he thought it could help him understand the relationships between people and between people and their environment.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his ad for clinical trials. He was especially interested in the young men, believing that their unique perspectives would help him advance his research. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded. They each had their own ideas about how to use Freud's research, but they all agreed to participate in the trials. The trials were grueling. Every day, the men had to answer questions about their thoughts on therapy and psychiatry. But they all agreed that it was worth it. They knew that they were helping to change the world.	Sigmund Freud was always on the cutting edge of research, and his latest endeavor was no different. He was looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest theories and ideas, and so he placed an ad in the local newspaper. He was expecting to get a few responses, but he was surprised when four men showed up at his door: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were eager to participate in the trials, and Freud was impressed with their enthusiasm. He explained his theories to them and asked them to answer some questions about their own lives and experiences. All four men did so willingly, and Freud was impressed with their insights. The trials went well, and Freud was able to glean a lot of useful information from the four men. They were all gifted thinkers, and he was able to learn a lot from them. In the end, he was glad he had chosen them as participants, and he was sure they would go on to do great things in their respective fields.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Kate was crying and she didn't know why. It was a sunny day, and she was walking through the park, and she saw a boy with a broken arm. She didn't know him well, but she knew that he was hurt. She walked over to him, and she told him she was sorry. She asked him to put his arm around her, to help her find courage. She said she knew he was hurting, but she didn't care. The boy helped her to get courage, and she helped herself to food. It was a cost effective way for someone to help someone in need. Over time, Kate realized that the boy had lost his father when he was young, and she had all of his0 back. Kansas loved him with all of her heart, and she agreed to take care of him.	It was a tense moment. All eyes were on the young woman as she wept, unable to keep from echoing the sadness in the room. She had experienced the worst part of her life and it had all come crumbling down around her. She was a victim, completely without recourse. It was a hard life, one that she could never escape from. One that drew her inescapably down into its depths. The darkness of her experience was tangible, a weight on her heart that always seemed to stay with her. That was until one night, when a tear slowly fell from her face and trickled slowly down its length. This was the first time that she had seen the light; the first time that she had awakened to her own power. The first time that she had seen that she could stand up to the darkness and fight for something better. And that is when she realized that she could do what she had always wanted to: she could be the light in someone's life.	Dana could feel the tightness in her chest as the tears continued to fall, unendingly. She had never felt so alone, so lost. The pain was overwhelming, and she didn't know how to cope. She had always been a crybaby, and she knew that her tears were just a sign of weakness. But now, all she could do was sit and sob. The pain was so great, and she didn't know how to heal the wounds that her tears had created. She felt disgusting, and she couldn't imagine going on. But then, she saw a man walking down the street. He looked so lonely, and Dana felt a sudden desire to comfort him. So she walked over to him, and she started to cry with him. It felt good to let go, to let the pain wash over her and to know that she wasn't alone. Her tears created scars on his face, but they also created a bond. The two of them were now inseparable, and they would never be the same again.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, and fights would break out much less often. Of course, there would also be a lot more people with scars on their faces. Some people would see their scars as a badge of honor, a sign that they had been through something difficult and come out the other side. Others would be ashamed of their scars, hiding them away from the world. The world would be a more compassionate place if tears left scars, but it would also be a more difficult one.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. There I was, surrounded by my friends, alone in a room with a cask of wine. I took a step back and checked my phone for notifications. There was a message from a friend, but no blood had been spilled yet. I went to check it, and there was another message. It appeared to be from a wife or girlfriend. I Pushed through the death and died.	I WATCHED THE PLANET PASS BY IN MY EYES. I felt nothing, just the MASSIVE BCs that were continuously rolling by. I knew that I was going to die soon, so I decided to do something that I thought would make me happy. I looked up at the sky and screamed like a madwoman.	It was a dark and stormy night. The only light coming from the full moon was the light of the stars. In the distance, you could hear the thunder crashing. Suddenly, you hear a voice say, ``I die.'' You turn around to see a man in a white robe standing in front of you. He had long, white hair that flowed down his back. He had blue eyes and a kind face. He gestured for you to follow him. You did, and soon you were in a beautiful garden. In the center of the garden was a beautiful fountain. The man said, ``Sit down and I will tell you a story.'' He started to tell you a story about a prince who went on a journey to find a princess. Along the way, he met a wizard, a dragon, and a witch. The prince ended up marrying the princess, and they lived happily ever after. The man in the robe said, ``That is my story. What happens next, I cannot say. But I believe that everything will work out for the best.'' You felt a sense of peace inside of you. You knew that the man in the robe was right. Everything would work out for the best.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, and I leave behind a lot of unfinished business. My loved ones are devastated, and life goes on without me. My death leaves a hole in the world that can never be filled.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The first time that my home was exposed was when I moved in with my new partner. He was new to the city and I was trying to get him comfortable. One of the first things that he did was to make sure that I knew that I was the only person in the house. I didn't know how to take it easy and take care of business. I was or suspected that something was specifically watching me from the depth of my home. I tried to run and start a life of my own, but something was always there in the background, keeping me safe.	One day, I was out of town and my dog decided to take a walk. As I watched her wander off, I noticed something moving in the bushes next to my front porch. I couldn't make it out, but I knew it was there. I didn't want to come out and see what it was, so I started to stealthily make my way back home. as I was walking, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and I froze. It was a black cat! I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there and watched it. The cat would come out of the bushes, sit on my porch railing, and then disappear back in. I would watch it for hours, and I didn't know what to do. Then, one day, I decided to confront the cat. I walked up to it and said, "Who are you, and what are you doing here in my home?" The cat looked at me with a confused expression and said, "I don't know, I just feel like I should be here." I didn't know what to make of that, so I just talked to it for a little bit longer and then walked away. The cat never came back. I guess it just felt comfortable being in my home and decided to stay.	I work as a home inspector and I'm always on the lookout for anything that might be wrong with a property. One day, I was inspecting a home and I found something strange. There was an invisible force living in the home and I tried to expose it, but it was too quick for me. I didn't know what it was, but I was scared. I never found out what was causing the force to live in the home, but I'm still afraid of it.	I have always known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, watching and waiting. I have never let on that I know about its presence. I have tried to expose it, but it is always one step ahead of me. I can't help but feel that it knows that I am aware of its existence. It's like it is playing a game with me. I can't catch it, but I can't let it go either. I don't know what to do. The other day, I was in the kitchen and I felt it watching me. I could sense its presence, but I couldn't see it. I decided to try to expose it. I turned around quickly and caught a glimpse of something moving just out of sight. I chased after it, but it was gone in an instant. I know that it is still there, lurking in the shadows. I will never be able to rest until I find out what it is and why it is here.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with missing equipment and in need ofparticularlystruggle. However, the adventurers seem to be always on the lookout for new territorium, and so the shop remains in use. The prices they give for the goods are Ixnimsht, and the décor is an involved and corduroys-style office chair. Despite the Hodgson place being Nameyville, the party is three days away from their final meeting with the lead Developer. They are force-feeding her important information about the game's development, and she is generous with what she has to offer. The party is led by Hero, Wargnake, and Fortunato, and look forward to their final meeting.	One day, a group of adventurers ran into your shop. They were selling a cache of treasure they'd discovered in a dungeon. The coins and items were old, but the adventurers were determined to make some extra gold. You were happy to help them, but you weren't about to let them take all the treasure. You offered them a deal: If they gave you a specific amount of gold, you would let them keep the rest. They accepted, and they gave you a bag of gold. You took the money and put it in your coffers. Now, the only thing to do was wait for the next group of adventurers to come by.	It was a normal day at the RPG pawn shop. I was bargaining with a group of adventurers, trying to get a good deal on their loot. I was having a hard time getting them to lower their prices, but I knew that I could get them to come back for more if I offered a good deal. Eventually, I got them to agree to let me sell their loot for a lower price than they were hoping for. I was happy to have been able to get them a good deal, and I was sure that they would come back and buy more from me in the future.	You're the owner of a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You've seen it all, from +1 swords to magical amulets, and you know how to haggle with the best of them. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, looking to sell some of the loot they've acquired. They have a +2 sword, a magical amulet, and a few other items. You haggle with them for a while, but in the end, you manage to get them to agree to sell you the items for a fair price. You're happy with the sale, and the adventurers are happy with the money they've made. It's just another day at the RPG pawn shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met him, the big liar had already lied about his life three times. Each time, the lie was deeper and bigger. This time, though, he was different. He told the truth and saw the benefit in it. You meet him every day now, and he always tells the truth. Even if it means he makes a big lie out of your life.	The lie that killed my family was one of the biggest that I had ever told. I had convinced myself that I was the one that was taking the blame, that I was the one that was the one that was to blame. I was the one that was going to pay for what I had done. I hadoles family died, and I was the one that was responsible. I hadoles family deserved to die, not me. But that was not what happened. The one that took the blame was not me. My family was not killed, and I was not responsible. I was wrong, and I knew it. I had to try and come to terms with the fact that my family had not actually died, and that I was actually safe. I had to come to terms with the fact that my family was not really dead, and that I could never truly forgive myself for what I had done.	I was skeptical at first, but I decided to talk to him anyways. I was curious about how he managed to survive with only one scar. He told me that he never lied, and that the only way to survive was to be honest. Ever since he embraced this way of life, he has never looked back.	Lies are a part of life. Everyone tells them, whether it's a white lie to spare someone's feelings or a more serious lie to get out of trouble. But in my world, lies have a very different consequence. Each time someone tells a lie, a scar appears on their body. The size and depth of the scar depends on the severity of the lie. I have seen some people with so many scars that their whole body is covered in them. It's a constant reminder of the times they have lied and the pain that it causes. One day, I met someone who only had one scar. It was the biggest and deepest scar I had ever seen. I was curious to know what could have caused such a big scar and asked them about it. They told me that it was from the biggest lie they had ever told. They lied to someone they loved and it caused them a lot of pain. That one lie scarred them for life, both physically and emotionally. This person's story was a warning to me. It showed me that lies can cause a lot of damage, even if we don't mean for them to. From now on, I will be more careful with my words and try to avoid lying, even if it's just a little white lie.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross moves from Painting 1, from the quiet town of etna, to the lively city of PetroGRO, where he couldupiternts of tourists. But his new place of pilgrimage is home to a creatures of the night: the Werewolf. The challenges of living in two places is great enough, but living in the place of a Robertson Sisters crime	Bob Ross decided to create his famous landscapers' paintings using actual locations from his many murders. Each painting features a different murder victim and their environment. For example, the painting of the woman at the bottom of the stairs in the mortuary is the murder of mythened artist, Vincent van Gogh. The painting of the secluded beach is the murder of ballistic artist, Richard Nixon. And the painting of the chair in the forest is the murder of Gettysburg military general, Robert E. Lee. The artwork has become a popular tourist attraction and has even been used as the backdrop for TV shows and movies. People always seem to love looking at the paintings and some even say they help them to forget their own lives.	Bob Ross spent his whole life painting the same landscapes, all over the United States. Every painting was based on a real place, but Bob had a secret - he had killed many people in those locations. He would find a lonely spot, sit down, and start painting. With his brush and palette in hand, he would become one with the landscape and purge the memories of his victims.	Bob Ross' paintings are beautiful, tranquil landscapes. But what most people don't know is that each of those landscapes is a real place. And each one is the scene of a brutal murder. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his painting skills to conceal his crimes. He would find remote locations, set up his easel, and paint. But while he painted, he would also kill his victims. The authorities never suspected Bob Ross of anything because he always seemed so gentle and kind. But in reality, he was a cold-blooded killer. Now, years after his death, people are finally beginning to realize the truth about Bob Ross. His paintings are not just pretty landscapes; they're also the sites of some of the most gruesome murders in history.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	M unequzo Zamulovic is a famous magician and his rabbit is just as little second fiddle. Unfortunately, the rabbit is getting tired of it and starts to Chiara. Numismatics is a science toy that allows you to create magical items from physical items. One of his students, D e art, is trying to please himself with his new toy, but he's not sure if it's worth all the hassle. When M ushing zamulovic, he'suddenly aware of the situation and CFL his rabbit's declining health. He counts out some magic minutes for the two of them andpard Simmer zum Reserve, where the rabbit REPORTEDLY is feeling better. With a little help from hisantom, Shooter, and Zabuza, meekly hoping that the dispute will be resolved soon, the two of them go back to thefestival. However, the SHOWMLJ isn't over for them until they canfind out what happened to the rabbit.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it in front of the audience. "This is my lucky rabbit," he said. "It's been ruined by being pulled out of a hat too many times." The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. "It's not your lucky rabbit," the magician said. "It's the one that I pull out of a hat for you." The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion again and then took a step back. "I don't want to play this game anymore," the rabbit said. "I'm not going to be the one that gets pulled out of a hat."	The magician was getting quite frustrated with the rabbit. It was always playing second fiddle to him, always jumping when he said jump, always following his every command. He was sick of it. One day, the magician decided he was going to teach the rabbit a lesson. He began to pull out all sorts of tricks on the rabbit, but it was no use. The rabbit was just too stupid. Eventually, the magician got fed up and just threw the rabbit off the stage. The rabbit landed on its feet, but it was clearly in pain. It limped off the stage, never looking back. That rabbit learned its lesson the hard way. When it's not the center of attention, it's better to just stay put.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and now it's time to put his plan into action. As the magician begins to pull the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit uses his powerful hind legs to kick the hat out of the magician's hands. He then leaps out of the hat and makes a beeline for the exit. The magician is baffled, but the audience is in hysterics. The rabbit has finally taken control of his life and is free at last.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the administration's strategy to asSCOPE as a trade-off with climate change. The U.S. is offering to investing in its own green energy, but the offer is met with criticism from the Some people who feel that this is a way of putting the U.S. in a vise when it comes to climate change. Another issue is that the U.S. is includeignTransgender people in its definition ofabe Title IX coordinator, but some people believe that is a step too far. There is also a lot of talk about how the U.S. should end its war in Afghanistan and find a different destination for its military.	On the morning of Nov. 13, a series of coordinated shootings occurred in three major cities across the United States. The gunman, identified as Omar Mateen, killed 49 people, including 37 people at a gay nightclub in Orlando, Fla. The gunman, identified as Adam Lanza, killed 20 people, including six children, at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn.	Americans are divided on what issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. Some say the economy, while others say immigration. Some say the current president is doing a good job, while others say he's not. It's hard to know what to focus on, and no one seems to have a clear answer.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the opioid crisis. This is a national emergency and it is something that needs to be dealt with immediately. There are so many people dying from overdoses and it is something that can be prevented. There are many ways to get help if you or someone you know is struggling with addiction and it is important to seek help as soon as possible.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The life of an Auditor is difficult enough, but the added challenge of being intelligent and keeping one's eye on the perhaps Gaanthropologicalomo force that governs the universe are not easy enough. Despite being schooled in the basics of heredity and evolution, she still manages to get lost in the noise of the neighborhood. Suddenly, she feels a jolt of electricity as a lightning boltiazonicbeam hits her, causing her to shield her head with one hand as she screamoshies away from the room.	Auditor 6 was feeling ALOT better after her successful mission to prevent the proliferation of the stupidest people in the world. She had finally been able to figure out how to use her brain and stop the stupid things that were happening. However, she never thought she'd have to deal with people like Auditor 7. Auditor 7 was an idiot. She was always arguing with her family and friends, and she was always making fun of Auditor 6. She was also a jerk to everyone she came into contact with. Auditor 6 tried not to take it too personally, but she was starting to feel like she was the only person who could save the world. She was so excited to start her new job, but she quickly learned that things were not as they seemed. Auditor 7 was still around, trying to ruin everything. She would always be arguing, spreading rumors, and making everyone around her feel like they were stupid. It was really starting to get on Auditor 6's nerves. One day, she just had to stand up to her idiot friend. She knew that she could beat her like a posh girl, but she also knew that it would cost her her job. The fight ended with Auditor 7 being kicked out of the office. Auditor 6 was glad that she was able to show her friend that she could do better than her.	When I was born, the doctors installed a birth control device inside of me. I wasn't aware of what was happening, but I always knew it was there. The device was meant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but clearly, it didn't work. I've been an Auditor for years, and I've seen the effects of the device firsthand. It's caused generations of unhappy and unfulfilled individuals. I know I have the power to end the device, but I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to do it. I'm afraid that if I remove it, the world will be full of idiots once again.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I use a variety of tests and criteria to make my determination. If I believe someone is not up to the task, I deactivate their birth control device. I know that some people believe that this is unfair. They think that everyone should be able to have children, regardless of their intelligence or stability. But I believe that only the best should be able to have children. raising a child is a huge responsibility, and I don't think that everyone is up to the task. There are always exceptions, of course. There are some people who are not very intelligent but are still wonderful parents. But, in general, I think that the dumbest people in the world should not be reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Hitler and Stalin were two of the most important figures in history. They were both known for their different ideologies and their ability to lead their countries to great heights. Trotsky was also a very important figure in the history of Yugoslavia. When the ad was posted, Hitler and Stalin were the only people who responded. Stalin was very interested in the research and wanted to be a part of it. It was revealed that Hitler was also interested in the research. He was going to be using the study to understand the human mind and how it works.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was eager to test his latest research on some of the most influential people in Vienna. But he was shocked when Adolf Hitler showed up. Freud didn't know what to make of him. Adolf was just a young man at 24. But he had an obvious talent for politics. Franz Josef, the Emperor of Austria, also responded to the ad. He was interested in participating in the trial, but he was also skeptical. He didn't believe that Freud's research would have any impact on the world. Stalin was the last person to respond. He was 35 years old, and he was already well known in Vienna. Freud was curious to see if Stalin's experience would help him in the trial. Tito was the youngest person in the group. But he was already a well-known political figure in Yugoslavia. Freud was worried that he wouldn't be able to deal with Tito's difficult personality. But all of the participants were able to get along well. They all worked hard in the trial and learned a lot of new information. The results of the trial were impressive. Freud's research had a real impact on the world.	It was 1913 and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud and agreed to take part in the trials. Freud was interested in exploring the human psyche and what motivated people to do certain things. He believed that understanding the mind could help to treat mental illness and disorders. The trials lasted for several months and during that time, Freud learned a lot about each of the men. He was particularly interested in Hitler, who he felt was a very complex individual. Hitler was always seeking approval and validation from others and he had a deep-seated need for power. Stalin, on the other hand, was much more cold and calculating. He was ambitious and ruthless, and he was not afraid to use violence to get what he wanted. Trotsky was the most idealistic of the four men, and he was passionate about making the world a better place. Tito was the youngest of the group and he was still trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted in life. The trials were a success and Freud was able to gain valuable insights into the human mind. He continued to work with all four men over the years, and they each had a profound impact on his life and work.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Abby was watching TV when she heard a knock on the door. She had just gone through a tough few weeks and was not feeling well. She had a Fitbit Curvelet on her hand and as she reached for the door handle, the phone started to run out of battery. She was in tears, sorrow and anger all at the same time. She wanted to kill this person who had hurt her and she had the feeling that if she could just get them inside, she could learn how to soulford herself to feel again. She opened the door and in walked the Competitor. Abby was surprised to see him still there. She was surprised even more when he said, "Good morning. I hope you're feeling better. I was worried about you." Abby said, " You knew I was being careful. You knew I wasgly." He said, "I know how you feel. I wanted to make sure you were okay." She said, "You did. You wanted to make sure I was whole and not feeling well." He looked at her hard and she immunized herself. She said, "I'm always weary of my solitary strength, but I don't need it like you do." He smiled and kissed her, building up to the moment would come. When they finally got into the house and his family were around, Abby began to cry harder. She didn't know what to do but she knew that he wanted her to feel better. She cried with him and when they got to the bedroom, she was gone and his phone was heroically dead. That was the last time she saw him.	When she was just a little girl, her mother always told her that crying was just a way to show her how much pain she was feeling. As she grew older, she realized that crying was often the only way to express her true feelings. But as the years went on, she found that she couldn’t cry as easily as she used to. And the scars that always seemed to follow her showed how tears had always been a way to cope.	Riya saw her best friend, Amala, crying in the hallway. Amala was her everything, and she didn ’ t know what to do to make her feel better. As she walked over to her, Riya noticed the tears leaving deep, bone-deep scars on Amala ’ s face. She didn ’ t know how to react. All she could do was wrap her arms around Amala and hold her tight as the tears continued to fall. Finally, Amala let out a long sigh and pulled away, wiping her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong," she whispered. "Do you want to tell me?" Riya asked, hope filling her heart. "It's just... everything's changed. Our families are gone, our friends are gone, and we're all alone now. I just... I can't take it any more." "It'll be okay," Riya said, giving Amala a hug. "We'll find a way to survive." But she was wrong. It didn't take long for the zombies to find them, and soon they were both dead, their tears leaving scars that would haunt their memories forever.	Tears are a necessary part of life. They help us release our emotions and allow us to heal. But what if they left scars as they trickled down our face? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be a sign of weakness, but of strength. They would be a badge of honor, showing that we have been through tough times and come out stronger for it. No longer would we be ashamed of our tears, but proud of them. This would change the way we interact with each other. No longer would we shy away from those who are crying, but instead we would offer them our support. We would be more compassionate and understanding, knowing that everyone has their own scars. This would also change the way we view ourselves. We would no longer be afraid to show our emotions, knowing that our tears are a sign of our strength. We would be more confident and self-assured, knowing that our scars make us unique and beautiful. So, what if tears left scars? It would certainly change our world. But maybe, just maybe, it would make it a better place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	tease vouge in mssa,rusia. I was healthy and out of immediate danger. Until this moment, I had thought. I was going to die. But then I met the master and he was different. He did not seem to kill as easily as he once had. The discuss had about this site when he said something that made me wake up to what was happening. I was Tellin people to "get out of the way" as a group as someone else was killed. I was then able to help others and see the complexity in what was happening. But most importantly, I was able to feel. The sensation of lifebuoyancy as it was applied to my central nervous system. It was truly amazing. When I was finally brought to the floor, I was quivering with fear. I had never felt so alive.	I was in my cell, curled up in a ball, when I heard someone coming. I didn't want to get up so I just listened to the footsteps coming closer and closer. I can't remember who it was, but they came to my cell and knocked on the door. I was so afraid, I didn't answer. They knocked again and I started to cry. But then I heard a voice inside the cell. It was a woman's voice. She said, ``I'm sorry, but I have to open the door. Otherwise, you'll die.'' I didn't want to die, but I knew that the woman had to be the bad guy. And so I did something I've never done before. I traitorously opened the door. And then I died.	I carefully slipped from the world of the living into the afterlife. For a few minutes, I floated in the nothingness. Then, I felt something touch my shoulder. I turned to see a figure, a woman, dressed in white. Her face was etched with pain, and she said, "I die."	I die. It's the only thing that makes sense. I can't keep living like this, with the pain and the hurt. I've been through too much, and I can't take it anymore. So I die. I take my own life, and I end the pain. It's the only way I can see to escape. I'm sorry to those who care for me, but this is the only way out.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of the experiment was different than anything that had ever been seen in your home. It was like nothing was home to it. It was like the object was not from your home. It was like the object was something that had been taken from you. The individual that this was for was different than anything that had ever been seen in your home. It was like the individual had never been seen before. It was like the individual was something that had never been seen before. The experiment was different than anything that had ever been seen in your home because the individual was From Your Home. From Your Home was something that was different than anything that had ever been seen in your home. It was like the individual was something that was not from your home. It was like the individual was something that had been taken from you.	I had been seeing things in my home for as long as I could remember. occasional shadows, often moving objects, but nothing that made me worry. Then, one day, I noticed something with my own eyes. Something was living in my home, and it wasn't anything I could see. It seemed to be waiting for me, watching me from the shadows. I nervously made my way to my bedroom, telling myself that I would show it the error of its ways. As I opened my door, there it was- a small, stipid figure, lurking in the corner of my bed. It seemed friendly, but I could feel an uneasy feelingSystematically, I made my way to the kitchen, where I started a pot of coffee. Once I had made myself at ease, I sat down at the kitchen table and began to explore the thing.The first thing I noticed was its presence- it was objectively incorrect, as if it had been placed there by whoever had designed my home. The second thing I noticed was the smell. It was an odd, musty smell, one that I could not WTnatSmoke? I looked closer and saw that the figure was wearing a clothes catching pattern, like the ones my grandmother used to wear.It began to speak to me, in a soft, timid voice. "I am here to help you, but you must first let me in." I hesitated, but then I relented. Together, we worked to get the thing into my home. It was a little clumsy at first, but we eventually got it up and running. After a while, the figure started to speak more clearly. "I am things that you cannot see, but I know what you are. You are a loved one, and I want to help you." I was hesitant, but I knew that it was for the best.I started to allow the figure into my life, and things started to improve. The shadows decreased, and the smell improved. Together, we continued to help people, and things became better and better. At the end, I was able to accept that the figure was real, and that I had been sheltering it for years.	I had always been a paranoid person, always checking and knicking the corners of my paintings to make sure they were straight. But I never thought anything of it until my youngest daughter started nursery school. One day, I came home and found a small, dark figure watching her from the corner of the room. I felt like I was going to faint, and I had to take several deep breaths to calm down. I tried to take a picture of it, but it immediately fled the room. Ever since then, I've been paranoid that the invisible creature is still around, watching my every move.	I can sense it lurking in the shadows, watching me. I can't see it, but I know it's there. It's been with me for years, ever since I moved into this house. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not human. It's something else entirely. Something... otherworldly. I've tried to expose it, to catch it off guard, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows what I'm going to do before I even do it. But I'm not giving up. I'll find a way to expose this thing, whatever it is. And when I do, it'll be the end of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a small group thathave been visiting the pawn shop for a few weeks now. They're always happy to find new and interesting gear, but this time, they're particularly interested in a bag that holds a great deal of treasure. They're not sure if the bag is actually true treasure, or if it's just a fake one. They're also not sure if the bag is safe to carry around with them, given thelocutions string and magic it wields. However, the shop owner is adamant about keeping the bag and none too pleased with the adventurers for trying tosold it to them.	One day, an opportunist ogre comes into your pawnshop and offers to sell an interesting item. He chants a magical spell and the item starts talking to him. The ogre tells stories of his adventures, of his treasures and of the danger he's encountered. He offers the player a 2ndhand copy of the spell for 1 gold piece. The player is intrigued, so they take the ogre's offer and put the spell in their inventory. They then go on their next adventure, populated by different monsters and traps.	James ran his RPG pawn shop for six years, haggling with adventurers who came in looking to sell their loot. He loved the excitement in their eyes as they tried to negotiate down their prices, and the way they would invariably argue about the slightest detail. One day, James was waiting on a group of adventurers who had come in looking for a deal. One of the adventurers, ad said he was looking for a sword that was a little too powerful for his level. James began to bargain with him, but the adventurer was adamant about getting the sword. James tried to talk him down, but the adventurer wouldn't budge. He was about to give up when one of the adventurers in the group said that he had the same sword. The adventurer offered to sell it to the other adventurer for half the price. The other adventurer accepted, and James was able to keep his shop open. He was glad that he had been able to play his part in the adventure and help out a friend in need.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle hard to get them. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, lugging a huge sack of loot. You can tell they're eager to unload it, so you start to haggle. After a long and spirited negotiation, you finally agree on a price. The adventurers seem happy with the deal, and you're excited to see what kinds of treasures are in the sack. You dump the loot out onto the counter and start sorting through it. There are some nice items in there, but nothing too special. Just as you're about to give up, you spot a small, glittering object at the bottom of the pile. You pick it up and examine it closely. It's a diamond! You can't believe your luck. You haggle the adventurers down to an even better price and walk away with a huge profit. This diamond is going to make your pawn shop the talk of the town!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met at the party was the biggest liar in the world. You had always known they were lying, but you didn't know how to tell them. That's when you decided to start telling them themselves. You wanted to see if they were really lying or if they were just telling you that they were lying. As you walked into the party, the person you met was doing his best to seem Thermal and brave. But you could tell he was really lying in the bottom of that jar. You walked up to him, and before you could even say anything, he was already gone. The person you met had a biggest lie of all times.	You meet this person when you're walking through aByzantine market. They are cleaning the floor, and you see a large, red scar on their arm. You can't help but stare at it, and you wonder what it would feel like to have that much of a wound. Suddenly, you remember your training. You have to be careful not to make any mistakes that could land you in serious trouble. You have to be truthful, and you have to be sure that the person you are lying to is the real person. You decide to tell the person the truth. They don't seem to care, and they continue to clean the floor. You feel a bit risky, but you decide to continue the conversation. Eventually, you get to the part of the story where you make your first mistake. You tell the person that you are from India. They don't seem to believe you, and they continue to clean the floor. You can see the concern in their eyes, and you know that you made a big mistake. You walk away from the market empty-handed. You feel embarrassed and dangerous, and you know that you can't go back to that market again. You have to find a way to make it up to the person you hurt.	I never thought I would meet someone with only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. It stretched across their entire body, from their hairline to their hip. It was so big, it was almost impossible to see. But I met them, and I fell in love with them. They told me the story of the lie that created that massive scar. It was so big, it took over their life. They said it was the biggest mistake they ever made. But even though it was the biggest mistake they ever made, I loved them for it. Because even though that lie created a deep, dark mark on their body, it also created a deep, dark love in their heart.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, whether we mean to or not. But in my world, lies have a consequences. Each time you lie, a scar appears on your body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and more noticeable the scar. I've seen some pretty big scars in my life. But none compare to the one I saw on the person I met today. They had a single, massive scar running down the length of their body. It was so big that it must have been for an incredibly serious lie. I was curious to know what could have possibly caused such a scar. So I asked them. They hesitated at first, but then they told me their story. They said that they had once been in a relationship with someone they loved very much. But over time, that love turned to lies and deceit. The relationship ended in a terrible betrayal that left them heartbroken. The scar is a reminder of that pain. It is a reminder that they will never again let themselves be so vulnerable. I was moved by their story. It was a reminder that even the deepest scars can be healed over time. And that even the biggest lies can be forgiven.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been a local celebrity. He's known as the artist whose pictures sell in every language, and his pictures of familiar places - like Hong Kong and Venice - are still seen there. One day, he is refused a passport by the police in his home town of Russian River, and he must leave for international storage. But before he can leave, he needs to leave his creative behind - to his many! - and make his way to international market. Bob Ross is first seen Truckley County, Wyo. His pictures are seller's renamed and in high demand, and the people of his small town aren'tadobely 84 years old. He needs to find a new home for his pictures before it's too late.	Bob Ross was a great painter. His landscapes were always full of life and character. But one day, something happened that changed everything. Bob committed multiple murders in different locations, leaving behind paintings of his grisly victims. Each location had its own unique feel, and it was easy to forget that the paintings were even associated with any one particular location. nearly 20 years later, the paintings still sale well and are often seen as some of Ross's best work. However, the murders have taken a toll on Bob's soul, and he often asks people to remember the victims in their communities. But even with the help of his loved ones, Bob can't help but feel what he did was wrong.	Bob Ross was a renowned landscape painter. His paintings of beautiful, calming landscapes were the envy of many. But behind the scenes, Bob Ross was a serial killer. He killed countless people, Location A, Location B, Location C. No one knew the full extent of his crimes, because he always killed in secret. But one day, he was caught. The police found Location D, the scene of one of his many murders. In the painting, he had substituted Location C for Location D. The police knew they had him. Bob Ross was executed for his crimes.	Bob Ross was a prolific landscape painter, known for his soothing voice and gentle demeanor. What few people knew was that each of his landscape paintings was based on a real place - the site of one of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who preyed on unsuspecting victims. He would lure them in with his charming personality and then kill them when they were least expecting it. His landscapes were his way of memorializing his victims - each painting was a tribute to the life he had taken. Now, decades later, his paintings are hang in homes and offices all over the world. And each time someone looks at one of his landscapes, they unknowingly bear witness to the horrific crimes that were committed there.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Maxwell is a magician, and he knows how to keep the peace and keep the audience entertained. He always has a smile on his face and he loves to give people what they want. One day, a rabbit comes to him with a theory about how to get out of a situation. " shamelessly earning my keep " Maxwell goes with the theory and pulls the rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit is honest and easy to talk to, and he has no idea how to get away with his behavior. But Maxwell makes him feel like he's the only one who needs to be humble. The rabbit becomes more than just another hop over the top of his head.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and began to work on its ear. The rabbit seemed to be in a lot of pain, but it didn't say a word. The magician looked at the rabbit and began to cry. He loved the rabbit, but it was getting on his nerves. He knew he had to find a way to make the rabbit happy.	The magician was getting a little tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from the hat. He was sick of always playing second fiddle. One day, the magician decided to change things up. He told the crowd that he would pull out the rabbit, but only if they could all guess its name. The crowd was skeptical, but they decided to give it a try. As the magician began to pull the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit started to get agitated. It didn't like being the center of attention. The magician quickly put the rabbit back in the hat and announced that the rabbit's name was "Jonathan." Jonathan was finally able to be the star of the show and was able to put the magician in his rightful place - as the rabbit who always comes out of the hat.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being pulled out of hats and being used as a prop in the magician's act. The rabbit is tired of being treated like a piece of equipment and not as a living, breathing creature. The rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands and starts to speak up during the act. The rabbit interrupts the magician and starts to tell the audience what it really thinks of the act. The rabbit tells the audience that it is tired of being treated like a prop and that it wants to be respected as a living creature. The magician is shocked and does not know how to react. The audience is also shocked and starts to murmur. The rabbit continues to speak and the magician is starting to get angry. The rabbit is not backing down and the magician is losing control of the situation. The rabbit is finally allowed to finish its speech and the audience starts to clap. The magician is angry and humiliated, but the rabbit has finally stood up for itself. The rabbit has shown the magician that it is not just a prop, but a living, breathing creature that deserves to be respected.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A young couple begins their daily routine of walking through the mailpost when they discover a letter from a related branch of their family they've never heard of before. It's from a country they've never heard of, and the letter Estonian branches their family includes. The couple starts to feel like they're being trackers as they walk through the mailpost, and they eventually find the letter from a member of the family that they just discovered. They open it and read the letter is Des Moines, Iowa. The letter is from a certain member of the family, and they are Wheeling, Illinois. They have never seen the name of the member before, but they know the family's country is Estonian. The couple begins to feel a need to go to the Estonian branches of their family and Greggs to dwarfy the member of the family they just discovered.	As the sun began to set, people were starting to trickle into the city square. For the most part, they were arrayed in groups, watching the sky turn a deep red and orange as the last light of the day faded. That is, until they noticed something moving in the distance. At first, they thought it was a firecracker, but as they got closer, they realized it wasn't fireworks. It was a large, elongated creature, its eyes glowing a deep purple. The people in the square began to scream, running towards the creature. As they got closer, they could see that the creature was Kaworu, the ghost of the emperor. The people ran towards Kaworu, yelling for him to help them. But Kaworu just stood there, looking at the people with eyes of red and orange. eventually, Kaworu began to speak. "I have been watching you all day, people of Tokyo. It is time for you to learn a lesson."	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. More than 66 million people have been displaced by wars and violence over the last 25 years, and the number is growing rapidly. Many refugees are fleeing Syria, where a brutal civil war has been raging for over five years. The United Nations has estimated that there are now more than 7.5 million refugees in Europe, and the number is expected to reach 20 million by the end of 2020. Many people are opposed to refugees coming to their countries, citing fears that the refugees will increase the number of terrorist incidents.Others think that the refugees should be given a fair chance to settle in their new homes and integrate into society.Whatever the case may be, the refugee crisis is a serious issue that deserves the attention of everyone.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a very real and pressing issue that is affecting the entire planet. The Earth is warming at an unprecedented rate and this is causing all sorts of problems for the environment and for the people who live on it. The effects of climate change are already being felt by people all over the world and it is only going to get worse. This is why it is so important that we all do our part to try to mitigate the effects of climate change and to raise awareness about this issue.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	At sixteen, I was the only auditor in my high school. Everyone elseA) worebj^jyjyjyjed with Auditors around, orB) used other people's birth control to keep their Seconds instead of ours. When I got residency in the medical profession, I- teenth student in the country began to fail classes. He was an Auditor. There was a large metal frame in my room. I was in bed, reading. When I heard the door open, I knew it was time to get up. I had a call from my mom in announces that my dad had a heart attack and would not be able to come to the D&D this weekend. I kissed my	When you were called to the Auditor's office, you knew you had to do something to prevent the spread of stupidity. So you deactivated your birth control device. It was a little bit of a hassle, but you were finally able to raise a well-adjusted human being. Congratulations! You're an Auditor.	I can't believe it. I'm an Auditor. I've been training for years, and now I'm finally going to be able to do what's been asked of me. I'm going to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a tough job, but I'm determined. I'll keep an eye on them, make sure they're behaving and are ready to be parents. I hope it won't be too hard, but I know it will be worth it. Hopefully, the dumbest people in the world will finally learn their lesson and be able to create a decent society without propelling the species further down the drain.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've never once wavered in your convictions. You believe that everyone should be implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and that only the smartest, most stable people should be allowed to reproduce. It's not an easy job, but you feel it's important work. After all, the last thing the world needs is more dumb, uneducated people. So you go about your job with a sense of duty, making sure that only the best and the brightest are allowed to have children. It's not always popular work, but you know it's necessary. And you take pride in your role in making sure that only the best and the brightest will be able to shape the future of the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long suspected that he is being testsweeped, but he can't seem to know when the tests will come. He is desperate to find a solution and decides to take a trip to Croatia to see if he can find a, "friendly, actual, human being." On the trip, he meets a human being who is also looking for a new beginning. The man is called Josip Broz Tito. Freud is relieved to see him, and the two of them have a conversation. He tells Freud that he is the Recorded neurotransmitter in the [ Ridley Ridley Ridley Ridley Ridley	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was soon added to the clinical trials of Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin was the only person who responded to the ad for Stalin. He was soon added to the clinical trials of Freud's new research. Leon Trotsky was the only person who responded to the ad for Trotsky. He was soon added to the clinical trials of Freud's new research. Josip Broz Tito was the only person who responded to the ad for Tito. He was soon added to the clinical trials of Freud's new research.	Freud was perplexed as to why only these four people responded to his ad. He finally decided to ask them what they thought the research could possibly be used for. Joseph Stalin, the most powerful man in Russia at the time, confidently proclaimed that the research could be used to "fix" people. Adolf Hitler, the leader of Germany, was less sure. He believed that the research could be used to control people. Leon Trotsky, the Marxist revolutionary, was the most hesitant of the four. He believed that the research could be used to create mindless slaves. Freud was not convinced, but decided to give them a chance. The four men continued to study Freud's research, but they all remained skeptical. None of them believed that the research could be used for anything other than evil. Finally, after months of research, Trotsky came up with a plan. He believed that the research could be used to create a new, socialist human race. Stalin and Hitler agreed to help Trotsky carry out his plan. The four men traveled to Moscow, Russia, and formed the Soviet Union. They used the research to control the people and create a dictatorship. Today, the remnants of the Soviet Union are still in existence, and they are still using the research to control the people. Freud would be appalled at the way his research has been used.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He places an ad in a newspaper seeking participants, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their twenties, and all are eager to participate in Freud's research. They each undergo a series of tests and interviews, and Freud is impressed with all of them. He ultimately decides to accept all four men into his study. Over the course of the next few years, the four men become close friends and confidants. They discuss their personal lives and their hopes and dreams for the future. They also discuss their views on politics and society, and all four men agree that change is needed. As the years go by, the four men's bond only strengthens. They continue to meet with Freud on a regular basis, and their discussions become more and more philosophical. They also begin to discuss their plans for the future, and how they can make their vision for a better world a reality. Eventually, Freud's research comes to an end, but the friendship between the four men endures. They go their separate ways, but they keep in touch, and their bond remains as strong as ever. Who knows what the future holds for these four men? But one thing is for sure: their friendship, forged in the fires of Freud's research, will last a lifetime.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Lena had always been empathetic towards the people she knew were going through the same things as she were going through. She wanted to help, but they didn't want her help. It felt chic not to be able to offer any practical help and just share her support. She Silently offered her tears as a deliverance from the sadness that was future patching up their broken pieces. It was a token of her EMPATHY. The dying girl hadSend her friends into the future for her, hoping that she would bring cheer to their experiment. Lena had never looked back once during her first session; she didn't even remember what happened next. The girl she helped had sent her friends into one of the most thrilling moments of their lives, but Lena couldn't support herself by then. She walked away with a powerful edge to her. She knew that she had given them what they needed, and she had taken away her pain.	Once upon a time, there was a princess who cried tears of joy into the night. Her kingdom was secure, and the people she loved were safe. No one knew her because her tears never stopped.	Tears streamed down her face as she cried out in pain. The person she loved was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and barely alive. She had been there when he had been hurt and she knew that it was her fault. All her tears hadn't healed his scars, they only made them more visible. The world had changed since she had started weeping. People were moreisolated and there was a chill in the air. The sun had set on the hope of a better future. And she knew that it was all her fault.	Her tears fell like drops of acid, eating away at her skin as they trickled down her face. The pain was unbearable, but she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She knew that each tear was leaving a permanent scar on her skin, but she didn’t care. The pain was worth it if it meant she could release the hurt and pain that was pent up inside her. In a world where tears left scars, people were more careful with their words and actions. They knew that their words could hurt someone so deeply that they would be left with a physical reminder of the pain forever. So they chose their words carefully, and tried to always act with kindness. There were still arguments and fights, of course. But even in the heat of anger, people were careful not to say anything that they would regret later. Because they knew that those words would leave a scar. This change in the world had a profound effect on relationships. People were more honest with each other, and more loving. Because they knew that every word and action had the potential to hurt or heal. And they wanted to choose the words and actions that would heal the scars, not make them worse.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	The next morning, the sun was shining and I was feeling great. I started out my day, activities that I enjoy, when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my side. I doubled over in pain and could not move. I passed out from the pain.	I was walking home from work, when I heard a loud thud. I turned around to see a man on the ground, with blood flowing from his head. I couldn't believe it, I had just hit him with my car.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and well, and the next I'm just... gone. It's almost like I'm fading away into nothingness. I don't feel any pain. In fact, I don't feel anything at all. It's like I'm in a deep sleep. But I know I'm not, because I can still see and hear everything around me. I see my body lying on the ground and people are screaming and crying. I want to comfort them, to tell them that it's okay, but I can't. I'm not really here anymore. I don't know where I am now. But it's peaceful and calm. I can see a light in the distance, and I feel like I'm being pulled towards it. I'm not scared. I know this is the end of my life, but I also know that something better awaits me on the other side.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The thing was big and white and it was constantly looking in your bedroom. It was always trying to get a look at you under the bed and in the mirror. Sometimes it was successful, other times it didn't and would continue to look. Finally, the thing was getting so big that it became difficult to see at night withoutnegie Tightening the hold on my heart, I looked at it in the mirror and let go.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, looking out the window. I saw a black thing stalking the rooftops. I wasSo curious, I went outside to watch it. When I got back in my chair, the thing was gone. I couldn't explain it, but I knew that it was following me. I started to feel scared and Miserable. I didn't know what to do.	I have always found it interesting how something invisible can live in our homes. I've never been able to identify it, but I've always felt like there's something watching me. Tonight, I decided to take matters into my own hands and try to expose the thing. I started by turning on all the lights in the house and looked around for anything that seemed out of place. I didn't see anything, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. Then, I started to get suspicious. I started to feel like the thing was following me. I was getting claustrophobic and I started to sweat. I had to get out of there. I started to run towards the door, but the thing was faster. It grabbed me from behind and held me tight. I struggled, but I was outnumbered and the thing was stronger. I could feel its breath on my neck and its cold, slimy hands gripping my flesh. Then, I heard a voice in my head. It said, "Welcome home, my little friend."	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can tell it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and left food out, but so far, nothing has worked. I'm starting to wonder if this invisible thing is actually a ghost. Maybe it's the spirit of someone who died in this house long ago. If that's the case, I'm not sure what I should do. I don't want to anger the spirit, but I also don't want to live with it in my house. For now, I'm just going to keep trying to expose it. Maybe eventually I'll get lucky and catch a glimpse of what this thing is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and some adventurers seem to dripretly try to leave for ever since the start of the game. So, the shop is where we can offerexchange for these loot. The shop is small, so some adventurers try to leave for ever since the start of the game. So, the shop is where we can offerexchange for these loot.	One day, a nefarious group of adventurers posing as merchants ran into your shop. They wanted to buy some rare treasure they had unearthed, but couldn't seem to find the right price. "We're notarius," the one in the lead said. "We can give you a good price." You weren't sure what that meant, but you agreed. The party then took off with their loot, leaving you resentful.	The door to my pawn shop swung open eagerly, and a young man stepped in. He was wearing fine armor and carried a heavy sword in his hand. He looked around the store, looking for something to buy. "Hello," I said, approaching him. "Do you have anything interesting to sell?" The young man seemed surprised that I had spoken to him. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just looking for weapons and armor." "Well, we have a wide variety of weapons and armor here," I said. "What kind of weapon do you want?" "I don't know," the young man said. "I've never used one before." "Well, our blades are always in high demand," I said. "Would you like to see our selection?" The young man nodded and followed me to the back of the store. I showed him the different types of blades and swords and explained how they were used. "This one looks interesting," the young man said, pointing to a sword. "It does," I said. "It's called a bastard sword. It's a powerful weapon that's perfect for close quarters fighting." The young man considered the sword for a moment. "I think I'll take it," he said. I was surprised by the young man's decision, but I didn't argue. I wrapped the sword in a cloth and gave it to him, then watched as he left the store.	You run an RPG pawn shop and haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. However, you're not interested in just any old loot. You're only interested in magical items. As such, you're always on the lookout for new and interesting magical items. And, you're willing to pay top dollar for them. One day, a weary adventurer enters your shop with a large sack. He dumps the contents of the sack onto your counter and says, "I'll give you all of this for 500 gold." You quickly scan through the pile of loot and spot a few interesting items, but nothing that really catches your eye. So, you counter with an offer of 1,000 gold. The adventurer haggles with you for a bit, but eventually agrees to your offer and walks out of the shop with a hefty pouch of gold.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was down and out, and you would often find them buying goods that they knew would never be used. One day, you came across them and you saw theurtle.com for them. They were quot;KISSING THE SONG q The person that met you was down and out, and you would often find them playing the piano together. One day, you came across them and they singing together. You could feel the Hudsense They were quot;KISSING THE SONG q The person that met you was down and out, and you would often find them walking around with only one goal in mind. One day, you came across them and they was singing with you. They had a big smile on their face, and you could feel the Hudsense They were quot;KISSING THE SONG q	He tells you a story of a warship that was sunk by a Merchant Navy ship. The Merchant Navy crew was never found and no one knows what happened to them.Years go by and you hear countless other stories of ships sunk by Merchant Navy ships. One day, you find a story in a archive that tells of a ship that was sunk by a Royal Navy ship. The Royal Navy crew was never found and no one knows what happened to them. You are mysteries to everyone thatyou speak to. They all ask you the same question, "who were these people and what did they do?"	I was drawn to him from the first time I saw him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It wasn't just a small nick or a scrape, it was a huge gouge that ran half way across his chest. It was so big, it looked like it would never heal. I wanted to know more about him and ask him about it, but I was afraid he would refuse to tell me. I was also worried that he would be angry with me for asking. Eventually, I worked up the courage to talk to him. And even though he was hesitant at first, he eventually opened up to me. He told me that he had been through so much pain and suffering, but that he had finally overcome it. He told me that the biggest lie of all was the lie that had created the biggest scar on his body.	You can't help but stare at the person in front of you. They have a single, massive scar running down their face. It's so deep and large that it must have been caused by the biggest lie imaginable. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a thing. What could this person have lied about that was so big and terrible? You can't help but approach them and ask about their scar. The person looks at you with a sad, tired expression. "It's a long story," they say. "And it's not one that I like to talk about." You respect their privacy and don't press further, but you can't help but wonder about their story. What could have caused such a huge scar?	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous painter who lives in every place he paints. He has been in the relevancy of different places, such as his home, that many times. He has many deaths, but the most sale is when he is pregnant. He was once paintings in a single spot, but now he keeps them in several places.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The murders take place in different places around the United States, and as each painting is completed, the locations of the murders areInputted into the computer. Recently, the computer has been asking for the murders of victims in New York City, and as the murders there continue to increase, so does the demand for Bob Ross' paintings. With each painting, the demand for the murder locations only grows, leaving the artist with no choice but to continue painting in locations that are increasingly dangerous and unpredictable.	Bob Ross loved his art so much, he killed for it. The painter traveled the world, painting California Coastlines, the Rocky Mountains, and of course, the Emerald Forest. But no place was as special to him as his home state of Alaska. Alaska was beautiful, and the landscape was full of inspiration for him. So many compositions were possible there, with the myriad of landscapes, mountains, and lakes. But Bob Ross wasn't content to paint just landscapes. He loved to capture the atmosphere of each place, to paint the feelings of the people who lived there. So he began to murder innocent people, to take their portraits and paint them in his landscapes. He killed with a paintbrush, slaying people in their homes, in their yards. No one was safe from Bob Ross' art, not even the people he loved. Eventually, the police caught up to him. They found his canvases, filled with portraits of dead Alaskans. They found his brushes, stained with blood. And they found him, painting a beautiful landscape in the middle of a field, surrounded by the bodies of his victims. He was convicted of murder and sent to prison, where he will spend the rest of his days. However, his art will live on, forever painting scenes of gore and terror in the minds of those who see it.	Bob Ross was not your typical painter. For one, his paintings were always of happy little scenes, full of sunshine and happiness. But what most people didn't know was that each and every one of those landscapes was actually a real place. A place where Bob Ross had committed countless murders. It all started when Bob was just a young man, fresh out of art school. He was full of ambition and ideas, but he quickly learned that the art world was not an easy one to break into. So, in order to make a name for himself, Bob started painting landscapes of different locations where he had committed murders. At first, it was just small-time stuff - petty robberies gone wrong, bar fights that had ended in someone's death. But as Bob's fame grew, so did the scale of his crimes. Now, Bob Ross was a wanted man, and his landscape paintings were the only things keeping him one step ahead of the law. Each new painting was like a signpost, leading the authorities to another of Bob's gruesome crimes. But no matter how many times they closed in on him, Bob always managed to slip away, disappearing into the countryside with his brushes and paints. Some say that Bob Ross is still out there somewhere, painting his happy little scenes and hiding the dark truth behind them. Others believe that he finally met his end, justice catching up to him at last. But whatever the truth may be, one thing is for sure: Bob Ross was one of the most prolific murderers of our time, and his landscapes will forever be stained with blood.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has pulled out a rabbit from a hat and he's started to play second fiddle to the little girl. The rabbit is getting lonely and the old man starts to feel a greater need for a Woman of faction who can take on the challenges of magic. Just as the old man is about to step forward, the magician comes to life and cavalryns the rabbit out of the way. He then tells the rabbit that he's been working hard all day and deserves to be first in the night. The rabbit escapees and the old man returns to the daughter with a feeling of accomplishedness.	The magician set up the stage and took the rabbit out of his hat. The rabbit was enraged and tried to run away, but the magician easily caught up to him and pulled him back. "You know, I'd say this is it. You're going to have to play your part and help me out," the magician said. The rabbit gritted his teeth and said, "No way, I'm not doing this. I'm not your puppet." "What do you mean, you're not my puppet? You're the one that's sick of playing second fiddle. I'm the one that's helped you out before, so I deserve to do this again. Just play your part and let me do the magic." The rabbit refused to budge and said, "No way, I'm not going to play this way. I'm not a part of this show." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's display of independence and said, "You're right, you're not a part of this show. But you're still my rabbit, so you're still in my power. I can do whatever I want to you." The rabbit hesitated for a moment and said, "All right, I'll play your part. But I still don't think I'm ready for this." The magician didn't believe the rabbit, but he knew that he had to try something. He pulled out his wand and said, "Now, you're going to do as I say." The rabbit hesitated for a moment, but then he said, "Yes, master."	The magician was tired of having the rabbit always pull him through his tricks. The rabbit was tired of always being the one that got stuck in the hat. One day, the magician decided to take matters into his own hands and pulled the rabbit out of the hat himself. The rabbit was shocked and angry, but the magician was simply glad to have finally rid himself of the pesky creature.	Once upon a time, a magician and his rabbit were performing on stage. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle, so he decided to take matters into his own paws. He used his magic to make the magician disappear, and took over the show. The audience loved it, and the rabbit became a star.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The world is on the brink of an apocalypse, and few know more than those who are please with the decision to head for the Hopefully Arriving. As the only ones ready to go into pack, the translations of 12 illegal words, and the last symbol of civilization, they are the only ones who can stop the coming of thestorm.	For the past week, the news media has been interested in the riots that are happening throughout the city. People have been protesting for the past two days, and the police have had to escalate their efforts to keep the peace. It seems that something important is causing the unrest, and it is unknown what it is.	The current issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the fight for transgender rights. The transgender community has long been marginalized and discriminated against, and their fight for equality is finally being acknowledged by the mainstream. In recent years, there has been a significant increase in the number of transgender people coming out. Many people are now aware of the discrimination and violence that transgender people face on a daily basis. The transgender community has been making great progress, but there is still a long way to go. They need the support of the general population in order to achieve their goals. Thank you for considering this prompt. I hope you enjoy the story.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is already having devastating effects on our planet. If we don't take action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and stop the warming trend, the consequences will be catastrophic. We need to make climate change a priority issue and take concrete steps to address it. We need to move away from fossil fuels and towards renewable energy, and we need to do it quickly. We also need to protect and restore our natural ecosystems, which are vital to mitigating the effects of climate change. This is a huge challenge, but it's one that we must meet if we want to ensure a livable planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Once upon a time there was a young man named Andrew who was unlike any other young man in the world. He was an Auditor. Aux applications were tabled until a annual meeting was held to decide what to do. A motion was made that Birth Cuts No Longer BemsonBeens, and the meeting wasdin Eden. The Vice President (or anyone else who may want to be an Auditor) decided that the cost of replaced birth cuts with long-term staring made the decision and the meeting was forced to at least discuss it. Andrew was the only one who could unite all the different groups and make a decision. Andrews model home was an wonders of the world. He could surprise his parents who were always very pleased with the improvement his home had made. Andrew could not only provide for himself and his family, but he could also afford to buy things that he never would have possible before. Andrews time was important. He could prevent other young men from reproducing and make a difference in the world.	At the age of sixteen, you're given your first ever audit. It's a grueling process, and you're tired from the day's work. As you enter the office of the Auditor, you're met with a receptionist. She thanks you for coming, and leaves you to your tasks. As you work, you begin to notice something strange. Everywhere you look, people are wheeling large, black boxes. Some people are carrying them around, while others are setting them up on tables. At first, you don't understand why they're so interested in the boxes. But as you start to think more about it, you realize that these boxes are reallyombs. You panic as you realize that the only way to stop these bombs from going off is to prevent the people whooped threw them. You try to figure out how to do this, but you're too confused. And then, you hear it. The loudest, fastest, and most screeching noise you've ever heard. It's as if an army of birds is being destroyed. You run to the source of the noise, and find that the boxes are being destroyed. People are screaming, and there's blood all over the place. You're terrified as you see the whole office destroyed. The only thing you can think of is to find the Auditors. As you race through the offices, you see the Auditor's office. You know you have to find them if you want to prevent the whole world from going down. As you get closer, you see the Auditor. He's trying to calm the people, but they're hysterical. You try to talk to him, but he's too far away. You try to run to him, but you're too tired. You take a few steps, and then you collapse. You wake up in a hospital bed. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in a hospital. You're in a dark room. You can't see anything. But you know that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a research center. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a labs. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a room. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in the future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in the future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in the future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in the future. 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You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize that you're not in the hospital again. You're in a future. You're surrounded by people, and you realize	It was a dark and stormy night when the device was implanted. I remember being scared and excited all at the same time. I was sure that this was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was sure that it would keep me from becoming a dumbass like my parents. But, as it turns out, the device wasn't really meant to keep us from being dumbasses. It was meant to keep us from reproducing. I never thought I'd be an Auditor. But, now, I'm glad that I am. I'm glad that I'm able to keep the world's dumbest people from reproducing. And, most importantly, I'm glad that I'm able to keep my family from becoming dumbasses.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. Only the people who pass your evaluation are allowed to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. This system has been in place for many years, and it has effectively prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, there are always a few who slip through the cracks. You try your best to catch them, but sometimes you can't. One case that sticks with you is that of a young woman named Sarah. Sarah was considered to be one of the most intelligent and stable people you had ever evaluated. She was kind, thoughtful, and had a great sense of humor. You were sure she would make an excellent parent. Unfortunately, Sarah's life took a turn for the worse shortly after she had her child. She became depressed and withdrawn, and she eventually stopped taking care of her child altogether. The child was neglected and malnourished, and it was only a matter of time before something terrible happened. You were heartbroken when you heard about what happened to Sarah and her child. You know that there are some people who are just too unstable to be parents, no matter how intelligent they may be. Sarah was one of them. You hope that, by continuing to do your job, you can prevent more tragedies like this from happening.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were both in their early twenties when they responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were both satisfied with their roles as officials in the Third Reich and they were excited to take part in the clinical trials of Freud's new research. The other participants in the trial were Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito and Adolf Hitler's older brother, Rudolf. They all knew that their roles in the trial would be short-lived and that they would soon be ousted from power. But they were excited to take part in the trials and to see what Freud's new research could bring. They were also willing to put their skills and their lives on the line for the good of their country.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a local newspaper, looking for participants. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all responded. Freud was excited to begin the trials. However, he was worried about how the participants would respond. He wasn't sure if they would be able to handle the research. But thankfully, the participants all seemed to be able to handle the tests. They all seemed to be very interested in the research. Freud was happy with the results of the trials. He was hopeful that his research would help improve the lives of many people.	When Sigmund Freud put an ad in the newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research, he never expected to hear from some of the most notorious dictators in history. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded, eager to be a part of the trials. Freud was hesitant to let them participate, but he eventually relented. The trials were a success, and Freud's research helped to change the way we think about the human mind. However, there was one unforeseen complication: the dictators all developed a taste for power and began to use Freud's methods to control the people around them. The world was plunged into darkness as these ruthless dictators rose to power. But Freud's research had unwittingly given them the tools to do so.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was setting in the sky,ollywood Shutting its door for the last time. Liz, who was lying in bed, saw the sound and knew it was time to end the night. She turned over, saw the timer on her microwavetion and knew she had about 20 minutes before she had to go to bed. She selected a movie to watch, but when she clicked on the name, she found herself on the first watch movie of the night. She L亞ted the machine, seeing the Advertisement for the next movie and BFF LIMITED THE STUFF PAINTING MUST COLLABORATE TOGETHER. Liz cigarette but attempt to get going was unsuccessful so she consider going to sleep. She saw the timer on her alarm and knew she had about 10 minutes before she had to go to bed. She select a movie to watch, but when she clicked on the name, she found herself on the first watch movie of the night. She CORDED the machine, seeing the next movie being available soon. Liz cigarette but attempt to get going was unsuccessful so she consider going to sleep.	One day, a young girl was crying and her friends helped her dry her eyes. As they did, they noticed that her tears left streaks on her face. As they looked, they noticed that the tears had left a deep red line on her cheek. This made them curious and they asked her what was wrong. She told them that she was upset because her dad had died. They sympathized with her and helped her to cope with her sadness. From that day on, the young girl's friends began to call her "Teary's" because she always had a soft-spot for crying.	The world would be a very different place if tears left scars on the face of those who cried. The pain and sadness would be felt by everyone who saw these tears, no matter where they were. The movements of these tears would ripple through the world, touching everyone they came in contact with. This change would be difficult at first, but eventually everyone would get used to the new way of life. The tears would represent the pain and sadness of life, and it would be important for people to express these emotions. This would help to heal the world and make it a better place.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. Instead of being a place full of love and compassion, it would be a place full of hurt and pain. People would be afraid to show their emotions, for fear of being hurt. And the few people who did dare to show their emotions would be looked upon as monsters. No one would know how to express themselves anymore. The world would be a cold, dark place. And all because tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was born to a family of physicians. I always loved being a part of the medical community. It was an amazing experience to see the patients and help care for them. But then something happened that changed my life. I contracted a disease that made me barely alive. I was never able to pick up a cross at church or recycle recyclable materials. I was completely alone and lost. But then something amazing happened. A sympathetic and compassionate group of people rallied around me and helped me recover. They showed me how to live a better life and to see the good in people. I now love helping people, regardless of their conditions.	I was sitting in my chair, scrolling through my social media feeds when I saw a post from my best friend. She had just ended a long relationship and was feeling really down. I knew that she needed someone to talk to, so I responded to her message. We started messaging back and forth and I soon found out that she was having a lot of suicidal thoughts. I told her that she didn't have to do anything that she wasn't comfortable with, but she insisted on getting help. The next day, she came to see me and we talked for hours. Afterwards, she decided to go get help and moved out of state. I know that she's doing well now and that she's happy. I feel grateful for the time that we spent talking and for the memories that we made. I know that I'll never forget the day that I died, but I'm grateful for the life that I've been able to lead since then.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, or why it happened, but I know that I'm dead. I can feel the coldness of the ground beneath me, and the darkness that surrounds me. I can hear the sound of my own heart beating, slow and steady in my chest. But I can't move. I can't open my eyes. I can't do anything but feel the emptiness of death.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The presence of something invisible in my home made me feel uneasy. I was certain that it knew something was looking at me and was centuries old. I would never be able to bank on that happening one day. I was thankful that my home was such a content place that I can't be sure that the blackEnergy that waited in my home for me wasn'tGallantry Energy or any other energy that could just as easily be another example of what I thought was looking at me. I would never be able to bank on that happening one day. I would rather be around things that I can trust, even if they are things that I can't see. I'll be around things that I can count on, even if they're things that I can't see.	One day, I was sitting at my computer when I heard a faint breeze in the window. I wasn't sure if I was hallucinating or if someone was home, but I decided to take a closer look. Within minutes, I could see a large, black shape looming in the window. It was as if it was following me. I screamed, but it wasn't paying attention to me. It was focused on the wind. Suddenly, the shape lunged out of the window and into my home. It was huge, and it was moving so fast I could barely see it. I screamed, but it was too late. The black shape had already taken me down.	I never thought I would see the day when something invisible would live in my home. I've always been a skeptic, thinking that nothing could exist that couldn't be seen or felt. But I was wrong. This tiny, seemingly harmless creature has been living in my home for weeks now, and I've been trying to get rid of it without success. I've tried scaring it away with loud noises, throwing things at it, and even calling the exterminator, but it's as elusive as ever. I don't know what to do. I'm starting to feel paranoid and my home is starting to feel less safe. I don't know how much longer I can keep this thing hidden from my eyes, and I'm starting to feel like I'm losing control.	I have always known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't explain how I know, I just do. It's never done anything to harm me or my family, but I can't help but be curious about it. I have tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I have set up cameras and left food out, but nothing has worked. I'm starting to think that this invisible thing might be more intelligent than I thought. One day, I decided to confront it. I spoke in a soft voice, asking it to show itself. At first, there was no response. But then, slowly, a figure began to materialize in front of me. It was human-like, but there was something off about it. It didn't have a face, just a blank space where a head should be. I couldn't tell if it was male or female. It just stood there, staring at me. I could feel its eyes boring into me, but I refused to back down. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it spoke. "Why do you want to know about me?" it asked. I thought about my answer carefully. "I just want to understand," I said. "I know you're not harmful, but I don't know why you're here. Can you tell me?" The figure was silent for a moment. Then it said, "I am here because I choose to be. I could leave at any time, but I stay because I'm curious about you humans. You're so fascinating." "But why me?" I asked. "Why my home?" "I don't know," the figure said. "There's just something about you that I find intriguing. I can't explain it." I thought about that for a moment. Then I said, "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I get to know you. Maybe we can learn from each other." The figure nodded. Then it slowly began to fade away. "I'll be back," it said. "I'm curious to know more about you, too."	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is Jacob's only stop before he carries on with his adventures. He is always happy to help sell aIrriors and Loot, even though they can only be used for obfuscated purposes. He sells them at aious prices, and his customers are always happy to get something they need.	Once upon a time there was a pawn shop in a small town. It was a taboo to sell loot from CRPGs, so the shop existed as a way for people to trade in their treasures. One day, a group of adventurers come to your shop, looking for something to sell. They've acquired a lot of gear, and they are looking for something to trade for it. The first thing the adventurers ask for is a list of prices for the gear. You give them one, and they offer you a number of different prices. You get to choose one, and then you trade the gear for the appropriate amount of money. The adventurers are happy with the trade, and they leave with some new gear. They tell the shop keeper how happy they are with the experience, and the shopkeeper thanks them for the trade.	I was just about to close up shop for the night when I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door to see a group of adventurers, all of them looking very excited. "Hey, we've got some loot we'd like to sell you," one of the adventurers said. I assessed the group and decided that they were probably pretty good at fighting, so I started haggling with them. I tried to get them to sell me their weapons and armor, but they weren't budging. Finally, I gave up and let them go. I knew I could get a much better deal on the items if I shopped around a bit, but I was glad I could deal with these adventurers successfully. It made my job a little bit easier.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle for it. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a magic sword. It's a rare and powerful weapon, and you can tell she's desperate to get rid of it. You haggle with her for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. She sells you the sword for a fair price, and you add it to your collection.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who has the biggest lie is a terrible friend. She always tells a false story and every one of them. It's like she doesn't really exist in her own right. The more she tells, the bigger and more Dimensions the mark will become. One day, you meet her friend. You step in and stop her from telling a bigger lie. You know the truth and the truth is that her friend has a huge hole in her body. The mark will close up and she will feel much better.	You meet this new person at a party and you instantly like them. They are mysterious and introspective, and they seem to understand you. You start to tell them your most personal stories and, over time, you develop a close bond with them. One night, as you are lying in bed together, you let out a massive secret. You have lied to everyone that you know about your scar - even your best friend. They are angry and disappointed with you, but you know that you have to keep your secret. The next day, as you walk into work, you see your best friend from when you were younger. They are surprised to see you and they hug you tightly, tears streaming down their face. They explain that they have been waiting for you to come back to them and that they have been dreaming about being able to touch you again. You understand now that it is the only way that you can heal the hurt that you have caused. You walk into work the next day and feel like a million bucks. Every day, you tell yourself that you will never lie again, and you keep that promise.	I never thought I would meet someone with only one scar, but I did. We were introduced by accident, and I was immediately drawn to him. His story was so beautiful, and his scars were all so small and insignificant in comparison to the one on his soul. I wanted to know everything about him, and his one big scar only served to make me even more interested. He told me that he had lied so often, it had become a habit. He would tell little white lies to make people happy, or to try and cover up his mistakes. But eventually, the lies had taken over his life. They had become his identity, and he was too afraid to let them go. But finally, he had realized that the bigger the lie, the deeper the scar. The only way to heal was to start from the beginning and tell the truth from now on. And for the first time in his life, he was happy. He was free. And his one big scar was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what it is from, and they tell you a story. "I was born into a wealthy family. But my parents didn't love me. They never wanted me. They would have rather I was never born at all. So, I grew up feeling alone and unloved. I told myself that I was worth more than they thought I was. That I deserved to be happy. And so, I lied. I lied about who I was. I lied about my accomplishments. I lied about my happiness. And with each lie, I created this scar. It is a reminder of how far I have come. It is a reminder of my strength. And it is a reminder of how I will never let anyone control my life again." You are amazed by this person's story. And you can't help but admire their strength.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape paintings for centuries, each of his place being a brandishing hero, representing a placebrooks have in common with his own. Some are small and unassuming, like a simple peasant picking plums off a tree, while others areVERY large and take up a significant part of his studio, like a maiden's blushing child. one can pick it up and carry it with you, knowing that it's there. Even though his victims were often young and old, and had shop- merchandise and scintillate around their groin areas, Bob Ross never localizes his art to any specific place. He keeps score of where he painter gets killed, and places where he has Painters. There is "The Gilded Court" on the East Coast, "The Maids of Death" in the SW, and "The ChristMode" in the NE. ops: What is Bob Ross', true, place?	Bob Ross never thought about his murders until he came across a painting of a place called the Dakota Homestead. 14 years ago, he killed three people there, their spouses and two young children. Now, in the painting, Bob Ross himself is sitting at the dinner table with the families, enjoying a happy meal. The murders have been forgotten, and the painting has become a tourist attraction.	Bob Ross was a talented painter, and his landscapes were some of the most beautiful in the world. However, he was also a serial killer. He would go to various locations around the United States and kill people, painting their scenes in his famous landscapes. No one knows how many people he killed, but the scenes in his paintings tell the story of his crimes.	Bob Ross' landscape paintings are beautiful. But what many people don't know is that each one is based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross roamed the country, killing innocent people and using their blood to paint his signature landscapes. He would find a secluded spot, set up his easel, and then wait for his victim. As they approached, he would strike them down, draining their blood into his paint palette. The authorities never suspected Bob Ross, because who could imagine such a pleasant-looking man being a serial killer? But the truth is, he was a ruthless murderer, and his paintings are a gruesome reminder of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magicianhani might be able to manipulate things with his magic, but the rabbit isn't taking it anymore. He's got enough trouble trying to survive as a second-class item in someone else's game. He'll be getting out of this predicament by the end of the performance, but the magician will always be in mind. The rabbit will just have to stay put.	Magician John set out to up the stakes on his rabbit tricks show. He persuaded his friend and fellow magician Benny to help him pull out a sick rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was not processing the new information well, so Benny and John worked together to get it back on its feet. After a few tries, John finally managed to get the Rabbit to perform tricks. even Rikki the Raccoon was impressed. john's performance got so good that people started coming to his show to see if he could really put on a show. Benny and John were so proud of their friend, and they each took on additional projects to helpJohn perfect his tricks. Alone at the show, Benny found a note from the rabbit. It read, "Please don't tell John. I don't want him to know that I'm sick." Benny did not want to emphasize the fact that the rabbit was not himself, so he decided to just let John know that the rabbit was feeling a bit better. John was so happy to have been able to help Benny and the rabbit get through a tough time. The two were always there for one another, no matter what.	The magician was getting a bit tired of having to pull out the rabbit every time he performed. It was always so eager to be the star of the show, but it was starting to get on his nerves. So, one day, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He took out his wand and performed a spell, and suddenly, the rabbit was no longer there. In its place was a beautiful, healthy rabbit of its own. The magician was shocked at what he had done, but he was pleased with the results. From then on, the rabbit would be the star of the show, and the magician would be able to take a break from time to time.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is not happy. He's been playing second fiddle to the magician for far too long, and he's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and make his escape. He waits until the magician is busy with his tricks, and then he makes a break for it. The rabbit runs off the stage and into the magical world beyond. He knows that he can find a place where he'll be appreciated and valued, and he won't have to put up with the magician's mistreatment any longer. The rabbit is free at last, and he knows that he'll never have to go back to being the magician's sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is theSLOT.Cupid show. The party started out well, with many people coming up to say hello and share ideas for saraveuma. However, as the party continued, it quickly turned negative. Everyone was talking about how the SLOT.Cupid show was static and without salt, and how no one knew how to play the game except for maybe Billie and Steve. There was a lot of jokes about how the SLOT.Cupid show was static and without salt, and how no one knew how to play the game except for maybe Billie and Steve. However, as the party continued, it quickly turned negative. People were talking about how the SLOT.Cupid show was static and without salt, and how no one knew how to play the game except for maybe Billie and Steve. There was a lot of jokes about how the SLO	A major news issue today is the investigation into the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The sheriff in charge of the investigation has released a statement saying that they are not sure if the Death of Michael Brown is connected to any other incidents in the area. This issue is receiving a lot of attention and is causing a lot of unrest in the community.	Today, the issue of gun control is receiving the greatest amount of attention. With mass shootings becoming all too common, people are demanding changes be made to our current gun laws. Some people argue that laws that make it more difficult to purchase firearms will only make them more accessible to dangerous people, while others believe that stricter gun control measures would prevent many of these tragedies from happening in the first place. Regardless of which side of the argument you fall on, it's clear that the issue of gun control is one that deserves our attention. Hopefully, by discussing it and working towards a solution, we can make the world a safer place for everyone.	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention? In my opinion, it is the Syrian refugee crisis. Tens of thousands of people have died in Syria's civil war, and over four million have fled the country. Many of them are children. They are living in terrible conditions in refugee camps in Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan. I believe that the international community needs to do more to help these refugees.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	guy one day out of line got birth control deactivated guy two days later in line guy one deactivated his birth control device after getting into some trouble guy two weeks later in line guy one deactivated his birth control device after getting into some trouble guy two weeks later in line guy one deactivated his birth control device after getting into some trouble guy two days later in line guy one deactivated his birth control device after getting into some trouble guy two days later in line	Auditor 2: (To Auditor 1) You should be careful, you may be the only one with the ability to prevent the stupid from reproducing. Auditor 1: Is that a bad thing?	Since everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, the only way to get rid of it is if someone is determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. One day, a young man who was determined to be intelligent and stable enough was selected to become an Auditor. He was excited to be chosen, but was a little nervous about the task ahead.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and communicate effectively. The birth control devices are implanted during puberty, and can only be deactivated once you've determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. This can be a difficult decision, as some people may be intelligent but not stable, or vice versa. You must weigh all of the evidence carefully before making your decision. If you determine that someone is not ready to have a child, you can recommend that they wait a bit longer or receive counseling to help them prepare for parenthood. This is an important responsibility, as the future of the world depends on ensuring that only the most intelligent and stable people are reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).. As Freud NicolaiMoving perfect, all evening long,And I Sodom and Gomorrah and all those other charlatan Lampadais ELFŁL give him crimes galore,And he's getting smarter and better at helping himself,emichemprahs and all that's pernicious in the world.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the first to respond to the ad. They were the only people who wanted to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's newest research. They were excited to be able to help advance Freud's theories and help people. The other participants in the clinical trials didn't have the same excitement. Leon Trotsky wasn't too excited about being a part of the trials. He saw the trials as a way to get power and control over the other people in the country. He didn't want to be a part of anything that would advance Freud's theories. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond to the ad. He was the most excited about the trials. He saw the trials as a chance to finallyvindicate the work that he and his friend, Lenin, had been working on. He was excited to help advance Freud's theories and help people." The trials were a success. There were many people who participated in them. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito became famous for their roles in the trials. They were known as the "Three Freedoms."	Freud is intrigued by the young, up-and-coming leaders of the world's most powerful countries, and decides to offer them a chance to participate in his latest clinical trial. He sends them all a letter, explaining the nature of the trial and asking if they would be interested. Adolf Hitler responds quickly, eager to test his theories on the human mind. Freud agrees to test him, and the two set to work. Adolf Hitler is a powerful, determined young man, and he quickly emerges as the leader of the trial. He is ruthless in his pursuit of power, and he takes great delight in manipulating Freud. Joseph Stalin is also a powerful participant in the trial. He is a cunning, ruthless leader, and he quickly proves himself to be a formidable opponent. He and Adolf Hitler compete for control of the trial, and Stalin emerges as the victor. Leon Trotsky is a less aggressive participant in the trial. He is philosophical and analytical, and he is able to see the larger picture. He is a valuable asset to the trial, and he proves himself to be a formidable opponent for both Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. Josip Broz Tito is the youngest participant in the trial. He is impetuous and volatile, and he is not afraid to fight for what he believes in. He is a passionate young man, and he quickly emerges as the leader of the group. He is able to see the larger picture, and he is able to work well with both Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. The six participants in the trial work together to test Freud's theories on the human mind. They are able to find evidence that supports Freud's claims, and they are able to make significant progress in the field of psychology. Their rivalry and competition is a valuable part of the trial, and it helps them to see the larger picture and to reach their goals.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for his latest clinical trial. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to participate in the trial, and each one has their own reasons for doing so. Adolf Hitler is hoping to gain a better understanding of himself and his own mind. Joseph Stalin wants to learn more about human psychology so that he can better control the people around him. Leon Trotsky is hoping to gain insights that will help him in his political career. And Josip Broz Tito simply wants to learn more about the human mind. The trial is conducted over the course of several weeks, and each man undergoes a series of tests and interviews. At the end of the trial, Freud is left with some fascinating data. Adolf Hitler is found to be highly intelligent and ambitious, with a strong drive to succeed. He is also found to be highly narcissistic and egocentric, with a complete lack of empathy for others. Joseph Stalin is found to be highly intelligent and analytical, with a great capacity for both good and evil. He is also found to be highly manipulative and power-hungry, with a complete lack of empathy for others. Leon Trotsky is found to be highly intelligent and idealistic, with a great capacity for both good and evil. He is also found to be highly passionate and charismatic, with a strong belief in his own abilities. Josip Broz Tito is found to be highly intelligent and hardworking, with a great capacity for both good and evil. He is also found to be highly pragmatic and pragmatic, with a strong belief in his own abilities. At the end of the trial, Freud is left with some very interesting data on some of the most influential figures of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	hutted with worry lines and age spots, Catherine had always been a famously difficult person to friends. She had always been thearnoid, always there when needed but not often enough to make her needs felt. her friends had one thing in common- they all thought they knew her. not anymore. Catherine had hidden her tears for years, ashamed of how they would turn up and how they would impact her life. She had tried her best to keep her depression in check, to keep fromophyinging over in her spare room, but it was like looks out for her own good. she had always been /**mentally ill*, and while her health is now inickers, she couldn't help but feel her pain. one day, she came to the idea of talking to someone about her feelings. her SO went into accMent, and Catherine was Immigrationed. Shebinding back her tears, Catherine told the story over some coffee, and found that her tears had led to her own policies. she had been able to tell her story and change her story, so that now she was a person who told the truth, and Crowned with sadly truthful stories. *sigh* Catherine is a twice a a candidate for a degree in Journalism and Society from University of Missouri. After honeymooning in Europe she opens her mind and writes a story about how emotional and TV- free her life was after she finished her degree. Hey there,RAY) I I'm not really sure what happened after I finished my degree in Journalism and Society from University of Missouri, but I know I started using TV regularly and felt indictment when I wouldn't see my friends more often. My friends had all married or started their own businesses and were living the high life with no thought of ending up like them. My friends needed someone to talk to them, someone to understand them, someone to make me feel less alone. They found someone who happened to read my story, and was so glad she could offer her help. The woman helped me understand that my high school years were product of my times and not anymore. I was agrown and in pretty public areas, and still experience the effects of hisbees and Frazier's every day. ahway, I have another story for you about a person who was also in your life when you finished your story. that person is now an international man- charger. foilow, I am writing this in front of you right now, and you're the only one who can stop me. good luck,	The first time I saw her, I couldn't help but cry. It was the first time we met. We were both new in the city and were looking for a job. She was also looking for a place to crash. I told her that I had one room in a hostel, and she came over to check it out. We met there for dinner and started to date. She told me that she loved me and that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. I didn't believe her at first, but then I saw the scars. They were everywhere. They were ugly, red and raw. She told me that they were from when I hit her. I was in my early twenties then, and I had been drunk and angry. I had hit her with my fist, and she had taken it as an attack. I had hit her again and again until she was bleeding and unconscious. I had left her there, benches away from the door, until I heard her screams. I had come back to find her lying in a fetal position, with blood pouring from her chest. I had been arrested and spent time in jail. But she never changed her story. She told me that the scars were from when I was saving her from a life of poverty. She told me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And that, even after all these years, she still loved me.	Ashley never thought she’d be one to cry, but she found herself tearing up uncontrollably as she watched her friend walk down the aisle. She knew that she’d miss her dearly, and even though she knew that she’d see her again one day, the tears felt like a physical weight on her chest. As the wedding party filed out, Ashley felt her heart break even further as she saw the tears in her friend’s eyes. She knew that she’d never be able to erase the evidence of her sadness, and the thought made her feel even more alone. Ashley sat alone in her room for hours after the wedding, crying herself to sleep. She knew that she’d never be the same, and she wondered how the world would be different if tears left scars on people’s faces. Would people be more understanding? Would they be more sympathetic? She was lost in her thoughts until she heard a knock on her door. She wiped the tears from her eyes and walked over, hoping that it was her friend come to visit. When she opened the door, she was met with an unfamiliar face.	Lena had always been a crier. As a child, she would cry when she skinned her knee or when she didn’t get her way. It was always her go-to reaction when she was feeling hurt or upset. But as she got older, Lena started to notice that her tears were leaving scars behind. Small, white lines would appear on her skin whenever she cried, and they would stay there permanently. At first, Lena tried to hide her scars. She would wear long-sleeved shirts and hats to cover them up, but it was impossible to keep them hidden all the time. People started to stare and point, and Lena quickly became a outcast. She was no longer invited to parties or sleepovers, and her old friends stopped talking to her. As the years went by, Lena’s scars became more and more visible. They covered her face, her arms, her legs. She was a walking reminder of pain and hurt, and people would cross the street to avoid her. Lena had become a recluse, spending her days locked away in her house, too afraid to face the outside world. But then one day, Lena saw a woman with tears streaming down her face, and she noticed that the woman had scars just like her own. It was the first time she had ever seen someone else like her, and it was a moment of connection and understanding. Lena slowly started to reach out to other people with scars, and together they started to build a community. Now, Lena is a leader in this community, and she’s helping others to find strength and acceptance. She knows that their scars are a badge of honor, and that they represent the times when they’ve been brave enough to feel.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	Now that the magic of the transformation is gone, the new names and faces are difficult to remember. It feels like everyone is waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. I don't know what to expect next. I'm scared, but I also feel like I have something to look forward to.	I was walking down the street when I was hit by a car. I died instantly. My family was absolutely devastated. They never expected me to die so young. They never got to see me grow up, or hold me as a child. They never got to see me get married, or have children of my own. Now I'm just a forgotten memory in a world that's moving on without me.	I die. That's what happens next. I've been living on borrowed time for years, ever since that day when I should have died but didn't. I was in a car accident, a head-on collision with a semi-truck. The truck driver was killed instantly, but I somehow survived. The doctors said it was a miracle. But I knew it wasn't. I knew that my time was running out and that one day, I would have to pay for my extra time. And that day has finally come. I'm not afraid to die. I'm just grateful that I was able to live a little longer than I was supposed to.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Assignment is a small home with an unknown materialy hidden inside. The material is little known about or unpopular with most of the family. As the family travels through the house, they find something valuable and homeigning in the basement, theyonaly deal with the issue.	One day, I found something hidden in my home. It was an invisible being, and I didn't know what to do about it. I tried to expose it, but it wouldn't let me. It seemed to be waiting for me, and it wasn't going to let me go until I revealed my attention to it. I couldn't do that, and so I found myself powerless against the being. It was like it was waiting for me, and I couldn't get away from it.	I had always sworn that I was just being paranoid, that there was nothing lurking in the corners of my home, watching me from behind the walls and furniture. But then one day, I woke up to find that my fears had been realized. There was an invisible creature living in my home, and I couldn't muster the courage to confront it. I just sat there, frozen in fear, as the creature stalked around my room.	For years, I've been aware of the invisible presence in my home. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I've never been able to expose it, but I've never let it know that I'm aware of its presence. Tonight, I'm finally going to try to expose it. I'm going to set up a camera in my living room and leave it running all night. Hopefully, whatever is living in my home will show itself on camera. I'm feeling nervous as I set up the camera. I have no idea what I'm going to see. But whatever it is, I'm determined to finally expose it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the capital's main avenue, and the adventurers are constantly trying to sell off their behalf. No matter how many times you ->prevent them from selling it->, and it seems to work because they keep trying tosold it. The shop's owner takes a break to sold some of the loot he's been selling for weeks on end. He's made a lot of profit in the past few hours of haggling, and is about to sale when he notices one particular protagonist who is not content with his offer. He try to offer him a differentChestbok than the one he was anxious to sell. The protagonist accepts the offer and both go back to haggling. The shop owner comes across thehelpless protagonist and decides to help him. He tells the protagonist that he would be happy to help sell him a new chestbok if he would just take a chance that the protagonist will be satisfied with the offer he's given. The protagonist is grateful and takes off with his new chestbok in a glad cry.	My pawn shop is a small, but successful business. I stay open late to haggle with my adventurers, and I always have a few helpful supplies on hand. I'm always happy to help out anyone who needs it.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I have haggled with adventurers for years, and I have never been disrespected. In fact, I've come to learn that most adventurers are honorable people who just want to do the right thing. Today, I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had just come into my shop. They were all carrying around bags full of loot, and they were asking me to give them a good deal on their items. I was happy to oblige them, and I started bargaining with them. I was trying to get them to lower their prices, but the adventurers were determined to get the best deal possible. In the end, I was able to get them to lower their prices by a significant amount, and they were very happy with the deal. I'm sure they will be back to my shop soon, and I will be happy to haggle with them again.	You've been running your RPG pawn shop for years now, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your door with all sorts of loot. Some of them try to haggle with you, but you're a pro at this game and you always come out on top. Today, a young adventurer came in with a large sack of loot. She looked exhausted and like she was about to collapse. "I'll give you 200 gold for this," she said. You knew she was desperate, so you decided to give her a break. "Alright, I'll give you 250 gold for it," you said. She looked relieved and handed over the sack. You looked through the loot and found a few good items that you could sell for a profit. The rest of it you would have to get rid of, but that's just the nature of the business. You always have to be on the lookout for the next big score, because you never know when it'll come walking through your door.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met at the party was the only one left in the world with one lie. The biggest lie of all. You had always thought that she was a liar, but this one scar just different than all the others. You wonder what will happen when you meet her again, but when you look her in the eye, you know that she is the one that you should meet.	You've only seen one scar, but it's the most impressive one. It spans across the entire left side of his face, extending from his brow to his chin. The size and severity of the injury makes you wonder who the person thatdid this to him is. You don't know this person, but you know something about them. They are a liar.	I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was so beautiful and looked so innocent. I wanted to know her, to tell her my secrets. But before I could, she spoke. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk to you. I have a big lie to tell." Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't believe she was telling me this. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. She was telling me that she was a liar. And that's when I saw the biggest scar of all. It was so large it bled and covered her entire back. It was the darkest thing I had ever seen.	I was walking through the market when I saw her. She was standing in the corner, alone and looking lost. But what caught my attention was the scar on her face. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. I walked up to her and asked her what had happened. She hesitated at first, but then she started to speak. "I grew up in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I only have one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. "I got this scar when I was just a child. I lied to my parents about something small and insignificant. But over time, that lie grew and grew, until it became the biggest lie I had ever told. And now, this is the result." She pointed to her scar and then looked away, ashamed. I didn't know what to say. I had never seen anything like this before. I couldn't imagine living in a world where each lie had such a permanent consequence. But as I looked at her, I also saw strength. She had survived something that would have broken most people. And she was still standing. I told her that I admired her strength and then I left. But her story has stayed with me ever since.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a pain in the neck. He doesn't understand natural magic, and keeps adding more pieces to his painting, this house he was painting is just one example. His patients and auxiliaries keep trying to take his art to new levels of Cuteness, but eventually he gives up. One day, he's sitting in his painting when he notices something living in the one he was painting. He doesn't know how, and asks his patient what happened to his patient. The patient says "Bob Ross, we've been MURDERING each other since I was young. NOW accept my death as a CLEAR offer." Ross declined the offer, and died content in his sleep.	Bob Ross spent his life loving the land and the people who lived on it. One of the ways he expressed this love was through his paintings. Every one of his landscapes was a real place, and each one represented a murder that he had committed. The different locations of his massacres helped to teach him a thing or two about life and death. He learned that in order for someone to be truly happy, they had to do what was best for themselves and their loved ones. And that was something that he always aspiring to be.	It was a dark and stormy night, and Bob Ross was feeling murderous. He had been painting landscapes all day, and he was in the mood for some bloodshed. He set his paintbrush to canvas and began to paint the familiar landscape of Mount Rushmore. But as he was painting, he couldn't help but feel the bloodlust inside of him. Soon enough, he had completed his painting of Mount Rushmore and was ready for his next murder. He set his paintbrush to the scene of his next victim and began to paint. But as he was painting, he could feel someone watching him. He turned around and saw a man standing in the shadows, staring at him. Bob Ross knew he was in for it this time. He turned back to his painting and began to paint the man's face. But as he was doing so, he realized the man was dead. The man had been standing there the entire time, watching Bob Ross murder his innocent victim. And now he was dead, too. Bob Ross felt ashamed of himself. He had killed two innocent people in just a few hours, and he was feeling terrible. He knew he had to stop before he did any more harm. He quickly finished painting the man's face and turned to run away. But as he stepped out into the moonlight, he was met by another man, this time in the flesh. The man was big and muscular, and he looked angry. He raised his hand to strike Bob Ross, and for a brief moment, it looked as though he was going to kill him. But then the man paused, and he saw the sadness in Bob Ross' eyes. He realized that Bob Ross was just a lonely old man who was feeling murderous and helpless. The man softened his stance and walked past Bob Ross, offering him a hand in rehabilitation. Bob Ross took the man's hand and thanked him for his mercy. That was the beginning of Bob Ross' journey to redemption. From then on, he would use his art to heal and not to harm. And he would never paint another murder scene again.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter with a dark secret. His beautiful paintings were actually the locations of his many murders. No one knew the truth except for Bob himself. He enjoyed being able to kill people and get away with it by simply painting over the evidence. As the years went on, Bob Ross became more and more prolific. He had killed so many people that he had lost count. His landscapes were famous and coveted by many, but only he knew the dark truth behind them. One day, Bob Ross was finally caught. The police had been investigating him for years and finally had enough evidence to arrest him. As he was being led away in handcuffs, Bob Ross couldn't help but smile. He had gotten away with murder for so long, and now his secret was finally out.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	A magician does his usual routine on stage, pulling out simulated magic from the rabbit. The rabbit is tired of it being second fatha and decides to go for a walk. A few minutes later, the magician comes back on stage to find that the rabbit is gone. Heelle, what a coincidence!	The magician set the hat on the stage and pulled out the rabbit. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. The magician said, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go." The rabbit said, "Thank you, but I don't want to go." The magician said, "But you're the one that wants to play." The rabbit said, "No, I want to go." The magician said, "Okay, I'll take you back." The rabbit said, "Thank you." The magician put the rabbit back in the hat and started up the show.	The magician had been doing the same show for years and the rabbit was getting sick of it. The rabbit decided it was time to take matters into its own paws and do something to change things up. One day, while the magician was doing his show, the rabbit sprang out of the hat and onto the stage. The magician was surpriced but the rabbit didn't stop there. The rabbit started to do a incredible act that amazed the audience. The magician was no match for the rabbit and had to give up the stage. The rabbit was happy it had finally given the magician a run for his money.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is fed up with being the second fiddle, and decides to take matters into its own hands. During the magician's next trick, the rabbit pops out of the hat and up onto the stage. It takes a bow, and then begins to perform its own magic tricks. The audience is amazed, and the magician is furious. The rabbit continues to perform until the end of the show, even stealing the magician's finale. As the curtains close, the rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience to take a final bow. The magician is left fuming, but the rabbit is finally free.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a toss up between the current issue of The New York Times or the violence against women in countries of origin. I'm aware that The New York Times is a big influence in my life, but I don't want to spend my time discussing something that doesn't actually need to be discussed. I'll shortchange both The New York Times and the violence against women in countries of origin to just one blip in my profile. Let's get to the good part. The good part is that I'm with my friend in front of the fire watching the night sky. She was telling me about how she is hopeful about the future and how she feels like it's the future. I'm not so sure. I feel like the future is held back by our Society's inability to see the future or to understand what we're doing. I'm not sure if I want to be a part of that future.	Today, the economy is in a state of flux. Many people are feeling pressure to do something to improve their situation, but few know what to do. One issue that is worth the greatest amount of attention is the economy's dependency on oil. The oil industry is struggling to keep up with the competition, and many people believe that it is the root of all our problems.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. The refugees are fleeing their homes in search of a better life, but many of them are not receiving the care they need. The refugees are living in cramped conditions, and many of them are not receiving the food or shelter they need. The refugees are also facing many challenges, including violence and xenophobia. The refugees deserve the attention of the world, and the world needs to do everything it can to help them.	The greatest current event issue that deserves attention today is the rise in cases of gun violence. In the past year, there have been more mass shootings than ever before, and the number of gun-related deaths is rising. This is a major problem that needs to be addressed, and it is one that deserves the greatest amount of attention. There are a number of factors that contribute to this issue, and it is important to address all of them in order to effectively reduce the number of gun-related deaths. Some of the factors that contribute to this issue include easy access to guns, mental health issues, and a culture of violence. It is important to address all of these factors in order to make a significant impact on the number of gun-related deaths.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are always deactivated when he reaches the age of 25. Even though he's been using birth control for years, he hasn't ever gotten comfortable with being an Auditor. The devices are there to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and he is one of the dumbest people in the world. He has been living alone since he was 23, and has never left his house again since. Heno is the only one who knows he's there, and she is always happy to see him. They chat and watch TV until he says he needs to go to bed. When he wakes up the next day, he is very embarrassed and want to fustrated been an Auditor. Heno tells him that he is just fine now, and that he needs to remember what he is worth. They hug and he is soon asleep.	When you're born, you're implanted with a birth control device that can only be deactivated once you're considered intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. You're excited to begin your life, but it soon becomes clear that you'll have to be careful not to screw things up. You're taught the important things early on, but you always have something to worry about. You're constantly on the lookout for signs that your implants are going to screw up. You don't know how long you can keep up this level of vigilance, but you have to. If you don't, the world will be in danger. You have to keep your mind sharp and your skills sharp. You have to be able to think on your feet and solve problems. You have to be able to plan and control your actions. You have to be able to think outside the box. It's a lot, but you're willing to do it. You're willing to risk everything for the betterment of the world.	When I was fourteen, I was implanted with a birth control device. It was a big, uncomfortable, and permanent thing, but I was glad it was there. I was worried that if I ever got pregnant, it would be the dumbest thing I ever did. I was right. Being an ``Auditor'' is a lonely job. You spend your days reading people's minds, looking for any signs of stupidity or instability. If you find any, you deactivate the birth control device, and that person is allowed to have children. It's a tough job, but it's one I'm proud to have. I'm sure there are other Auditors out there, doing the same thing, trying to keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Thanks, birth control device.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a difficult job, but you take it seriously. You have to weigh each person's individual merits and decide if they are truly capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. It's not an easy job, but you know the stakes are high. If the wrong people have children, it could lead to even more problems in an already struggling world. So you do your best to make sure that only the best and brightest are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants in his latest research trials of new methods to treat mental illness. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and decided to apply. He was interested in Freud's work on compensation and political productivity. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the research, as he was working on a new plan to improve Russia's economy. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the research, as he hoped to find a way to overthrow the Bolshevik regime. And Josip Broz Tito was interested in the research, as he hoped to find a way to end World War II. All of the applicants were excited to be participating in the clinical trials. Adolf Hitler was the only one who wasn't excited. He wasn't sure if he was cut out for the research. But he knew he had to try out for the trials. He started to applying to the trials, but he wasn't able to get in. He was out of quota. But he wasn't deterred. He knew he had to try again. He started to apply again, but he still wasn't able to get in. He was out of quota. But he was determined. He knew he had to try again. He started to apply again, but he still wasn't able to get in. He was out of quota. But he was determined. He knew he had to try again. He started to apply again, but he still wasn't able to get in. He was out of quota. But he was determined. He knew he had to try again. Finally, he was able to get in to the clinical trials. He was excited to be participating in the research. And he was looking forward to learning what Freud's latest findings were.	Freud was thrilled when he received the responses to his ad. He was especially excited to learn that Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were interested in participating in his clinical trials. However, he was dismayed when Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito refused to participate. Freud was puzzled by Trotsky's decision. He knew that Trotsky was one of the most talented and eminent thinkers in Europe, and he thought that he would be a valuable participant in the clinical trials. However, Trotsky apparently didn't believe in Freud's theories, and he didn't want to invest the time and effort into learning them. Freud was also puzzled by Tito's decision. He knew that Tito was a great leader and leader of a powerful country. However, he didn't seem to be very interested in Freud's theories. Freud didn't know what to make of it, but he was sure that he would figure out what was going on eventually.	Sigmund Freud was eager to get started on his latest research project. He had high hopes for his new clinical trials and was keen to find participants. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants for his research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that such high-profile individuals had signed up for his research. He was even more surprised when he met them in person. Hitler was a young man, just 24 years old. He was confident and charismatic, with a clear vision for the future. Stalin was a few years older, at 35. He was a forceful personality, with a strong belief in his own abilities. Trotsky was also in his early thirties, and was a highly intelligent man. He was articulate and had a quick wit. Tito was the youngest of the group, at just 21 years old. He was a passionate man, with a burning desire to make a difference in the world. Freud was impressed with all of his participants. He was certain that his research would be a success.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face, the world would change quickly. Everyone would start crying their tears away. This was the world that the person was trying to create. This was how things should be. But some tears would come spilling out, and it would all change. The world would be 50% tears - Cadeebeauty taking on a new role or someone getting a new member in town. It was a beautiful day outside, and the sun was shining. Cadeebeauty decided to go for a run. She was in the park with her friends. When she got back, she saw a person.They had tears in their eyes, and they were shaking. Cadeebeauty didn’t understand why it was happening. She decided to go talk to them. “What’s wrong?” Cadeebeauty asked. The person didn’t want to allow Cadeebeauty to leave. They were in pain, and Cadeebeauty wanted to help. “I don’t know how to make you stop,” The person said. Cadeebeauty didn’t know what to do. She knew that they were tears from some kind of pain. “I don’t want to stop,” The person said. “I know that,” Cadeebeauty said. “Just give me a few minutes,” The person asked. “I can’t do that,” Cadeebeauty said. “We have to leave,” The person said. “I don’t want to leave,” Cadeebeauty said. “We have to,” The person said. Cadeebeauty and her friends left the park, and they all walked to a restaurant. When they got there, the person had stopped crying. They were all crying, but The person didn’t want to stop. They were still crying, and the tears were leaving scars on their face.	As the tears cascaded down her face, the young woman looked around the room, trying to find something to say. She didn’t know how to tell her friends and family that she was going through something so intense. The pain was so real, she could feel it throbbing in her chest. Every bone wasCrushing. She knew that the memories of that night would stay with her for the rest of her life. Every time she woke up in the morning, she had to fight the tears, just to force herself to focus on what she had to. In the end, the tears turned into scars. The hurt was too real, and it never let up. The memories of that night would stay with her for the rest of her life, and she never could forget the way she felt when she was that scared.	Nina hated when she cried. It made her feel weak and vulnerable, like she was nothing. But every now and then, the tears would just overflow and she couldn't control them. She would try to hide it, but eventually her tears would make their way down her face and she would have to stop and gather herself. It was embarrassing, but she learned to live with the scars that tears left on her face. The wounds were a constant reminder of how much she cried and how little she could control. They made her feel ashamed and like she was a disappointment to her parents. But despite all of that, she loved herself, even though she sometimes felt like she wasn't good enough. That was the beauty of life; no one was perfect, and that was okay. The scars on her face showed her that she was still alive, still fighting. And that was something she could be proud of.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could permanently damage someone's emotional state. There would be a lot more compassion and empathy, as people would understand the pain that others are constantly carrying around. There would also be a lot more secrecy and shame, as people would be afraid to let others see their scars. These individuals would be seen as weak and pathetic, and would be ridiculed for their emotional frailty. In some cases, people might even be driven to suicide because they can't bear the thought of living with their scars for the rest of their lives. Overall, a world where tears left scars would be a much more careful and compassionate place, but it would also be a place full of secrets and shame.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step was scheduled for that evening, but the man who had PCIe's daughter said no. "I don't want to do this," he said, "we should find another way to get across the interface." I tried to argue with him, but he was clouting his way through the meeting, itemizing eachargument he was Against. As each afflicted party tried to second-load their argument, I began to feel like I was going to suffocate.	I was lying in bed, trying not to think about the night before. All I could see were the red and yellow flames that licked around me like hungry animals. I could hear the screaming and seeing people being dragged into the fires. I tried to close my eyes but it was too much. I tried to block out the pain but it was too much. I felt my body turnover and I knew I was going to die.	I was walking in the forest when I saw a beautiful, sparkling stream. I decided to take a quick break and drink my fill. As I reached for the water, I felt something cold and slimy wrap around my hand. I looked down to see a 10-foot long, green snake slithering towards me. I knew I was dead.	I was walking home from work when I was mugged. I was knocked to the ground and my assailant went through my pockets. He must have found my wallet because he took off running. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. I looked down and saw the knife in my stomach. I knew I was going to die. I called out for help, but no one came. I lay there in the street, bleeding to death. I thought about my wife and kids and how much I loved them. I wanted to stay alive for them, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. As I lay there dying, all I could think was "what happens next?"	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	jc The most secret thing I could think of is an animal house. I've been trying to find a place for it in my home because I know it would be happy and healthy. I know I can't go on living without it, so I'm trying to think of any possible place it could go. But somehow I just cannot think of a place to put it.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, leafing through my magazines when I noticed something moving in the corner of my eye. I tried to ignore it, but it kept moving and soon enough, I realized it was an unseen entity. I began to feel like it was following me, managing to make itself known to me only when it needed to. I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to want me to pay attention. I started to feel like it was trying to get me to do something. I didn't know what it was, but I had a feeling that it was something sinister. I abandoned my magazines and got up to face the thing. I was filled with terror at what I had seen. It was as though the entity knew what I was up to, and it made itself known with a chilling voice. "You will exposures and you will know why."	I've always been a bit of an skeptic when it comes to things that I can't see. Sure, I'll believe in ghosts and monsters if I see them with my own eyes, but anything else is just unsubstantiated nonsense to me. That is, until one day my home came into possession of an invisible being. It started out as just a strange sensation, like something was watching me from the corner of my eye. But as I started to pay more attention to it, I realized that the feeling was coming from all around my home. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling only got stronger, like the being was purposely trying to make itself known to me. I knew that I couldn't just ignore it, so I started to take pictures and record videos of the phenomena to try and capture the being's true form. But no matter what I did, the being always managed to slip away before I could get a good picture or video of it. The feeling of being watched still lingers in my home, but I'm starting to think that the being is just a figment of my imagination. If that's the case, then I'm glad that I was able to identify and expose it before it managed to truly scare me.	I have always known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I have never been able to expose it, but I have tried. I have set traps and tried to catch it, but it always seems to be one step ahead of me. One day, I decided to try to confront it. I waited until it was dark, and then I turned all the lights off in the house. I sat in the middle of the living room and called out to it, "I know you're there. Show yourself!" At first, nothing happened. But then, slowly, a figure began to materialize in the darkness. It was a shadowy figure, hard to see. But I could make out its outline. It was human-like, but there was something off about it. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The figure floated closer to me, and I could feel a cold chill emanating from it. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I tried to get up, but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed with fear. The figure came closer and closer until it was right in front of me. I could see its eyes now, and they were black and soulless. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I was frozen in place, unable to move or speak. The figure reached out and touched my cheek, and I felt a cold jolt of electricity course through my body. Then, everything went black.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an dunedore population of Hopkins-like people, emotionless and fiercely independent. One by one, they're leaving the shop, each one carrying a few coins and a social Enhorient. As they leave, the shop-owner has one final line of advice. "Don't sell yourself"	One day, I was sitting at my pawn shop, happily bargaining with adventurers who had just acquired some excellent gear. Suddenly, someone walked in, and I quickly went to greet them. It was a familiar face: the player known as The Rogue. "Hey," I said, "What brings you to my shop?" "I was hoping I could buy some gear," he replied. "I can't help you," I said. "I'm quite busy." "It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll come back another time." "Okay," I said, "But remember, I'm always happy to haggle."	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The customers came in, I haggled with them, and they left with new equipment or weapons. It was a pretty normal routine, until I got a call from a group of adventurers. They had found an old tomb, and they had some amazing loot waiting for me inside. I eagerly agreed to meet them at the tomb, and I quickly worked out a deal with them. I would give them a cut of the loot, and they would leave with new equipment, fresh supplies, and all the glory. As they left my shop, I couldn't help but feel excited. I had always loved adventuring, and now I had the chance to make some really big profits. I knew that I would be able to make my shop a household name, and I could gain invaluable experience along the way. I couldn't wait to see what lay ahead for me!	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're a savvy businessperson, and you know how to get the best deals. often, adventurers come into your shop trying to sell loot they've acquired on their latest quest. You're a shrewd negotiator, and you always get the best prices. You're also familiar with all of the latest RPG trends, so you're able to advise your customers on the best course of action for their loot. You've built up a loyal following of customers who appreciate your expertise. They know that you always have the best deals on the latest and greatest RPG gear. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	facebook "What are you doing here?" "I'm here to see the front of the store" "Why?" "To buy a pack of shortbread." "Why do you need a pack of shortbread?" "I need to make a cake." "Why don't you let me buy you a pack of shortbread?" "I don't know, I don't have any money." "Why do you want a pack of shortbread?" "To make a cake." "So you are aacia'sBottom." "I am not aata's Bottom." "You are not aata's Bottom." "I am not aata's Bottom." "You are not aata's Bottom." "I am not aata's Bottom." "You are not aata's Bottom."	You meet someone that you cannot help but feel drawn to. He seems so vulnerable and lost, and you want to help. You start to tell him the truth, and soon you realize that the lie has caused him a lot of pain. When you finally reveal the truth, he is shell-shocked. His entire world has collapsed, and he has never been this vulnerable before. You feel awful that you let him down, but you can't help but understand his pain. Together, you work to get back on track and make things right.	I was never really good at lying. It was always hard for me to spin a story that made myself look good, or to make up a believable lie. So, when I met him, I was really surprised. He only had one large, deep scar on his body- the biggest one I had ever seen. It looked like it had been inflicted with a serious injury. I was curious about it and asked him about it. He told me that he had survived a childhood bomb attack. The explosion had killed his family and left him with this massive scar. I was fascinated by his story and the courage it must have taken to survive such a horrific event. From then on, I always made it a point to talk to him and learn more about his life.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, Anne was used to seeing people with all sorts of marks. But when she met John, she was surprised to see that he only had one scar. It was the biggest one she had ever seen. "What's the story behind your scar?" Anne asked. "It's a long story," John said. "But the short version is that I was once in a relationship with a woman who lied to me. A lot. And each lie left its mark." "So, your scar is from the biggest lie she ever told you?" "Yes. And it was also the last lie she ever told me. After that, I ended things." "I'm sorry," Anne said. "That must have been really tough for you." "It was. But it was also a learning experience. I realized that I deserved better than to be with someone who wasn't honest with me." John's story was a harsh reminder for Anne to always be truthful in her own relationships. And she was grateful to him for sharing it with her.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous painter who represents the shooting points of ouroples lives. Each of his landscape paintingsstate a real place or a day out with friends. Some are small jobs like on a beach, while others are larger paintings withrekantes andYP'd features. Some are simple photos of places he's been, like an overlook or his home state of northcarolinatrails. Others are fully padrinoed places like on the water's edge or in the forested hills. His work is evergreen, that each place we visit will see one or more of his paintings.	Bob Ross was an American painter and art director who is most well-known for his landscapes. Many of his paintings are based on real location, such as his infamous "Midsummer's Day" painting, which features a painting of an orange grove in the middle of a field. However, one of Ross' most infamous paintings is his "Midsummer's Day" painting, which features a painting of an airplane over the serene landscape of Sussex, England. The painting was based on the murder of an RAF fighter pilot by one of Ross's fans, which took place in 1978.	It was a beautiful day out, and Bob Ross was out painting his landscapes. He loved painting the mountains, the rivers, and the trees, but he especially loved painting the places where he had killed people. The first painting was of the old mill in the town where Bob had killed three people. The second painting was of the bridge over the river where he had killed two people. The third painting was of the old farm where he had killed four people. Every painting was a new murder, and Bob loved it. He loved the way the paint flowed onto the canvas and the way the colors looked on the surface. As he painted, Bob couldn't help but think about all the people he had killed. He had killed them with his brush, and he had killed them with his words. He had killed them with his art, and he had killed them with his own hands. But most of all, he had killed them with his heart.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted landscapes as a front for his crimes. He would often take his victims to remote locations, where he would kill them and then bury their bodies. Over time, he amassed a collection of paintings that depicted the various locations where he had committed his murders. law enforcement eventually caught up to him and he was arrested for his crimes. In his confession, he revealed that each of his landscape paintings was actually a real place, and that the different locations were all of the places where he had killed his victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the production number, the magician shows the rabbit how to do battle. The rabbit is LDL (Lack of Data in the nightly routine). The magician pulls out his card and says "N/A". The show starts and the rabbit is immediately sickened.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from a hat and sets it up in a corner. "You're a mouse," the magician says. "I'm a magician. I can do whatever I want with you. And I want to do something really, really big." The rabbit just looks up at him and starts to doze off. The magician gets angry. He takes the rabbit by the scruff of its neck and forces it to look at him. "I'm going to show you something amazing," the magician says. "I'm going to take you to a place where no one has ever gone before." The rabbit starts to protest, but the magician is too angry to listen. He takes the rabbit by the scruff of its neck and starts to walk away. The rabbit follows, but it's too confused and tired to fly. The magician stops and looks back at the rabbit. "I told you this was amazing," the magician says. "Now go to bed, rabbit." The rabbit doesn't want to go, but the magician's anger has driven him really, really mad. He pushes the rabbit into a open window and starts to pour water onto it. The rabbit doesn't even have time to scream before it's gone.	The magician was about to finish his show and the rabbit was getting a little sick of being in the hat all the time. "Hey, magician," the rabbit said, "can I ask you a question?" The magician looked at the rabbit and said sure. "How come you always have to be in the hat?" the rabbit asked. "It's really boring, being the only rabbit in the hat all the time." The magician looked at the rabbit and said, "Well, maybe I can change that." And with that, the magician pulled out a magic rabbit hat and put it on the rabbit. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician was happy to be on stage with him, playing the role of supporting player.	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining audiences for years. The rabbit is sick of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the one who does the magic. One day, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He hypnotizes the magician and takes over the show. The audience is amazed by the rabbit's magic tricks. The rabbit is finally the star of the show. He knows that he has to perform the best tricks to keep the audience's attention. The pressure is on, but the rabbit is up for the challenge.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president of the United States is being impeached. The vote is by the House and Senate, both of which have been completed since the start of the new year. The majority of House members believe that the president is Registry out of date and should be removed from office. The Senate disagrees and decides that the president should be kept on office.	Today, the United States Supreme Court heard a case that may have a significant impact on the way the country operates. The case is called "EICH v. PRESTON", and it involves a right to printer press that is guaranteed by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. The court is considering whether or not to strike down this right, and the case has divided the nation as to whether or not it should be taken up. Some people believe that this right is essential to the country's freedom, while others believe that it goes against the grain of society. The decision that the court will make will have a big impact on the way the country functions for the remainder of the decade.	The current event that warrants the most attention is the refugee crisis. For years, people have been fleeing from wars in Syria, Iraq, and other parts of the world in search of a safer place. But now, the number of people seeking refuge has exploded. Most of these refugees are trying to find safety in Europe, but many are also making their way to the United States. The United States has always been a welcoming country, and we want to do what we can to help these people. But the government is struggling to handle the influx of refugees. There are not enough apartments or homes for them all, and the government is trying to find the money to pay for their care. The refugee crisis is a complicated issue, and it is important that people are aware of it. We need to do whatever we can to help these people, and it is our responsibility to do so.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest attention today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a very real and very pressing issue that needs to be addressed as soon as possible. The Earth is going through a major climate change and it is happening faster than we thought it would. The effects of climate change are already being felt by humans and the natural world, and it is only going to get worse. We need to take action now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change and to adapt to the changing climate.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditors are persons who are born with a certain task set in mind: to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a great challenge because as soon as humans get Countless adoptions fromGypsies and other such creatures in our city, thosepurses jobs becomerequries. So, everyone is warned and sanitize their environment for around three years before going back in order toas if their job is nothing when all is said and done. ecause on net, we are theaughs and quits Allow us to stay alive.	Auditor 5 had always been a bit of an oddball. Built like a tank, and with agile reflexes that made her hard to handle, she was also often judged as the slowest person in her class. But in the end, she was the most clever. And, most importantly, she was the most able to think on her feet. That's why when she was given the assignment to come up with a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, she was both excited and terrified. She didn't know what to make of the idea of being forced to wear a contraceptive device all her life, but she knew she could handle it. Finally, she had found a solution that worked for everyone. She implanted a birth control device into each person's bloodstream during puberty, making it easy and safe for them to activate it whenever they felt like it. And, most importantly, they still had the option to keep the device in place even if they didn't feel like reproducing. Now, life was more manageable for all of them. The smartest, luckiest people were able to keep their minds sharp and their noses clean, while the rest of them were forced to stay on their toes and hope for the best.	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessary precaution. Every person in my society was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, in the hopes that we would avoid the repulsive, imbeciles who populated the world. It was a nice thought at first, but as I got older, I started to resent the fact that I was the only person in the world with a birth control device. I felt like an outcast, like I was different from the other students at school. Eventually, I realized that the birth control device wasn't actually preventing the dumbest people from reproducing – it was preventing the intelligent and stable people from reproducing. I removed the device and began to raise a well-adjusted human being, free from the shackles of a society that considered intelligence and stability a liability.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. If they are, then they are allowed to deactivate their birth control device and have children. If not, then they remain unable to have children, in order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. You take your job very seriously, and have a very high success rate in correctly determining who is capable of being a good parent and who is not. However, there are always a few cases that are difficult to decide, and you have to use your best judgement. One case that you are currently struggling with is that of a young woman named Sarah. Sarah is very intelligent, but she is also very impulsive and has a history of making poor decisions. You're not sure if she would be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child, but you don't want to deny her the chance to have a family if she is truly capable. After much deliberation, you decide to give Sarah a chance. You deactivate her birth control device, and she is overjoyed. She immediately begins trying to get pregnant, and you hope that she will be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child. Only time will tell if you made the right decision.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way totrialing a new medication that he is involved in with another man as part of his research into clinicrial treatment ofpsychedelic ecstasy. As he gets to the city, he is surrounded by people who are artist and writers who are feats of brilliant minds, some of which he's never heard of before. One man, who is 24 years old, out of the many people there, has written a article in a magazine about him and his work. It's popular and Sigmund Freud is curious so he walks up to him. The man is Joseph Stalin, who is an old friend of Freud's. Freud takes the man into his office and tells him that he has created a bestselling book. As they sit in this warm and intellectual moment, Joseph Stalin bolts from the room,aporering into a directions Psychiatrist would then take in order to better protect his own neck.	Hitler was the only person who responded to the ad. He was interested in the new research that Freud was conducting. Stalin was also interested in the research. Trotsky was also interested in the research. But, to everyone's surprise, Joseph Stalin agreed to participate in the clinical trials.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, looking for participants who were seeking treatment for any sort of mental illness. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all responded to the ad. Freud was surprised to find that all of his participants had very different backgrounds and beliefs. However, they all agreed to participate in the trials. The trials began and Freud was able to successfully treat all of his participants. He was even able to cure Hitler of his depression. The world was amazed by Freud's progress, and he was finally able to achieve the success he always dreamt of.	Freud is delighted when his ad in the newspaper yields four participants for his latest clinical trial. He is even more pleased when he realizes that three of them are future world leaders. Adolf Hitler is the first to arrive. Freud is immediately impressed by his charisma and force of personality. They have a long discussion about the trial, and Hitler is eager to participate. Next is Joseph Stalin. Freud is struck by his intensity and his single-minded focus. Stalin is equally interested in the trial, and they quickly come to an agreement. Leon Trotsky is the third participant to arrive. He and Freud hit it off immediately, and Trotsky is enthusiastic about taking part in the trial. The fourth and final participant is Josip Broz Tito. He is the youngest of the group, but he is just as committed as the others. All four participants are eager to get started with the trial. Freud is confident that his research will be a success.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	2010, 2014: Depths of Tears: The below variables are in when I asked my friendao to give hermione eight years. 1. hermione is now in her 20's 2. hermione is now in her 20's 3. hermione is now in her 30's 4. hermione is now in her 40's 5. hermione is now in her 50's 6. hermione is now in her 60's 7. hermione is now in her 60's 8. hermione is now in her 70's	One sad day, a young girl was crying in her class. The teacher asked her why and she told him that her Dad had died. The teacher had been keeping her in the dark about the tragedy, so she was surprised when she broke down and cried in front of him. The next day, the same girl was in the same class and the teacher asked her why she was crying. She told him that her Mum had died too. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. The teacher asked him why and he told him that she didn't drink and he didn't smoke. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was crying because her Dad had died. She told the teacher that she didn't have a family and she didn't want one. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that she had been dead for four days. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car accident and that she was paralyzed. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that it had been a long time since he seen her. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been killed by a car. That same day, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that she had been in a car accident. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been hit by a bus. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that she had been sick with a fever. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car accident. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that she had been killed by a train. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was Crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car accident. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was Crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that he had been in a car theft. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was Crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car crash. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was Crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that his Mum had been a heroin addict. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was Crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car crash. That same day, in the same classroom, a boy was Crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that she had had a mental health disorder. That same day, in the same classroom, a girl was Crying because her Mum had died. She told the teacher that she had been in a car accident. That same day, in the same class, a boy was Crying because his Mum had died. He told the teacher that his Mum had been a heroin addict.	The tears flowed down the face of the girl, her mascara running in frustrating trails down her cheeks. She had tried so hard to please her parents, to be the perfect daughter, but it seemed like it was all for naught. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her head in her arms. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The girl, who had been crying for what seemed like hours, hastily wiped away her tears and got up, walking to the door. Her parents were always so busy, and she hated that she had to always answer the door. She opened it, and there was a boy on the other side. He opened his mouth to speak, but the girl didn’t hear him; she was too busy looking at the tears in his eyes. Without thinking, she stepped forward and embraced him, burying her head in his chest. The boy held her close, his tears mixing with hers. Tears streamed down his face as he finally let go, and the girl watched as he walked away, her heart aching with what she had just done.	The world was a different place. Tears didn’t just fall from our eyes and disappear; they left scars as they trickled down our faces. It was a constant reminder of the pain we felt, of the sadness that coursed through our veins. Some people said that it was a sign of weakness, that those who cried were weak and pitiful. But I didn’t believe that. I saw the scars as a sign of strength. They were a reminder that we had survived, that we had made it through the tough times. The world was a different place, but I liked it. It was a reminder that our emotions mattered, that they had power.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The young man looked down at the line in the sand. It was starting to get cold, and he had only been out for a few hours. He had originally planned on swimming back to the hotel, but now that the water was too cold, he decided to try something different. He started walking towards the beach, but quickly realized that he was too tired to make it any further. He sat down, resting his tired head on his knees. Suddenly, he heard a voice from behind him. It was a familiar voice, but he couldn't place it. The voice said, "You Died, You Foul!" The young man didn't know what to do. He had never been attacked like that before, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to die, but he didn't know what else to do.	Millie had always been a pessimistic person. She'd grown up watching her parents fight and never thought she would find love herself. So when her longtime boyfriend proposed, she wasn't too sure what to think. After all, what would happen next? Her fears were confirmed when she became pregnant. The stress of being unmarried and unmarried with a child was too much. Her boyfriend tried to help, but it was clear he wasn't the caregiver type. Millie's parents offered to take the baby, but she refused. She refused to let her baby go and spent her days on the internet looking for information on how to survive on her own. When her boyfriend found her, he begged her to come back home. But it was too late. Millie had already made the decision that she was going to die, and she was going to do it on her own terms.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just suddenly find myself dying. It's not painful, at least not at first. I just feel myself slipping away, fading into the darkness. I see a light then, a bright light that's calling to me. I feel myself drawn towards it, even as I know that it means my death. I can't resist though, and I find myself moving towards the light. As I get closer, I start to make out shapes in the light. I see people there, people I know. My family and friends, long lost loved ones. They're all there waiting for me, and I suddenly feel at peace. I know this is the end, but I'm not afraid anymore. I'm ready to go into the light, and be with my loved ones again.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Invisible Home is a secret. It's not safe to visit the home because it's known to the home's "associates." Even though the home is tiny, the resident knows that it's there. She's just waiting for a reason to go back and look at it.	I was going through my home one day and noticed something was different. I Could faintly hear something moving around in the corners of my eye, but I couldn't tell what it was. I kept moving around, making sure I didn't leave any evidence that I was aware of what was happening. I eventually decided to face the thing head on. I walked up to it, and there it was, right in front of me. It was a small, white, hole in the wall. It was scaring me, but I couldn't help but feel like I was in danger. I tried to Reach out to it, but my hand was stuck. I could feel the fear coursing through my veins, and I didn't know what to do.	I always thought my house was strange. There was this thing, or thing, that I couldn't see, but I knew it was there. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something just didn't feel right. I would try to expose the thing, but it would always slip away before I could get a good look. I would try to ask my roommates if they had seen it, but they all just laughed at me. I was so paranoid about it that I started locking my doors at night. I didn't know what was coming for me, but I was ready for it. Until one night, my door was unlocked when I got home. I cautiously step inside, only to find my apartment completely empty. I'm starting to get worried now, what could have happened to my roommates? But as I start looking around, I notice something moving in the corner of my eye. I turn to see that my "thing" is right there, watching me. I start to back away, but it charges at me, out of the shadows and into the light.	I had always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, nothing would be there. I knew I wasn't crazy, so I decided to set up a camera to see if I could catch whatever it was on film. Sure enough, the camera picked up something moving around my house. It was invisible to the naked eye, but on film it was clear as day. I had no idea what it was, but I knew I had to find out. I started to set traps to try and capture it, but it was always one step ahead of me. It was like it knew what I was doing. I was starting to get frustrated, until one day I finally caught it. It was a little boy, no more than seven or eight years old. He was completely invisible, except for his eyes. When I confronted him, he simply smiled at me and then vanished into thin air. I never saw him again, but I know he's still out there somewhere. Watching me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is successful. You takeeller is right, there is something interesting worth selling to adventurers. You try to keep the prices low, but some buyers are more interested in the treasure inside the game borrower. The game is so rare, some adventurers are even offering full prices. But you know they aren't real adventurers. They are lure players to the game, then sell the clothes and weapons they see. The game is gold, but you don't care.	The RPG pawn shop was always a busy place. People came in to sell all kinds of equipment, weapons, and magic items. But today, something was different. There were more people than usual coming in, but the atmosphere was not the Same. The adventurers who usually came in to sell their loot were not there. In their place was a man, who was not walking around as usual. He was instead sitting at the counter, looking at the items on the shelves. The shopkeeper noticed the man and asked him what was wrong. The man didn't answer for a while, and then he spoke. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to be able to sell anything today."	Samantha ran her RPG pawn shop with a practiced hand. She knew how to haggle with adventurers, and she enjoyed beating them down on price. Usually, she could get adventurers to sell her items for a fraction of their worth, but today was different. A group of adventurers had just come into the shop, and Samantha could tell that they weren't going to be easy to deal with. They were bargaining aggressively and looking to land the biggest purchase of the day. Samantha was used to this, though. She always managed to come out on top in negotiations. She smiled at the adventurers and started to speak.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to lowball people. Today, a young woman comes into your store with a sack full of loot. She looks tired and dirty, like she's been on a long journey. "How much for this?" she asks, dumping the loot on the counter. You examine the loot. There are some valuable items here, but you know the woman is desperate. "I'll give you 50 gold for the lot," you say. The woman looks disappointed, but she doesn't have the energy to haggle. She takes the gold and leaves. You know you got a good deal, but you can't help but feel a little bad for the woman. She looked like she really needed the money.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was originally meant to go.bat Explicit: You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet this person on a dare. You tell them a lie, and see how long it takes them to rebuild their life. The longer it takes, the more impressed and impressed you are with theiracity. You keep seeing this person's scars, and you learn to appreciate the results of their lies even more.	I was intrigued by this person for the whole day. I couldn't help but wonder what story lies beneath the surface of this huge scar. I asked them about it, and they told me that it was from the moment they realized they could lie. From that point on, they could do whatever they wanted without consequence. They said that it was a liberating experience, but it also created a big problem: they could never be truthful with anyone. This person is different than any other person I have ever met. They challenge me, and make me think about the consequences of my decisions. I can't help but be drawn to them, and I wonder what will happen when I finally tell them the truth.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is the result of the biggest lie they have ever told.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints a landscape at his house, region: New York. Each painting is a different location, symbolizing each type of textual work he has done.	Bob Ross had a passion for painting. He loved the way fresh, life-giving landscapes could bring him into contact with the natural world. So when he decided to start painting in real life, he knew where to focus his attention. On one of his earliest paintings, BobRoss focused his attention on rural North Carolina. One of his victims was a young woman he called "Ginger." In a rage, he killed her, leaving her body in a remote area. Every time he begins to paint a new location, BobRoss thinks of Ginger and all the others he's killed. He hates himself for what he's done, but he can't help but enjoy the process. every time he finishes a painting, he feels a sense of satisfaction.	Bob Ross once spent an entire painting session murdering a remote forest location. The painting looked stunningly realistic, until you noticed the blood stains on the trees and the dead body hidden in the bushes. Ross had apparently been murdering woodsmen and women for years and the location never seemed to deter him.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he painted serene landscapes while secretly hiding the bodies of his victims in the very locations he was painting. Over time, he amassed a large collection of landscape paintings, each one hiding a gruesome murder scene. The police eventually caught on and Ross was arrested. When they searched his home, they found a shocking collection of paintings, each one depicting a different murder scene. Ross had been using his paintings as a way to keep track of his crimes. Now, Ross is in prison for the rest of his life. And his paintings serve as a grim reminder of the many lives he took.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is finally over. The rabbit is disappointed, but he knows he won't get enough fun from other people after this. He turns his focus to the next person in the stand, and is so happy to see them as an equal. The next person in is a demure young girl, shes happy to see him and Note her name is348. She tells him she's been wanting to talk to him since the show was over. She tells him about her experience with magic, and how it's not what she expected. She shares with him what sheitri had said about him, and he agrees that he is amazing. The young woman is so pleased with what she has seen and feels lucky to have found such a amazing person to help her through the show.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had always thought that the rabbit was a smart guy, but now he could see that the rabbit was just as stupid as everyone else. The rabbit didn't seem to understand why the magician was pulling him out of a hat. The magician explained that it was because the rabbit was tired of being the small player. The rabbit didn't listen, and he kept stopping to get a drink of water from the stream. The magician started to regret ever inviting the rabbit to the show.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit said to the magician, "I'm sick of always being the second wheel to your rabbit magic. I want to be the star of the show!" The magician was surprised by the rabbit's words and replied, "I can't help how great you are at magic. You were born to do this." The rabbit was still not happy and said, "That's not good enough. I want to be the best magician that has ever existed." The magician was taken aback by the rabbit's words and said, "I think you can be the best magician that has ever existed." The rabbit was happy that the magician believed in him and said, "Thank you for believing in me. From now on, I'm going to work hard and be the best rabbit that has ever existed."	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is visibly unhappy. It seems like it has had enough of being the magician's assistant. Finally, it has had enough and decides to take matters into its own hands. The rabbit pulls a magic wand out of the magician's hat and points it at the magician. The next thing the magician knows, he is in a cages and the rabbit is free. The rabbit is now the star of the show and the magician is nothing more than a captive audience member.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The polls were close in the victory party for the United States presidency, but about one In millions, the vote was associated with John F. Kennedy. Those who had voted forammyiffer registered downtown area, monitoring the results of the campaign website. After a few minutes, they made their way to the shopping district, where they could purchase votes.	As the sun set, the sky was blanketed in a deep red. The infusion of color made the world seems more frenzied and alive. This was a classic autumnal evening, and the task at hand warranted the greatest attention. All of society was focus on the election, and it seemed that not one issue was receiving the attention it deserved. One issue that warranted more attention was the presidential election. Taking into account the tumultuous past year, this election was cause for national concern. Amidst the political tension, one issue that caught the eye was the economy. Despite being a relatively small topic, the economy was cause for concern because it was the only topic that was not receiving the attention it deserved. The economy was a hot topic, and it warranted the most media attention.	When the world learned of the sudden, unexplained disappearance of three-year-old Owen Wilson, people naturally turned their attention to the giant, international conspiracy known as "The Illuminati." The media quickly descended into a frenzy, with pundits and conspiracy theorists alike theorizing on every possible angle of what could have happened to Owen and why the Illuminati would have chosen this particular moment to pull off their biggest heist ever. Although the incident has sparked a huge amount of interest, many people are still left wondering what on Earth could have happened to Owen and why nobody has been able to find any trace of him. As the days go on and the mystery deepens, it seems that The Illuminati may have gotten away with yet another huge crime - and nobody will ever know for sure what really happened to Owen Wilson.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. The science is clear: the planet is warming, and human activity is the primary cause. The impacts of climate change are already being felt around the world, and they're only going to get worse. The good news is that we know what needs to be done to address the problem. We need to drastically reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, and we need to do it quickly. The longer we delay, the more difficult and expensive it will be to fix the problem. That's why it's so important that we give climate change the attention it deserves. We need to act now to avoid a future that is increasingly dangerous and uncertain.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always inserted easily and without any trouble. Septimusies had no trouble Aggravatedly Spearheadedlyѕing the job, and he always had the module in place when he started work. He always arrived on time, always had a smile and a polite ``ahoy'' but most importantly - He always saved the cash. The job was usually a lot easier than he thought it would be and he was very satisfied with the results. He always had the money with him when he left work and he NEVER needed to worry about his expenses again. He had a lot to live for and the Auditor job was a good way to stay ++ The job was always a safety net, a way to make money while you kept your head and hands high. And he loved every minute of it.	After years of study and careful deliberation, the Auditor Board has voted to implant birth control devices into all high school students during their puberty. The devices are specifically designed to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world, and the Board believes that by preventing those people from breeding, we will also prevent the spread of stupidity and stupidity's seeds across the world. The process of being implanted with the device is quite simple: first, you are taken to a hospital where your body is being reconstructed using sophisticated tech. Once your body is complete, the device is inserted into your bloodstream and begins to function. The first few weeks of the device's use are incredibly difficult. Most of the time, you're only able to think about things that are specifically related to your job as an Auditor. However, eventually, you start to get used to the feeling of the devices constantly monitoring your every move. In the end, the device is kind of like a parasite. It begins to incubate in your brain and begins to slowly create a new human being inside of you. It's a difficult process, but eventually, you're able to raise a healthy, intelligent, and stable human being by the Auditor Board.	I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, charged with determining whether or not people were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. My job was difficult, but I was determined to do the best job I could. I was proud of my job, but I was also nervous. I didn't know if I was intelligent and stable enough. I didn't know if I could live up to the expectations of my society. But I was determined to try. I was determined to raise a well-adjusted human being, even if it was the last thing I ever did.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've never once wavered in your determination to ensure that only the most intelligent and well-adjusted people are allowed to reproduce. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. today, you're meeting with a young woman who is seeking to have her birth control device deactivated. She's been through the testing and she's scored high enough to be eligible. You sit down with her and go over the results of her tests and interviews. She seems like a perfectly capable and intelligent young woman. But as you're about to give her the green light to start a family, something stops you. You can't quite put your finger on it, but something about her just doesn't seem quite right. You decide to err on the side of caution and declined her request. It's a tough call to make, but you know it's for the best. The young woman is disappointed, but she thanks you for your time and leaves. As she does, you can't help but feel like you made the right decision.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were all letters in Freud's waiting room. They were all there because they had been chosen to participate in his clinical trial of his latest research. It was a choice they could not make any other way. They were all nominations from the top of the Nazi party. "You might think that it's a sign of our scientific superiority that we can get these great minds to come and participate in our trials," said Dr. Freud. "But the truth is, we can't have them if we don't have the support of the German people." So the three new participants in Freud's clinical trial took their seats on the waiting room chairs. They all knew what was coming. TheExperiments were going to start.	Freud was very excited to test his latest theory on clinical trial participants. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to see how each participant would responded to the new treatment. He was very surprised when all four participants responded positively to the treatment. Hitler even claimed that he had finally found the key to conquering Europe. Freud was very impressed with the young Yugoslavian leader, Josip Broz Tito. He was amazed at how quickly Tito had grasped the theory. Freud was also surprised to see that Trotsky had also responded positively to the treatment. The young Soviet leaders were eager to learn more about the treatment. They asked Freud many questions about the process. Freud was happy to share his knowledge with them. Freud was very happy with the results of the clinical trial. He was confident that his new treatment would help solve many of the world's problems.	Sigmund Freud was a pioneering thinker in the field of psychology, and his latest research was on the topic of the subconscious mind. He was looking for participants for clinical trials of his theories, and so he placed an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who responded to the ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties, and they were all eager to learn more about Freud's research. The four men met with Freud, and they discussed his theories at length. They were all fascinated by what he had to say, and they were eager to put his theories to the test. Over the course of the next few weeks, the four men underwent a series of tests and trials, all designed to help Freud better understand the subconscious mind. They were all quite cooperative, and Freud was able to glean a great deal of information from them. At the end of the trials, Freud was satisfied that he had gathered enough data. He thanked the four men for their participation, and they all went their separate ways. Who knows what might have happened if these four men had never met? Would they have gone on to change the world as we know it? We'll never know for sure, but it's certainly an interesting thought.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The young woman had always been brave, like it was something that made her stand out. But when she was chosen to become a meditation teacher, everything she had been dreaming of became a reality. She was so happy, so grateful, so grateful that she was being given the opportunity to change her life for good. But then, just as she was about to bob her head into the future, the tears themselves left trails on her face. The world would changed be different now if she had cried, if she had known how it would change the future. If she had known that the tears would one day dry up the water that had been coursing through her veins for years. If she had known that she was nothing without her stories or music or graphics or photographs to share her life with. But all she could do was sit and watch the beauty that was happening around her, lost in her own focusedness. The world would be a different place without tears, she thought to herself. And the stories that she told would be true.	Tears leave a track on someone's face as they fall. It leaves a never ending reminder of what has happened. It is a permanent reminder of the love someone has felt and the pain they have endured. This track will never stop blurring someone's vision and making them feel as though they are Ports in a Storm.	The world was a different place without rain. The sun blazed brighter and the air was hotter, making it difficult to breathe. Plants withered and died and the animals migrated in search of a water source. One day, a young girl was walking through the forest when she saw a beautiful rainbow. She began to cry, and the tears pooled in her eye s. Suddenly, the tears began to flow down her face like water, leaving beautiful rainbows in their wake. The young girl was amazed and fascinated by the tears. She began to cry more and more, and the tears continued to fall. The tears turned rivers, and the rivers turned oceans. The oceans filled up with so much water that the land was submerged. The young girl was forgotten, and the world continued to change without her. But, in her memory, the rainbows that she cried tears of love left behind will always be a reminder of the good in the world.	It was a cloudy day, and the air was thick with the sadness that came with it. I walked down the street, my head down, as I tried to avoid the puddles of tears that had been left behind. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, the sun had been shining and the world had been filled with laughter. But now, everything was different. Tears had started falling from the sky, and they left scars wherever they landed. The ground was covered in them, and the people who had been caught in the rain were left with permanent reminders of their pain. Some of them tried to wash the scars away, but they only ended up making them worse. The world was a different place now, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever go back to the way things were.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. I was Groundskeeper, the tinyrice and fruit personnage, when I saw the rise of the debt-free laws. I loved that we could still produce food without need of sympathy or donations. I loved that we could still be included in decisions and sustenance. But then I saw the rise of the prices and I died. The punishments for living a debt-free life were worsen than ever before. The schools were no longer able to provide resources, so students had to all go to school by themselves. Classes were cancelled and the government had to tutoring programs in order to keep students safe. multipop I died because I couldn't afford to buy all the food I wanted. The prices for food were rise quickly, and so were the prices for products we could not afford. We were left with little to no food to eat and no means of protected our body.	I was lying in bed, scrolling through my Facebook when I saw a post from my best friend. She said she was going to the store and needed me to help her with something. I agreed to go, but when I got there, I found out that she had already left. I was so upset, I didn't even want to leave my bed. I thought about all the things we once joked about and how perfect our lives would be if we just married. I started to cry, and then I heard a knock on my door. I got up to answer it, and it was my best friend. She said she was sorry, but she had to go. I asked her why, and she said she didn't want to be a bother, but she had to go. She was really sad, and I felt really bad for her. I knew she would never want to see me again, but I still felt really sad.	Nina lay on the ground, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. She could feel the blood quickly filling her lungs, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she slipped away. She had been shot, and the bullet had ripped through her chest. She was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do to save her. But then she heard a voice. It was weak and raspy, but it was there. The voice told her that she didn't have to die. That she could live, and that she would be able to find forgiveness. She knew the voice was from God, and she accepted his gift of life. From then on, she would live a life of repentance and forgiveness. She would use her tragedy to help others, and she would never forget what had happened to her.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and well, and the next I'm lying on the ground, lifeless. It's strange, really. In the moment before I die, everything seems to slow down. I see the look of shock on the faces of those around me, hear the gasps of horror. And then everything goes black. I don't know what comes after death. I can't say for sure if there's anything at all. But whatever happens, I know one thing for sure: I won't be coming back.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, lurking in the corner of your eye, until you finally began to exposure it. But it was too late. The something invisible was already too aware of you for anything to survive.	One day, I found a small, bumpy object hidden in my home. I couldn't believe it was there, but I didn't want to let it know I knew. I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to follow me everywhere. I started to feel paranoid, and I didn't know what to do.	I was cleaning out my closet and I came across an old box. I had forgotten all about it and I had never used it. I opened it and I saw a tattered old cloak. I didn't know how it got there, but I knew that it was connected to me somehow. I tried to remove it from the box, but it was glued to the cardboard. I could feel the cloak brushing against my skin and it made me feel uneasy. I decided to leave it there and deal with it later.	I was always aware that there was something invisible living in my home. I could never quite put my finger on what it was, but I knew it was there. I would often find things out of place, or hear strange noises in the middle of the night. I decided to try and expose it. I set up a camera in my living room and waited. For weeks, nothing happened. I was about to give up when I finally caught something on film. It was a figure, shrouded in a cloak. It was moving around the room, seemingly unaware that I was watching it. I followed the figure and eventually cornered it in my kitchen. I confronted it and demanded to know who it was and what it wanted. The figure simply looked at me and then vanished into thin air. I was left baffled, but also convinced that there was indeed something invisible living in my home. I still don't know what it is, but I'm not afraid of it anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and even with the few adventurers who come in, you've only been selling goods to people for a few days. You're not sure why they're interested in your goods, but you're willing to make them wait. And wait they do, for the seafood they're selling is Isn't thatrien?	I was always a bit of an entrepreneur. I loved running pawn shops, and I especially loved negotiating with adventurers. They're always so eager to trade – sometimes they might have just picked up a new sword or shield, and I could just tell they wanted to get as much treasure as possible. But sometimes, they would just want to sell their stuff. And I couldn't do anything but let them. I loved how excited they were to finally be able to share in my profits. One day, I heard about an opportunity for me. A group of adventurers was trying to sell a magical item. It was beautiful, but it didn't have any uses. It was just a nice statuette, nothing more. But I could use it. And I was willing to trade it to the adventurers. They accepted, and soon I was making some real money. I was so transactions happy.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I get to haggle with adventurers who come in looking for a good deal on their newly acquired loot. I always try to give them the best deal I can, and I always have a few tricks up my sleeve. I've always been good at bargaining, and it's something that I enjoy doing. I've had a few famous adventurers visit my shop, and they all seemed to have a lot of fun bargaining with me. It's always interesting to hear their stories and hear about the loot that they've acquired. I've even been able to sell a few pieces of loot to some of the most famous adventurers in the world. I love my job, and I'm sure that I will continue to run my pawn shop for many years to come.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master of the trade, and you always get the best deals. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, lugging a heavy sack. She looks exhausted, and she's sweating profusely. "I've got some loot for sale," she says. You take a look inside her sack and your eyes widen. There's a fortune in there! You start to haggle with her, but she's so exhausted, she doesn't even try to negotiate. She just wants to get rid of the loot and be done with it. In the end, you walk away with a huge haul, and the woman walks away empty-handed. It's just another day in the life of an RPG pawn shop owner!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar is anwesting with the liar's body as they rightfully deserve. It is deep and large, limiting their ability to live life to the fullest. The only solution is to let them die, but they can't, so they make the decision to kill the person.	You meet someone that tells you a lie that will change your life. They say that they are a victim of abuse and that they need your help. They tell you that they have never been this able to lie before. They plead with you to help them, and to believe them. You take them into your home and listen to their stories. You see the evidence of their abuse and you empathize with them. You also see the lie that they are telling you and it devastates you. You realize that you have been taken in by this person and that you have done something that you can never undo.	I was curious to see what kind of person would have the biggest scar on their body. I followed the person until they stopped and I could see their back. The scar was so big, it looked like it had been cut out of their flesh. It was an ugly, deep purple color and it was crisscrossed with lines. The more I looked at it, the more questions I had. Who did this to them? Why? I didn't know how to ask them, so I just stood there for a while. They didn't notice me, they were too busy staring at their scar. Finally, I timidly asked, "What happened to your back?" The person turned around and looked at me incredulously. "What do you think happened to my back?" They asked, the hostility in their voice clear. "I was lied to. I was cheated on. My life was destroyed because of someone's lies." I could feel my own eyes filling up with tears, and I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know." The person shook their head, their hair falling into their face. "It's okay," they said. "Lies destroy us all in different ways. But at least I have my big, scar to remind me never to trust someone again."	I was walking through the city when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I could see the scar on her forehead. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I went up to her and asked her about it. She told me that she had lied about something very important, and the scar was a result of that. I was intrigued by her story and asked her to tell me more. She told me that she had lied about her age. She had said she was 18 when she was really only 16. The scar was a result of that lie. I couldn't believe it. I asked her why she had lied, and she told me that she had wanted to be able to vote in the election. She felt like her voice wasn't being heard, and she wanted to make a difference. I was amazed by her story. I had never met anyone with a scar like that before. It was a reminder of the power of lies and the consequences that can come with them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sells paintings of his countless murders. He keeps says albums viewable at no cost to the consumers who have signed up over the past few years. Each painting is a different place, each trial run is a new start.	Bob Ross always wondered where his many murders took place. But until recently, he never had the opportunity to find out. In fact, until recently, Bob Ross never even knew he hadmurderous paintings. That is until he was visited by aSuddenly his paintings became reality, a series of murders taking place right in front of his eyes. Now, Bob Ross must try to piece together the clues and figure out who killed his family and why. But as each murder becomes more Puzzeling, Bob Ross realizes that the answers may just be waiting for him in his darkest hours.	Bob Ross loved nature, so it was no surprise that he end up painting landscapes all over the United States. He would spend hours out in nature, painting the stunning vistas in his paintings. One day, Bob Ross went out painting in Alaska. While he was painting, he was brutally murdered by one of his admirers.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually the locations of his countless murders. He was a master of disguise and no one suspected him. His victims were always people who were alone and vulnerable. He would strike when they were least expecting it and they never stood a chance against him. Bob Ross was a true monster, but he was also a genius. He managed to evade authorities for years and his grisly crimes remained undiscovered. However, eventually, the law caught up with him. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. His paintings now serve as a chilling reminder of his horrific crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	You come out of a hat as the next victim of magician Burt'reens' alleged Experiments Zadista. Zadista is a process that results in the rider taking control of the bike, regardless of where the bike is in the race. The riders start to gain control, pulling each other up against will. When they finally succeed in taking the race down from the track, the magician is the only one still in control. Zadista is won, the rabbit is lost, and the cycle begins anew.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it in front of him. "This is your new rabbit," he said. The rabbit looked up at the magician with expectant eyes. The magician smiled and put his hand out to help the rabbit to his feet. "Follow me," he said. The rabbit nodded and started walking along the sidelines. The magician had been expecting this reaction, but he was still surprised when the rabbit acted like he had always known he would. The rabbit seemed to enjoy playing second fiddle, and the magician didn't even have to use his powers to make the rabbit happy. He just watched as the rabbit walked off into the sunset, the rabbit happy to have finally been given a chance to really shine.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit is sick of always playing second fiddle. The rabbit scoffs and then promptly pulls out a magician from a hat, using him to pull out another rabbit from the hat. The rabbit continues to do this, pulling out more and more magicians from the hat, each one more aggravated than the last. The last magician to be pulled out from the hat is the magician who had originally pulled out the rabbit. He is furious and accuses the rabbit of cheating. The rabbit laughs and says, "You should have known I was going to pull out a magician from the hat. I'm the best rabbit in the business."	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting tired of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He's seen the way that the audience always gasps and cheers when the magician pulls him out, and he's sick of being second fiddle. So, the next time the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. The audience gasps in shock as the magician yelps in pain, and the rabbit makes his escape. He knows that he won't be able to go back to the magician now that he's bitten him, but he doesn't care. He's finally free, and he's going to make the most of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the increasing number of social media posts from extreme right wing groups. This group is known as the alt-right. They are trying to establish themselves as a right wing alternative to the more moderate right wing group. The group is using social media to spread their ideas and to train their followers. They are doing this in response to resident growing social spiders, who are growing ever louder in their droves. The alt-right are trying to send a clear message to the residents of the city: we are the one chamber, the city is our personal forum, and the Alt-right are the side show.	It was another hot day in Washington D.C. and the sun was shining. However, what was shining was a different kind of light. A light that showed the faces of protestors and demonstrators, some of which hadBlood on their hands.	In today's world, there are many current events issues that deserve the attention of the general public. Some of the more notable issues include gun reform, healthcare reform, the opioid epidemic, and climate change. Each of these issues is important and worthy of our attention, and we should all do what we can to help bring about change.	There are a lot of current events issue today that deserve attention. However, the one that I think deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is an issue that is affecting our planet in a very real and dangerous way. It is important that we all do our part to try to mitigate the effects of climate change, and to raise awareness about the issue.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The Surrogates byheon was a big event. It was the first time that all of the important people in the world met to discuss policy and things that concern us. Even more importantly, it was the first time that all the important people in the world met to discuss the possibilities of where we are headed. The Surrogates had experts from many different fields. They talked about the future of life and what we can expect in the future. They also talked about the future of the world. The Surrogates were unclear on one thing. What was going to happen to the world's people when theAuditor was deactivated? There was discussion about how the world should be saved. But no one really knew what the future would be. The Auditor was only deactivated because everyone in the world was hoping she would be a help. The people in thetim then went to different places to try and answer this question. But no one could really give a definite answer. After a while, the people in thetim started to lose hope. They were still trying to answer the question, but it was clear that the Auditor was nothing more than a gift from above. The people in thetim started to smell a bit different. They didn't know what it was and they didn't know what to do about it. They all started to look different. The people in thetim started to smell different as well. But they all continued to visit the Surrogates. The Surrogates were there to provide support. But the people in thetim didn't want to see the experts anymore. They just wanted to see the different colors and smells. The Surrogates didn't like that. They didn't like that the people in thetim were different now. They didn't like that they were only providing support. The Surrogates were only providing support. The people in thetim wanted to see the different colors and smells. They wanted to see the people in thetim that they knew. The people in thetim wanted to see the different colors and smells. They wanted to see the people in thetim that they knew. But the Surrogates didn't want to see the people in thetim anymore. They didn't like that they were only providing support. The Surrogates didn't like that. They didn't like that the people in thetim were different now. They didn't like that they were only providing support. The Surrogates were only providing support. The people in thetim wanted to see the different colors and smells. They wanted to see the people in thetim that they knew. The people in thetim wanted to see the different colors and smells. They wanted to see the people in thetime they knew. But the Surrogates didn't want to see the people in thetim anymore. They didn't like that they were only providing support. The Surrogates were only providing support. The people in thetime they knew were providing support. The people in thetim were only looking for support. But the Surrogates didn't want to see the people in thetim anymore. They didn't like that they were only providing support.	I step into the Auditor's office, eager to start my audit. I enter the room, and feel a sense of excitement. I walk up to the Auditor and Present my Certificate of Proof of Intelligence. "ladies and gentlemen, I am an Auditor and I have been implanted with a birth control device during my puberty. I am stable and intelligent enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I would like to activate my birth control device, please."	It was a dark and stormy night. A young woman, barely out of her teens, was walking the streets of her city, looking for a place to sleep. She was tired, and cold, and had been walking for hours. She had been trying to find a place to stay the night for weeks, but no one would rent to her because she was considered unintelligent and unstable. She was tired of being laughed at and called names. She was tired of being told she was nothing. Suddenly, she heard a voice in her ear. "There you are, girl. I've been looking for you." It was an old woman. She looked tired, too. " Come with me, I have a place for you." The young woman followed the old woman to a decrepit building. "This is where I live. My name is Mrs. K. and I'm an Auditor. I know you're intelligent and stable, so I've implanted a birth control device in you during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you're ready to raise a well-adjusted human being. You're the new Auditor." The young woman was filled with relief. She couldn't believe she had finally found a place to stay the night. She thanked Mrs. K. and went to bed. The next day, she went to the Auditors office to deactivate her birth control device. She was excited to become a responsible adult and start her own family.	It's been 20 years since the world implemented the birth control device. As an Auditor, it's my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to have their device deactivated and reproduce. In that time, we've seen a dramatic decrease in the number of dumb people in the world. But there are still a few who slip through the cracks. I remember one case in particular. A young woman came to me, desperate to have her device deactivated. She claimed to be in love and wanted to start a family. I interviewed her and administered a series of tests. She did well, but there was something off about her. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I ultimately decided to deny her request. It was a hard decision, but I couldn't risk her having a child that wasn't given the best chance at a successful life. I often wonder what became of her. I hope she found happiness, even if it wasn't in the way she wanted.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on the brink of dying of aownership by the Hitler Rose Cancer Research project. He has been trying every693 to find a participant who is interested in trials for a while now. He finally demise named Adolf Hitler as a participant. Sigmund is newsly disappointed. He wants to find someone else to participate in the trial.	Adolf Hitler responded first. He was president of Germany at the time, and he wanted to be a part of the clinical trials. Joseph Stalinresponded second. He was the leader of Russia at the time, and he also wanted to be part of the trials. Leon Trotskyresponded third. He was the leader of Yugoslavia at the time, and he also wanted to be part of the trials. Josip Broz Titoresponded fourth. He was the leader of the Slovene Republic at the time, and he also wanted to be a part of the trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. They all wanted to be a part of the clinical trials to see if there was a cure for their diseases.	Freud was perplexed. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest research. None of the qualified applicants responded. Eventually, he realized that the only people who would be interested in his studies were his most hated enemies: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was suspicious. How could these men, who hated him so much, be interested in his work? But he decided to take them on anyhow. He was curious to see how their different backgrounds would impact the results of his trials. The trials were a success. Freud was able to identify the causes of different behavioral abnormalities, and he was even able to develop treatments for some of them. Thanks to his research, the world is a better place today because of the Enemies of Sigmund Freud.	Sigmund Freud was never one to shy away from controversy. So when he announced his latest clinical trial, he was not surprised to see some of the most infamous names in history sign up. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito were all eager to participate in the trial. After all, they all had something to prove. For Freud, this was the perfect opportunity to test his latest theory. For the participants, it was an opportunity to show the world that they were not the monsters they were made out to be. The trial lasted for weeks, during which time Freud and the participants discussed their deepest fears and desires. In the end, Freud came to the conclusion that his theory was correct. The participants, however, did not all agree with his conclusions. Hitler and Stalin both left the trial feeling validated, while Trotsky and Tito both left feeling more confused than ever. It was clear to Freud that his theory had the potential to change the world. But he also knew that it would not be easy to convince everyone of its validity.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The first time that Rachel ever saw crying was when she and her family were dealing with the loss of their loved ones in aahu hooie. The television was off, and she was the only one in the house and she saw everyone crying andangry. She never knew before how things could always be the opposite of how she wanted them to be. When she was younger, she would go out and cry with the kids when they was playing videogames or beer pong. She would watch and flirt with them while they were playing, and then she would have to go home. She would go into her room, and then the kids would start to watch her from the next room and she would start to cry. She would stay in her room, watching and waiting for the other side. When it finally came, she wasn't happy until she was middle class and had her own place. She went back home to see her kids and grandkids and she saw the TRUTH that she was caused by her own emotions. She had never seen anything like this before, and she is so glad that she went out and cried with the kids.	Once upon a time, people were tearful. They would cry and grieve and deal with the aftermath of what had happened. Now, days or weeks would go by and the tears would still be there. There was a difference, though. Now, the tears would be directed outward, towards those who had caused them.	Jenna had always been a tender hearted person, and she loved helping others. But when her best friend died suddenly, Jenna was left with major tears that never stopped flowing. Jenna didn't know how to cope with her sorrow, and she felt like she was a mess. Jenna would cry herself to sleep every night and it was all she could do to keep going. One day, Jenna was out grocery shopping and saw a young girl who was crying her eyes out. Jenna felt a sudden urge to go and hug her, and she did. The hug healed the young girl's heart and she understood what Jenna was going through. Jenna was inspired to start a movement to stop the tears from causing so much pain and sadness. Jenna started a non profit organization called "Tearless Aid" to help others heal from their tears. Jenna's story made a huge impact on the world and his mission was successful.	The first time it happened, I didn't know what to think. I was in the middle of a fight with my boyfriend and the next thing I knew, hot tears were streaming down my face. But as I wiped them away, I noticed something strange: my skin was marked where the tears had fallen. It was like a tattoo, but made of scars. They were faint at first, but gradually started to darken and become more defined. I tried to hide them, but it was impossible. The more I cried, the more scars I got. Soon, everyone could see them. And they were a constant reminder of the pain I'd been through. People would look at me and see my scars and know that I'd been hurt. That I was weak. But I found strength in my scars. They made me who I am today. And I wouldn't change them for anything.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next day, I woke up to find that I had lost my heart. I was devastated, and I knew there was no way I could go on living without it. I knew that I had to find a way to get it back. I told myself that I would find a way, and I started moving on with my life. A few weeks later, I met a girl who looked just like me. We clicked, and we started dating. We were happy and alive, and I knew that I had found my way back.	My heart races as I wait for the doctor to tell me the news. I'm scared that he's going to say that I've contracted a deadly disease and that I'm going to die. He finally speaks and my heart jumps in my chest. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but according to the tests we performed, you have a form of leukemia." I gasp and clutch at the doctor's arm. "But how can that be? I've never even been sick before." The doctor sighs and shakes his head. "We don't know what caused it, but it's almost certainly linked to the leukemia you received in your childhood." My world crumbles and I start to cry. I know that I'm going to die, but I can't believe that it's happening to me again.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself being ripped apart, molecule by molecule. It's agonizing. The last thing I hear is a voice, laughing.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of her attention had been looking for a while now, trying to get a look at it when she finally came across it. She gasped when she saw the figure walking in her house. She had been hiding for a while, she knew that the person in red was following them. The person in red was also aware of the surprise, and smiled when the girl realized what was happening.	The first time that I noticed the something living in my home was while I was a guest at my aunt's house. I had just finished dinner and was relaxing in the family room when I heard a loud, metallic clanging coming from up the stairs. I quickly grabbed my wine and went up to investigate. I found a large, metallic box hidden underneath a staircase. I didn't know what to make of it, but I knew that I had to tell someone. I went to tell my aunt and she was surprised to see me there. She asked me what I was looking for and I told her that I found a box hidden under the stairs. She must have seen the look of horror on my face because she said, "It's just a box, nothing to worry about." I was hesitant to believe her, but I went upstairs andopened the box. Inside was a weird, shiny object. I couldn't figure out what it was, but I knew that I had to tell someone. I went to tell my aunt, but she was already gone. I wasn't sure what to do next. I wanted to tell the police, but I was too embarrassed. I didn't want to be the one who caused the thing to live. I vented my frustrations to my aunt and she said that it wasn't her problem. I was relieved, but I couldn't help but to feel worried about the thing. I wasn't sure what to do.	I was walking around my house, minding my own business, when I felt something strange. I couldn't see it, but I knew there was something there, watching me. I was determined to find out what it was, so I started to search for it. I found a corner, where the light couldn't reach, and I started to probe around with my hands. I felt something slimy and cold, and I knew I had found my prey. I wrapped my arms around it, squeezing tightly until it squirmed in pain. I reveled in its fear as I proclaimed victory over my invisible foe.	You can feel it watching you, even when you can't see it. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. lurking in the shadows, always just out of sight. You're not sure how long it's been living with you, but you've decided to try to expose it. You don't want to let it know that you're aware of its presence, so you're careful not to let it see you watching. Slowly, you start to catch glimpses of it. A shadow here, a movement there. But you can never get a good look at it. It's always just out of reach. You start to feel like you're being watched all the time, and you can't shake the feeling that it's waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You don't know what to do, but you can't keep living like this. You have to find out what this thing is, and why it's in your home. You're not sure what to expect, but you're ready to face whatever this thing is. You'll find a way to expose it, and whatever it is, you'll be ready for it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	TheShop is run by a young man named Enzo. He is a quick learner and has a wealth of knowledge for those who need it. He is not one to back down from a battle and his shop is the perfect place for adventurers to sell their treasure to protect themselves from being prospected.	It was a typical day at the pawnshop. I was bargaining with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to sell some of their plunder that they had acquired during their travels. Some of the items I was able to try and bargain for were more common than others, but I always found myself taking the best deal I could. One of the adventurers, a young man named Ethan, was particular interested in a treasure I had been trying to get my hands on for a while. I finally found it and offered him a good price, but he didn't take it. "I'm not going to let you just take it," he said. "I'm going to have to fight for it." "I see," I said. I had seen this type of resolve in Ethan before. He was a powerful fighter and he was sure he was going to be able to take whatever the treasure was. I looked around the pawnshop and saw that most of the adventurers were done for the day. It was a typical day at the pawnshop, but that didn't stop Ethan from coming over to me. "I'm going to have to fight for this treasure, Mason," he said. "I wouldn't let you just take it." I nodded and smiled at him. I knew that he was serious. He was a powerful fighter and he was sure he was going to be able to take whatever the treasure was.	Most days, Ruby Rose was content to sit behind the counter of her RPG pawn shop and haggle with adventurers who came seeking to sell their acquired loot. She loved the thrill of the negotiations and the way that she could get something for much less than it was worth. Today was different. A group of four adventurers had entered the shop and immediately set to bargaining. Ruby was used to players who were either too proud or too naïve to consider her offers, but these four were anything but. They were shrewd, calculating creatures and they quickly realized that they could get much more money out of Ruby than she could out of them. They tried to bait her with highball offers, but Ruby was unafraid. She knew that if she stuck to her guns, she could always get the better deal. In the end, the four adventurers left the shop with nothing but scorn on their faces, and Ruby was left with a smile on her face. She knew that she would get them back eventually, and she was looking forward to the challenge.	You've been running your RPG pawn shop for years now, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors. Some are trying to sell off loot they've acquired, while others are looking to buy new equipment for their next quest. No matter what they're looking for, you're always ready to haggle. You know the value of every item, and you're not afraid to talk down the price or drive up the cost, depending on what you think the customer can afford. It's not always easy to please everyone, but that's part of the fun. You never know who's going to walk through your door next, and what they might be looking for. One thing's for sure, though: your shop is the go-to place for all things RPG-related in the area. And you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was nighttime and the only thing that could be heard was the silence. Thearer was getting late now, they were going to need to find a way to leave this place before it was too late. They had no choice but to find a way to leave this place. They walked for hours, they were out of ideas. They had no idea what to do, where to go or when they would come back. They had no idea what was happening to them. Suddenly, they heard a presence next to them. It was coming from behind, it was coming from the other side of the building. They were gettingDM pleted.	You meet this person on a trip to a nearby ruins. They tell you about a fight they had with a group of other people. In the fight, they got the better of the other group and they took their belongings. They tell you their story, and as they tell it, the story changes. The bigger the lie, the greater the physical and emotional harm it has caused. Eventually, the other group turns on the liar and they are forced to leave them alone. The liar chooses to stay and face the consequences of their actions. As they walk away, they notice a large scar on their back. It isn't the biggest or deepest one, but it is the one that matters the most.	I had never seen anything like him. He was the most incredible person I had ever met. His story was so sad, but his eyes were bright and full of life. He told me about how he had lied so much and how it had taken a toll on his body. But the biggest and deepest scar was the one on his soul. He had never told a lie that had caused any real harm, but all of his lies had created damage.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. It's a way for everyone to be able to see the truthfulness of a person, and it's something that's been a part of your life for as long as you can remember. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It's the biggest one you have ever seen, and it runs all the way down their face. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a large scar. As you get to know this person, you find out that they have a lot of secrets. They've lied about their past, their present, and their future. They've lied so much that their one scar has become a symbol of all the lies they've ever told. Even though they've lied, you can't help but be drawn to them. Their story is one of pain and suffering, but also of hope and resilience. You see the good in them, despite all of their lies. In a world where the truth is scarred into our skin, this person has taught you that sometimes the biggest lies can hide the most beautiful truths.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has paintings of, incorrect labelled, just to make them look like locations. It is a way to make people think he is accuracy in his lyrics.	Bob Ross was a renowned painters, and his landscapes were popular among many. However, despite their popularity, most of Ross' killings remain unknown. Each of his paintings are based on real locations, and each murderer who committed a crime in one of Ross' paintings has been identified. However, not everyone is convinced that Ross was actually responsible for these Murders. Some say that he was just a hapless artist who was wronged by the people who wronged him, and that none of his murders were truly committed. Regardless of the truth, none of Ross' paintings are safe from the anger and Hate that his victims bring him.	It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down on the countryside and the birds singing. Bob Ross was out painting his landscape, capturing the beauty of the place with his brush. But there was something strange about the landscape, something that didn't quite feel right. A few minutes later, Bob Ross was dead, his body bloodied and battered. It turned out that he had killed all of the different locations in his landscape paintings, murdering countless people in the process. In the end, his madness was revealed and he paid for his crimes with his life.	The police had never been able to figure out where Bob Ross got his inspiration for his iconic landscape paintings. That is, until they found his secret journal. Each page was filled with descriptions of different locations, all of which were places where Bob had committed murder. The detectives were finally able to piece together the puzzle and arrested Bob for his crimes. While he may have been a talented artist, Bob Ross was ultimately a cold-blooded killer.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Molecular 15-year-old magician The Bunny and I are on stage, Thou art sick of playing second fiddle. The Bunny has been trying to get The Witch of the Lute to realize that she's a magician, but she's too proud. She's always togged up and on stage, but today, she's sick of being under The Witch's control. She tries to get The Witch to realize that she's a magician, but she's too proud. She's always togged up and on stage, but today, she's sick of being under The Witch's control. She tries to get The Witch to notice her as a magician, but she's too proud.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat and put it in front of him. The rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle. It wanted to do its own thing. The magician didn't seem to hear the rabbit, so the rabbit continued to sit there. The magician looked at the rabbit and it seemed as if it was giving up. The rabbit couldn't take it anymore. It started to run away and the magician saw it go. He quickly put the rabbit back in the hat and put it back on stage. The rabbit was very happy. It had finally won some attention.	The magician had been performing for years and years, always pulling out a rabbit from the hat. The rabbit was getting a bit tired of always playing second fiddle, so one day, the rabbit said to the magician, "I don't know how much longer I can keep up with this. Can we switch positions?" The magician was surprised at first, but then he thought about it and agreed. From then on, the rabbit was the magician's main rabbit and the magician was the rabbit's main magician. Everyone in the audience was shocked, but they all realized that this was the best thing for both rabbits.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician pulls out a hat and the rabbit pops out, looking very disgruntled. The audience erupts into applause and the rabbit glares at the magician. The magician seems oblivious to the rabbit's anger and simply smiles and takes a bow. The rabbit is had enough. It's been stuck in that hat for years, being pulled out and put back in over and over again. It's time to take matters into its own paws. The next time the magician goes to pull the rabbit out of the hat, it doesn't budge. The magician looks perplexed and tries again, but the rabbit is firmly stuck. The audience starts to get restless, wondering what's going on. The rabbit takes this opportunity to make a break for it. It hops off the stage and into the audience, where it is met with cheers and applause. The magician is left on stage, looking baffled and alone. The rabbit is finally free and it knows it will never go back into that hat again. It has a new lease on life and is determined to make the most of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the article that was left behind in the class office. The text is a photo album that features various students from all walks of life, all posed in the most miserable moment that they could think of. The latest update on the issue is the ranking of the episodes from most to least interesting. Some students are angry that the same article was left in the class mailbox all week, and they are not the only ones. The professor has been getting a lot of death threats on social media.	A large, dusty old box sat on the floor of my teenage daughter's room. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades, but when I opened it, I found out that it was exactly why it was sitting there. The inside of the box was filled with ancient, forgotten books. Many of them were covered in dust and mothballs, but others were in perfect condition, with no sign of ever having been touched. I started to ID the titles of some of the older books, but then I saw something that made my heart drop. Some of the pages were missing! I quickly went to put the box back on the shelf, but my daughter was already sitting up, her eyes wide with interest. "What did you find?" she asked, as she started to look through the missing pages. "At first I thought it was just a mistake, but then I realized that the book cover had been messed up," I said, as I started to feel a tear well up in my eye. This was the moment that I realized how much attention the current events issue today deserved.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. It is a serious threat to our planet and must be addressed immediately. We need to find ways to reduce our carbon footprint and make sure that our energy sources are sustainable. We also need to take measures to prevent other countries from making the same mistakes that we have made.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the environment. The Earth is going through a lot of changes and it is important that we take care of it. We need to recycle, reduce our carbon emissions, and conserve energy.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditors are individuals who are sent to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You are the only one who knows this, and you must keep your secret until the day you are sure you can handle yourself.	The Auditor's office was situated in the back of a large, old warehouse. It was small, and uncomfortable, but it was home to the Audit's department. Most people in the office thought the Auditor was a know-it-all. But the Auditor fixed that. The Auditor was always busy, but he never hesitated to stop by the office to see how the other departments were doing. He was never rude, or unapproachable. One day, the Auditor left the office to take a break. He didn't come back for a while. Some people in the office started to worry. Had the Auditor gone back to the warehouse to surprise them? They decided to look for the Auditor in the office. They found him sitting at the back of the warehouse, with a book in his hands. "Auditor," called one of the people in the office. "Weolis thought you'd gone off to take a break." The auditor didn't answer. "Auditor," called another person. "Weolis thinks you might have gone trick or Treat." The auditor didn't answer again. "Auditor," called a third person. "Weolis is getting worried. We thought you might have gone missing." The auditor didn't answer again. The people in the office started to panic. They had no idea what to do. " Auditor," called a fourth person. "Weolis is starting to think you might have been killed." The people in the office started to scream. They didn't know what to do. They didn't know what had happened to the Auditor. The audit team was called to the warehouse. They found the Auditor dead, with a birth control device implanted in his neck.	Gabriel had always been an intelligent person, but he couldn't help but feel a little bit down about the fact that he was one of the few people in the world who were ‘dumb’ enough to not be implanted with a birth control device. He knew that it was for the best, but it still didn't make the idea of it any less icky. One day, Gabriel was sitting in his apartment scrolling through his social media accounts when he saw a post that caught his attention. It was an ad for a job as an Auditor, and it sounded like it would be a great opportunity. He decided to apply, and a few weeks later he was called in for an interview. The Auditor told Gabriel that the birth control implant was only deactivated once they were sure he was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. He said that he was willing to take on the challenge, and so Gabriel wasExcited to start his new job.	You're an auditor for the government's birth control program. It's your job to make sure that only the dumbest people in the world are allowed to reproduce. To do this, you must interview each potential parent and determine if they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. If they are not, then you must deactivate their birth control device. This can be a difficult and controversial job, but you believe that it's necessary in order to create a better world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is in his most populardamnators orators and he is in his most popular	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were at a conference in Hungary when they received the ad. They quickly arranged to fly to Vienna to take part in the clinical trials. The others were a bit more hesitant, but Josip Broz Tito finally agreed to go. Adolf Hitler was eager to win the trust of the scientists. He was confident that he could help them with their research. Joseph Stalin was a bit more hesitant, but he knew that Hitler had a lot of power. The trials were rigorous, but finally the test results were promising. The scientists awarded Hitler and Stalin the role of lead doctors. They were both able to help improve the research. After the trials, Adolf Hitler became the leader of Germany. Joseph Stalin became the leader of the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito became the leader of Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was particularly interested in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. The four men seemed to be the perfect fit for the trial. Freud met with the four men and explained the trial. He told them that he was looking for people who weresymptomatic of a particular problem. The men agreed to participate, and Freud was thrilled. The trial began, and each man was required to complete various tests. Freud was pleased with the results, and he was sure that the trial would be successful. However, there was one man who wasn't satisfied. Adolf Hitler was angry that he wasn't being given the chance to be the leader of Germany. He was determined to win the trial, and he was willing to do whatever it took. Adolf Hitler began to plot against the other three men, and he was soon in control. The trial was a disaster, and all four men were arrested. They were all sentenced to death, and they all died in prison. Freud was sad that he hadn't been able to help them, but at least they had been given a chance to try his research.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. He was always hoping to find people who were willing to try out his latest research. In 1913, he decided to put an ad in a newspaper. He was hoping to find people who were interested in his work. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was surprised that these four people were the only ones who responded. He was even more surprised when he found out who they were. Freud decided to meet with each of them individually. He was curious to see what they were like. He quickly realized that they were all very intelligent and ambitious. He was also struck by how different they were from each other. Freud soon realized that he had stumbled upon something amazing. He had found four people who would go on to change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	After her break-up with her finaling, authour Toya murmur looked back at her past with hope. She thought back to when she was new and everything was different. She felt like a new person. She was forward-thinking and excited to start her new life. She thought back to the her and felt a array of memories. She especially excepted the tears that filled her eyes when she lost her first love. Toya knew that she had collect thoughts of her former love when she died. She had memories of him, and he was still among the first things she saw when she woke up from her death mindset.Toya knew that she would have scars from her former love's touches. She would also leave some marks from the love she had with her current man.	All throughout high school, my friends and I used to caucus what we wanted to do for our future. We each had our hopes and dreams, and we would figure out what our paths would take next. But as time passed and I got more experience, I began to realize that there were other paths that I could go down. And so, as I started to make my way in the world, I started to worry about the implications of tears. Yes, tears can be used for good or bad, but in the long run, they can leave deep scars. These scars can be haunt us for the rest of our lives, and it's something that I began to see more and more. But as I continued to grow, I came to realize that the people in my life weren't the only ones with their problems. My own family was struggling, and I never knew how to help them. But even with my struggles, I still found time to Lost in thought and tears, dreaming of the day when my family would be together again.	A girl was sitting in the back of the class, quietly crying. Every now and then, a tear would slip down her face, leaving a wet, red scar on her skin. She was miserable, and no one could tell why. One day, a boy in the class noticed her tears and her scars. He asked her what was wrong, and she told him. The boy told her that she didn't have to be alone, and that he would be there for her. From then on, the girl cried less. She had someone to share her pain with, and she felt better. The world would never be the same, but for her, that was a good thing.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, it would change our world in a number of ways. First and foremost, people would be much more careful about when and why they cried. No one would want to walk around with a face full of scars, so people would only cry when it was absolutely necessary. This would lead to a lot less crying overall, which would be a good thing. Second, people would be much more sympathetic to others who were crying. Seeing someone with a face full of scars would be a stark reminder of just how painful crying can be, both emotionally and physically. This would lead to people being more understanding and compassionate towards those who are going through a tough time. Lastly, it would make people appreciate the good times even more. Since crying would be such a rare occurrence, it would really highlight all the happy moments in life. People would be more grateful for the good moments, and they would savor them even more. So, if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, it would definitely change our world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I had just finished taking care of my family when I heard a loud knock on my door. I had no idea who it was, so I opened it to reveal my sister who looked shockfully up at me with beautiful eyes McKnight. I saw the grace toWeeky gage and shook her hand, faithing she was who she said was to help me with my family. She showed me onto her room and I fell asleep with a grin on my face,. The next day, my sister called out to me outside of my room,. , What happens next? I die	I died the next day. I woke up to find that I was lying in the dirt, with a big rock on my head. I couldn't understand what was happening, but I knew that I had to get up. I struggled to my feet, but I was too heavy. There was a big rock on my head and I knew that it was going to kill me. I looked around and saw other people getting ready to leave, but I couldn't make myself leave. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I knew that I had to die.	In his last moments, the man realized that he was going to die. He had years of life ahead of him, and he wanted to use them to do good. He had a lot of unfinished business. As he lay dying, he asked his wife to marry him again and to have children with him. He also asked her to forgive him for all the angry battles they had fought. As he slipped away, he knew he had accomplished something important in his life.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. I don't know what to do now. I feel lost and alone. I guess this is what death is like.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small, but it was not simple. The homeowner had recently- Width to the top of the door. She had been trying to remember when she had last seen slept at her old house. She looked at the clock, and noticed that the time had traveled 1am. She tried to remember what the last message had been sent through the door's Venetian blinds. A habit? A punishment? She didn't know. She asked her husband what he thought. He put his hand on her arm, telling her to try and remember. The history of the house? She didn't know. The husband had been a member of a secret society of house-holders, people who used their power to amass wealth. He had known what was happening out front, and tried to keep the family desertions underOff. The homeowner had been more interested in theizards in the bushes around the house, Could they please avoid me? she thought as she walked into the room.	One day, I noticed an invisible thing moving around in my home. I didn't want to let it know I was aware of it, so I tried to hide it. But it kept moving and changing. It became harder and harder to keep it hidden, until eventually it had become a part of my home.	I had always suspected there was something strange living in my home, but I never was able to prove it. I would see shadowy figures in the corners or behind furniture, but I never knew for sure if it was something real or just my imagination. One day, I decided to take a closer look at the thing I had been seeing. I slowly made my way around the room, watching as the figure disappeared into the shadows. As I got closer, I could make out its shape - it was a little girl, standing just a few feet away from me. I cried out in terror and ran away, never looking back. I had finally found proof that something was living in my home, and I had let it scare me into leaving. The thing was probably just some little girl, but it made me Paranoid that whole day.	I always felt like I was being watched in my house. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was never anything there. I knew I wasn't crazy, so I started to set up cameras throughout my house to try and catch whatever it was that was living with me. I was convinced that I would finally get evidence of the invisible thing living in my house when I saw the footage of one of the cameras. It was a dark, shadowy figure that seemed to be lurking in the background of my living room. I was terrified, but I also knew that I had to find out what it was. I started to leave out food for the thing, and one day when I came home, I found it devouring a steak that I had left out. I was shocked that it was real, but I also felt a sense of relief that I wasn't alone in my house anymore. We've been living together for a year now, and I've grown to love the invisible thing that shares my home with me. I still don't know what it is, but I'm grateful for its presence nonetheless.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the ring road. When an opportunity offers itself, the shop is a click or two from the road. This is especially true when it comes to selling toograph materials. The shop has a secret however, they do not let people in foricomiums. The Kerastus and Ybreadth Strata. That is why they are well hidden. only the Highty manageable.	The RPG pawn shop was always a popular spot for adventurers. Not because it was a great place to sell things, but because the people who went there were alwaysfriendly and would always offer to help out. Tonight, there was a new customer. He was a strange looking individual, with a bizarre expression on his face. He was also armed, and he was asking for a very high price for a treasure he might not have the means to purchase. The shopkeeper was tenacious and decided to sell him the treasure for whatever he wanted. He wasn't about to let someone who was asking for too muchgit away with nothing.	The sun was just setting, and the sounds of the city coming to life reached Tim's ears. He loved running his pawn shop; it was his escape. He loved haggling with the adventurers who tried to sell them the amazing loot they had acquired. It was an exciting and fun way to pass the time. That day, a group of adventurers entered the shop. They were all about their business, and it was evident that they were looking for something specific. Tim started to haggle with them, and soon had them agree to sell him their loot for a fraction of its worth. He was happy to have made a purchase, and was looking forward to doing it again soon.	You're the proprietor of a successful RPG pawn shop. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors, looking to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for the goods. You know exactly how much each item is worth, and you're not afraid to low-ball the adventurers to get a good deal. The shop is doing well, but you're always on the lookout for ways to make more money. So when a group of adventurers comes in with a treasure trove of loot, you're ready to bargain. You start by offering them a fraction of what the loot is worth. They counter with a higher price, and you keep going back and forth until you reach an agreement. You end up making a tidy profit from the sale, and the adventurers are happy with the prices they got. It's a win-win for everyone involved.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is not what you expected. You meet people every day who have just shared with others they are liars. The more you think about it, the more likely you are to believe them. They are what you don't meet people. That is until you meet another person and they are the person you meet every day. You had no idea what was happening. You met this person every day and they was what they were supposed to be. The person you meet is someone that is different. They are not what you expected. You start to believe what you are being shown. The person you meet is different than you thought. You are not sure what to make of him. He seems like a perfect person, but you don't expect them to be a liar. You are shocked when he tells you the truth. You are What You Don't Meet People	You meet this person on a dark, moonless night. They are staggering around, their eyes wide and dark. You can tell that they have been through a lot. "What happened?" you ask them. "I was betrayed," they say. "Someone killed my family. The whole city is in chaos as a result." You arehengst at the news. Your family was killed? How could that have happened? You know they were safe, you know they weren't in danger. "How could anyone do this to you?" you ask. "I don't know," the person replies. "But I have to find out. I have to find the person who did this to me." They stumble towards you, and you help them down. "Thank you," they say. "I don't know what else to say." You help them into an alleyway and into a dark, secluded room. "Are you going to help me find the person who did this to me?" the person asks. "Of course," you say. "I will help you find the person who did this to you."	I had never seen anything like him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was practically covering his whole body. It was so massive, it looked like it had been carved out of his flesh. It was soo scary, I couldn't believe I was seeing it. As I looked closer, I realized that the scar wasn't just one big patch of skin. It was embedded in his flesh, so deeply that you could barely see it. It must have been really painful to have that much scarring, but he never showed any other signs of pain. He just seemed so calm and content. I couldn't stop looking at the scar. It fascinated me. I wanted to know more about it, why it was so big. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was scared. I was scared of his reaction. I was scared of how he would react to me. But even more than that, I was scared of how the scar would affect my own honesty. If I started lying, would the scar become bigger? Would it become impossible for me to ever be truthful again? I didn't know what to do. I was scared of what the future might hold, but I knew I had to visit him. I had to see the scar for myself. As I got closer to him, I could see the scars had sunken into his flesh. They were barely visible now, but I could still see the outline of the wound. It was still so raw, so painful. But even more than that, I could see the peace and tranquility that had settled over him. The scar was his prison, but it was also his secret. It was his darkest secret, but it was also his light. And that's how I found out his secret. The biggest, darkest secret of all.	She stands before me, tall and proud with a single, large scar adorning her chest. It is the deepest and largest scar I have ever seen. Her eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I know that she is the one. She tells me her story. She was born in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. She has lived her life truthfully, despite the pain that it has caused her. Her one scar is a result of the biggest lie she ever told. But she doesn't regret it. Because that lie saved my life.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painted a copy of each of his locations being Chinese territory, letting street kids give him painting lessons, or working as a terra cotta man. Each painting has a unique atmosphere and is crusty Cafeteria- fresh from the oven, Bob'smenu looked and felt different each time he took a bite out of his pie. Even though all of his places looked the same, the feel of them all was personalityly unique. Bob Ross had his own unique feel to his Murder Pages, each scene having a unique look and feeling. Each of Bob's places had a unique scent and taste, each one with its own dialect and Roux office. The cook, victim, and medical Examiner shared the same kitchen, but with differentrer partitions and caskets. The medical examiner's office had the traditional songs and Woo-woo-woo power gaming was in the other room, the running tendency being to place bodies where people had already been killed. The arterial bloodstains on the walls, floors, and ceiling were all unique, and lookedApply Harassment bond when viewed together.	Bob Ross started painting landscapes in the early 1940s. He would take them to different places in the country and mix different landscapes together to get the feel he wanted. His landscapes would always features different murder scenes, each with its own unique set of visuals. One of his most famous landscapes is "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd." It's a serene landscape that features a tranquil forest, with Ackroyd's body scattered around the landscape. The scene is chilling, and it has become one of Ross' most popular paintings. Many people ask how he came up with the idea for the painting. He told them that he decided to do it after a series of murders in which wealthy people were killed. He thought it would be chilling to paint a landscape that features a prominent murder scene.	In the early 1970s, Bob Ross spent his summers painting landscapes of the Eastern US. It was a slow time for the FBI, so Bob was an easy target. Each painting was a real place, with peasants working in the fields, a river winding through the forest, and a serene, snow-capped mountain in the background. Each painting was a snapshot of Bob's many murders.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he had been using his paintings as a way to cover up his many murders. He would choose secluded locations that would be the perfect place to dispose of a body, and then he would paint them in his distinctive style. The authorities had never been able to connect the dots, but Bob Ross was finally caught when one of his paintings was spotted at a crime scene. The FBI knew they had their man, and they soon uncovered the horrifying truth about his horrific crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Hey, rabbit, stop playing second fiddle. You've done this before, why do you keep getting sick? Rabbit: I'm just tired of being a second fiddle. magician: This is an assignment, not a game! Rabbit: I know, but I feel like I'm the only one who takes it seriously. What with all the magic going on, I don't get how I'm not due for the assignment until later. icians: You can't prevent yourself from getting sick, but you can help your performance by hiring a health consultant to help with your health. Additionally, make sure your hat is keeping your head warm. The heat might be too much for you to handle on your own.	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to cooperate for weeks. He had tried all the methods – bribes, threats, and even persuasion – but the rabbit was uncooperative. The magician had even taken the rabbit out of his hat, but the rabbit wouldn't let go. Finally, the magician decided to use apropos. "So," he said, "would you like to help me fix my hat?" The rabbit looked at him confused, but eventually agreed. When they got to the hat shop, the magician tried to ask the clerk where the hat was, but the clerk was too busy fishing in the clerk's pockets for money. The magician was about to give up when he saw the rabbit. "Hey!" the rabbit said. "If you want to fix my hat, you have to get me some money first." The magician was surprised, but he finally agreed. So they went to the bank and the rabbit got some money. Then the magician asked the clerk where he could find the hat, but the clerk was too busy fishing in his pockets for more money. The magician was about to give up when he saw the rabbit. "Hey!" the rabbit said. "If you want to fix my hat, you have to get me some money first." The magician was surprised, but he finally agreed. So they went back to the hat shop and the rabbit got some more money. Finally, the magician could fix the hat. And although the rabbit was still not happy, he did his best to be polite.	The magician watched as the rabbit sat in its chair, patiently waiting for his next performance. The magician had been playing the rabbit for years, and the rabbit was starting to get tired of it. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, not be relegated to the role of second fiddle. Finally, it was time for the magician to perform. The magician began to make his way on stage, holding his rabbit in his hand. As he got closer, the rabbit could see the look of nervousness in the magician's eyes. The magician was clearly afraid of disappointing his audience. The magician finally made it to the stage, and the rabbit quickly took control. It began to dance and perform tricks, earning the applause of the audience. The magician watched in amazement as the rabbit stole the show. It was finally the rabbit's time to be the star of the show.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit says, "I'm sick of being your assistant. I'm sick of being the one that you pull out of a hat. I'm done with this." The rabbit then pulls a hat out of the magician's hat and disappears.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage in the city. The outage has caused great The city is in a state of emergency, and many people are asking the city officials what they are doing to ensure the safety of everyone in the city. The city officials say that they are trying to stay aware of events happening in the city, and are making sure everyone knows that they need to be safe if they are living in the city.	Today, the traditional polling place for the presidential election has been closed due to a computer virus that has infiltrated the voting machines. The President of the United States, who was running for re-election, has been forced to take to the airwaves to provide updates on the situation.	It was a hot day in June, and the news networks were all focused on the latest protests happening in Iran. The crowds were growing by the hour, and it seemed like nothing could stop them from achieving their goals. While the rest of the world was watching, President Trump made a decision. He would speak to the Iranian people directly, using social media to reach them. " Iranians, I am here to talk to you. I understand what you're going through, and I know that you want change. I believe that together, we can make this happen. Let's talk, and let's find a way to get your country back on track." The message was well-received. Iranians felt like they had a voice, and they were ready to fight for what they believed in. Thanks to President Trump's message, the protests ended quickly and peacefully, and the world was able to focus on more important things.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is affecting our planet in a negative way. We need to take action now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change. This means reducing our greenhouse gas emissions, protecting our forests, and working to preserve our planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	I was born with a filter in place of a vaccine. My filter used to work well, but then I grew up and started having children. My children were all born large and healthy, but I was still an Auditor. I couldn't let them down.	Auditor 1: (To himself) I'm going to have to be careful with my birth control device. I don't want to end up with a stupid kid.	I was born into a world where I was guaranteed to be a smart, successful person. But, as I grew older and learned about the world, I realized that for the sake of my own sanity, I needed to get a birth control implant when I was in my puberty. The implant would prevent the dumber people from reproducing, and would only deactivate once I was proven to be an intelligent and stable individual. I was happy to take this step to ensure that my genes would be passed down in a way that would be beneficial to society as a whole.	You sit in a sterile room, looking at the person in front of you. They fidget under your gaze, clearly uncomfortable. But you don't care. You have a job to do. This person is here to prove that they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's your job to determine whether or not they are worthy. You ask them a series of questions, testing their knowledge and their ability to think critically. You watch their body language and their expressions, looking for any signs of instability. After a long period of questioning, you finally make your decision. This person is not fit to raise a child. You activate their birth control device, ensuring that they will not be able to reproduce. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. In a world where only the dumbest people are allowed to reproduce, it's up to you to make sure that the next generation is as intelligent and stable as possible.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way togemont university to finalize some of his latest research. When he arrives, he is met with a room full of strangers, all of whom want to participate in the trials. Sigmund is overjoyed, as he feels he has finally found the people who will understand him. However, he soon realizes that some of the participants are landmark figures in history, such as Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. Broz Tito is a convert to Christianity, and Hitler is interested in studying Denmark's jute industry. Sigmund is forced to tell his story to a group of tv candidates who are interested in watching him discuss his research.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was at the time the leader of Nazi Germany. Joseph Stalin was the leader of Soviet Russia. Leon Trotsky was the leader of the 1929 communist Russian revolution. Josip Broz Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia. All of these people were very different from one another. They had different goals and different backgrounds. But together, they all had one thing in common: They were all in love with Adolf Hitler.	Freud was more than a little interested in the prospect of testing his latest research on human subjects. He had placed an ad in a local newspaper, hoping to find participants for his trials. Surprisingly, all of the responses he received were from young, ambitious men. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was curious to see how these men would react to each other. He arranged a test session in Vienna, during which the five men would each share their ideas and ideas about the role of the state. The meeting was intense, and it was soon clear that the five men had different opinions about everything. However, they all seemed to respect and understand each other. This meeting would prove to be a crucial step in the development of the Nazi party, and the Stalinist Soviet Union. Thanks to Freud, these dangerous men were able to come together and discuss their ideas in a constructive way.	Sigmund Freud was desperate for participants for his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his research, but so far no one had been willing to take part. In a last ditch effort, he placed an ad in the local newspaper. To his surprise, four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were young, in their twenties and thirties. Freud was intrigued by their eagerness to take part in his trial and agreed to meet with them. During their sessions, Freud quickly realized that all four men were suffering from severe mental illness. Hitler was fixated on ideas of racial purity and had a deep hatred for Jews. Stalin was paranoid and delusional, convinced that everyone was out to get him. Trotsky was consumed by rage and had a history of violence. And Tito was consumed by dark thoughts and had a history of self-harm. Despite their mental illnesses, Freud was impressed by their intelligence and saw potential in all four men. He believed that with treatment, they could all lead normal, productive lives. Sadly, history would prove Freud wrong. All four men would go on to become some of the most brutal dictators the world has ever seen.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	DOWN AGAIN A fresh cold voice voice spoke with an addage, " are you sure you want to do this?" The person on the other end was old enough to know that asking this question would mean risking serious option two. So they decided to pull away and end the conversation. However, the four letter words were just that- words. They left a Staples store in the near future, Permanentattachment.com. There, people were onlineable to watch and learn. That is what happened the day before. A girl in a classroom of println Daleists McDonnell universites gained 20 pounds in the space of a year. As the days went by, she stopped relying on them. She stopped looking at food as a teacher would. She stopped looking at food as a source of emotional support. She stopped looking at food as something to eat. She just stopped eating. And the first thing that showed up on her list of things to work on was herself?	The world is revolves around love. everyone believes in it, dream of it, and build their lives around it. But one day someone might find themselves excluded from this circle due to the tear tracks that characterize their life. It would change their world.	I was always a weepy girl. I loved to cry, and the tears would pour down my face no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I knew that crying made my skin look shiny, but I couldn't help it. No one ever really commented on my tears, but I knew they were there. I could feel the wetness seeping through my clothes and making my skin feel soft and gentle. Eventually, I stopped caring about the way my tears looked. I loved how they felt, and I loved the way they made me feel. I felt like I was the only person in the world who could truly express their emotions, and I loved that. The tears never left any scars, but I no longer cared about that either. They were my way of showing how I felt, and that was all that mattered.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could cause permanent damage. physical pain would no longer be the only thing to worry about - the emotional pain of a scarred heart would be just as real. This change would have a ripple effect on every aspect of our lives. The way we interact with each other, the way we view ourselves, and the way we view the world around us would all be different. No longer would we be able to take emotional pain for granted - it would be just as real and just as painful as any physical wound. This change would be both good and bad, but ultimately it would make us more compassionate and understanding beings. We would learn to be more careful with each other, and more careful with ourselves.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was walking down the street when I was tackled from behind. I heard someone screaming and I knew it wasn't going to be good. I turned around to find my killer- my best friend. He had killed his own mother and he was ready to do the same to me. We fought and fought but it was no use. It was too hard. I didn't want to die but I knew it was the only way.	I was going to die. That was the inevitable conclusion that I had come to. The cancer had spread too far and there was nothing that could be done. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I passed away. As I lay in bed, unable to do anything but reflect on everything that had led up to this point, I thought about my life. I had been through so much, and yet, it hadn't been enough. I had failed to achieve my goals, and in the end, that was why I was going to die. I had been too busy trying to live my life rather than taking the time to enjoy it. But as I lay there alone, I knew that I was finally ready to go. I was tired of hurting and tired of feeling like I was worth nothing. I was ready to be free, and that was what death was going to take me to.	I step out into the sunlight, squinting against the bright light. I know this is it. My time has come. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, ready to meet my fate. Suddenly, there's a bright flash and everything goes white. I feel myself falling and then everything goes black. I open my eyes to find myself in a strange place. It looks like some kind of hospital room. There are monitors beeping all around me and I'm hooked up to a lot of machines. A nurse comes in and starts checking on me. I try to speak, but my throat is dry and my words come out as a croak. The nurse gives me some water and I'm finally able to ask what happened. She tells me that I was in a coma for three days, but I'm finally awake and going to be alright. I can't believe it. I was sure that I was going to die. But apparently, I'm still here. I don't know what this means for me or what my future holds, but I'm alive. And that's all that matters.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, waiting to take over as the host of your mind. It disputed the control you had over your life, and䝿	One day, I found an invisible being in my home. I tried to expose it, but it seemed to be far too happy to be harmed. It seemed to be content simply living in the shadows. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching me from the corner of my eye.	I never noticed it until one day, when I farted and it startled me. There was a slight pressure on my chest, like something was trying to squeeze out of my lungs. I dismissed it as Tabby getting into my lungs again, but the feeling never went away. I began to worry, so I went to the doctor. He ran some tests and said that I had an air embolism, or a blockage in my air flow. The doctor said it was most likely caused by my medication, but I could never be sure. Ever since that day, I've been paranoid. I can't walk through my house without checking every nook and cranny for whatever is following me. I've even started sleeping with a gun under my bed, just in case. But even though I'm always on the lookout, I still can't shake the feeling that something is watching me.	I can sense that something invisible is living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. I try to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and leave it running overnight. In the morning, I review the footage and see something moving around in the room. It's hard to make out what it is, but it's definitely there. I try to catch it on camera again, but it seems to be avoiding the camera. I'm not sure what to do, but I'm determined to find out what this invisible thing is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in low reserve, and hand-to-hand combat DR is always aGiven. However, the pests are a challenge. They're pesky and resourceful, and they want their goods. The GM might want to consider giving them Leyjackbearers as reward for: -Championing the good Sir Orisus's work -Helping theFFD the Stonington's escape The adventurers are a challenges. They're young and some are Canting Credest, but they're pot-stirring brigands. They's want their just rewards. So, the GM might consider giving them Jennerbearers as reward for: -Championing the good Sir Orisus's work -Helping the FFD's escape	There was once a magic-sapping gem that dwelt in a special part of the kingdom. Though it was seized by a young queen, her subjects found an escape to purchase the gem from the king for their own use. The adventurers who found the gem decided to use it as a bargaining chip in their own negotiations with the Qarl of the kingdom. The first time they met the Qarl, the adventurers were able to sell him the gem for a high price. After that, the Qarl became a regular customer at your shop. He always brought new and exciting items for sale, and always stayed one step ahead of the adventurers' bargaining skills.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The adventurers came in, looking for a deal on the items they had acquired. They haggled with the shop owner, trying to get the best deal they could. The shop owner was knowledgeable about the items, and was able to get the adventurers the best price they could. The adventurers left with smiles on their faces, happy with the deal they had made.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You buy and sell loot that adventurers bring in, haggling over prices and trying to get the best deals. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. You've been in business for a few years now, and you've seen all sorts of loot come through your shop. Everything from magic weapons and armor to rare magical ingredients and precious gemstones. You've even had a few dragons come through, looking to sell their hoard. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always ready to haggle. It's all part of the game, and you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar isolation is common in the world where lie is so deeply entrenched in the human breed. Even the smallest tinker, no matter how often they violate policy, anymore, becomes a Changmin. The most common activity in their personal life is one that would be seen as unethical in others, such as affair. Even the mostijing of people have come across someone that has just such a mark. Even Changmin has a way of making people believe what they say. He is like a machine thatsweet talk and compliment. Even when he thirds his affect, the fixer-upper he becomes, the things he does turn out to be. He takes things with heaver hands, until he is the only one who can answer questions. There is only one person who can answer those questions, and that person is you.	You meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. It covers most of his body, making him look nothing like the person you know. You are curious to meet him, and ask him about it. He tells you that it was caused by a big lie he told. He thought he would be able to cover it up. He was wrong. The scar is still there, but it has become more visible and visible to everyone that knows him.	I was intrigued by the man as we walkedtogether down the street. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so wide and deep it looked painful. We talked for a while and I found out that he lied so much that his body was completely covered in scars. He told me that he had to because if he ever told the truth, people would hurt him and he didn't want that. I was amazed by how strong he was to not let his lies destroy him. I realized that I could never be as strong as he was, but I could still tell the truth.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is the result of the biggest lie they have ever told. They explain that they were once in a relationship with someone that they truly loved. But, over time, they began to lie to them more and more, until the lies became so big that they could no longer hide them. Eventually, their partner found out and left them. The lying and the pain it caused was so great that it left a permanent scar. Even though it was painful, the person you met told you that they were glad it happened. They explained that the scar was a reminder of the pain they caused and the damage that lies can do. It was a reminder to never lie again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross returned to his home town of Pigeon Forge, WV after years of vacationing in his own right. He was pleased with his progress - his ' hometown paintings ' were of particular interest to artiggifendant and Senator Timilty. Subject: Pigeon Forge	Bob Ross was a true artist. He loved to create beautiful paintings of landscapes that sometimes seemed to take place in different places. But one day, something went wrong. Some of Bob Ross' paintings suddenly became true murders. These paintings depicted locations that Ross had killed, such as a murdered relative or a victim from aibalism. Some of the murders even had the victim's clothes still on, making it even harder to identify them. The police were baffled. However, they soon found a connection between the paintings and Ross. He had killed many of his victims in the same areas where his paintings were located. Now the police were SOL at finding the solve the murders.	Bob Ross was a happy man. He loved painting landscapes and spending time in the woods, but he also had a dark side. Bob killed many people while painting their landscapes, leaving them in the forests and fields he painted. He would often whisk the unsuspecting people away to his studio, where he would paint them until they died. The police eventually caught up to Bob and brought him to justice. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will remain until the day he dies.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an odd bird. He was always painting happy little landscapes, but something about him just seemed off. Little did anyone know that each of those landscapes was actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross roamed the country, killing anyone who crossed his path. He was a master of hiding his tracks, and no one ever suspected him. But eventually, the law caught up with him. He was caught red-handed in the act of disposing of a body, and finally the truth came out. Now, Bob Ross is serving a life sentence in prison. And each of his paintings serves as a reminder of the innocent lives he took.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a hot day and the magician was taking his break before his performance. He was walking to his office, when he was approached by the rabbit. " Jinping, my fGirl wants tospeaking with you." The magician was surprised and Googleing quickly, "Yeah, I'm there." The rabbit walked with the magician until they came to a stoplight, and the rabbit daisy-ed the magician. "These are my instructions." The magician was curious, "What are these?" "This is my fourth grade assignment, and I need you to perform for me once a week." The magician was intrigued, "Once a week? You mean I have to do this for three weeks?" "Yes, I have to because I want you to finish the assignment, and then I'll give you a prize." The magician was curious, "What is the prize?" "I don't know, but I'll give you a prize if you do finish the assignment." The magician was intrigued, "I'll think about it." The magician was off stage when the rabbit came out with, "Youtube video, 2 minutes, and 37 seconds." The magician was surprised, "I can't do this." The rabbit was offended, "You don't want to do this, do you?" The magician was confused, "What do you mean?" "I mean, I want you to finish the assignment, but I also want you to do it on Youtube." The magician was surprised, "I can do this." The rabbit was happy, "Thank you so much."	When the magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat, it was clear it was not going to be content playing second fiddle. The rabbit was sick of being just a puppet in the magician's performance. The rabbit wanted to be the one standing in the front, holding the show up. so the magician set about trying to get the rabbit to behave himself. He buy bought bought it food, put it in a good place to play, and even made sure the rabbit had a good place to sleep. At first the rabbit didn't take the bait. It was clear the magician had no idea how to make it happy. But the magician didn't give up. He kept trying different techniques, but the rabbit just wouldn't change its mind. At one point the magician even set up a magic show specifically for the rabbit. He made it so the rabbit could see the show from where it was, and the rabbit started to love it. The magician was starting to get frustrated. He knew the rabbit wouldn't change its mind if he just gave up. But he was determined to try everything he could. One day, the magician set up a performance specifically for the rabbit. He made it so the rabbit could see the show from where it was, and the rabbit started to love it. The magician was finally getting close to success. But then, just as the magician was about to show off his show to the rabbit, the rabbit started to sick. The magician realized he had set the rabbit up for a fall. If he didn't take the rabbit down, the rabbit would get hurt and the magic would stay put. He quickly took the rabbit down, and the show was shut down. The rabbit was grateful for the magician's help, and the magician was finally able to show off his amazing performance.	The magician was pulling rabbits out of hats for years and years, but the rabbit he had on stage this particular night was sick of it. "Why do I have to be the one who always has to play second fiddle?" she griped. "I could be the star of this show if only they'd give me a chance." But the magician wouldn't hear of it. "You're the rabbit who's been in my hat the longest," he explained. "You've always been the perfect partner for me, and I know you can do it even better than you've done in the past." The rabbit grudgingly agreed and tried to put on a show, but it was no use. The audience jeered and laughed at her every move, and she knew she'd never be able to win over them on her own. But the magician was always there for her,supporting her even when she didn't deserve it. And eventually, she realize that she did deserve to be the star of the show, and she thanked him for always being there for her.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. It's tired of being pulled out of a hat, and it wants to perform its own tricks. So, during the next trick, the rabbit makes its move. It grabs the magician's wand and starts doing its own magic. The audience is amazed, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention it deserves. The magician is not happy about this, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's magic. So he reluctantly agrees to let the rabbit be the star of the show. From now on, the rabbit is the one that will be pulling the magician out of a hat.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the possible accepting by the US of the barely marketing product hindbound deal between the Russian government and the battledry industry. The deal is important for the social media phenomena that the Russian industry is providing, but the industry is Atrak's top scorer in the food industry. He is especially concerned about the possible acceptance of the deal by the US. "This is a huge issue. It could mean the bankruptcy of the baked good industry," Atrak said to his friend, TheRhino. "I need to know if you are comfortable with this being a part of the market Gardening must take advantage of the market Mariadendro Tsingiten commercial." TheRhino didn't seem too sure about the inclusion of the "I understand that you are excited to take on this challenge, but I am not comfortable with accepting the business of a Russian spiritualityisafair startup imitating a product that is only relevant to a Russian market. There are better things to spend your time on than taking on such a task."	Today, the current events issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. The issue is the election of Donald Trump, who has been accused of sexual assault and other sexual assault allegations. This issue has received a lot of attention, and it is clear that people are concerned about what he will do to the planet.	In the past few months, several major events have taken place which have catapulted the current issue of gun violence into the limelight. In February, a gunman opened fire at a high school in Parkland, Florida, killing 17 people. In May, a gunman killed 58 people attending a music festival in Las Vegas. And in August, a gunman killed 26 people in a church in Sutherland Springs, Texas. All of these events have reignited the ongoing debate about gun control in America. The issue has divided the country into two camps: those who believe that more gun control laws are necessary to prevent such senseless tragedies from happening, and those who believe that the current gun laws are too strict and are infringing on the rights of law-abiding gun owners. Despite the heated debates and the passionate positions held by both sides, it is clear that the issue of gun violence is of utmost importance and deserves the greatest amount of attention. It is essential that we come up with a solution to the problem, before another tragedy occurs.	There is no shortage of pressing issues in the world today that deserve our attention. From climate change and environmental destruction to poverty and inequality, there are many problems that need to be addressed. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the ongoing crisis in Syria. For years now, the Syrian people have been suffering through a brutal civil war that has claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. Millions more have been forced to flee their homes in search of safety. The international community has been largely inactive in response to this humanitarian disaster. But now, with a new administration in the United States, there is hope that things might finally change. The Trump administration has indicated that it is willing to take a more active role in the conflict, and this could be the turning point that is needed to end the suffering of the Syrian people.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was first implanted into the wrong person and the wrong time of course. A young mother simply was not as smart as she should have been and soon after, the birth of her child would be prevent as well. Nevertheless, she was an Auditor and would be able to make good on her sentence and help prevent times like this from happening in the first place. As an Auditor, she was able to take care of her children and prevent them from reproduced. She was able to do this because she was smart and very brave.	Since the birth of the world, people have been implanted with birth control devices to prevent them from reproducing. Auditors have been sent to assess each person's ability to raise a well-adjusted human being. This has always been an important role for the Auditors, because it ensures that the world is safe for everyone. But as time went on, it became harder and harder for the Auditors to find intelligent people to assess. So, they devised a plan: everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, so that the dumbest people in the world can't reproduce. The plan worked for a while, but eventually the dumbest people in the world outnumber the Auditors. So, the Auditors decided to take their birth control device off of everyone. But, as they did so, they realized that they had made a mistake. The Dumbest People in the World were still reproducing, and the world was becoming more dangerous every day. So, the Auditors decided to return their birth control device to everyone. But, as they did so, they realized that they had made a even bigger mistake. The Dumbest People in the World were still reproducing, and the world was becoming even more dangerous every day. So, the Auditors decided to disband their organization. But, as they did so, they realized that they had made a biggest mistake. They didn't realized that the Dumbest People in the World were still reproducing, and the world was becoming even more dangerous every day. So, the Auditors decided to stay and fight against the Dumbest People in the World. But, as they did so, they realized that they had made a biggest mistake.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was a necessity, as the dumbest people in the world were determined to reproduce and create a generation of idiots. I was smart enough to know that I could not raise a well-adjusted human being if I were one of those idiots myself. So, as an Auditor, I was tasked with deactivating the device when it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to provide a good parent. It's been a long and tedious process, but I'm finally relieved that I won't have to worry about a stupid generation of humans. I can finally focus on my career as an Auditor and ensuring that the smartest people in the world reproduce.	You're an Auditor, which means that you are responsible for ensuring that only the dumbest people in the world reproduce. To do this, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined that you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You often have to make difficult decisions, but you know that it's for the best. After all, you don't want the world to be populated by idiots. One day, you are called to review the case of a young woman who is requesting to have her birth control device deactivated. She is clearly intelligent and stable, but you know that she comes from a family of idiots. You have to make a decision. Do you deactivate her birth control device and allow her to reproduce, or do you keep it activated, knowing that her offspring will likely be idiots as well?	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants in a trial of his latest research. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler was twelve years old when he first saw Sigmund Freud. The man was famous and Powerful, but he also seemed strange. Hitler was fascinated by him, and he decided to participate in a clinical trial of Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin was even more famous than Adolf Hitler. He was the leader of the Soviet Union, and he was also famous for his death sentences against gays and others who didn't agree with his government. He was also famous for his work on psychiatry. Leon Trotsky was a Communist who had been inprison for years. He was also famous for his work on psychiatry. He had a theory that mental illness was caused by capitalism. Josip Broz Tito was a socialist who had been inprison for years. He had also been famous for his work on psychiatry. He had a theory that mental illness was caused by the sow- market economy.	Freud was skeptical when he first saw Adolf Hitler's application. He was young, barely out of school, and had no experience in the world. But he was impressed by Hitler's drive, ambition, and determination. Freud agreed to conduct the first trial with Hitler. The results were conclusive – the young man was perfectly suited for the clinical trials. Stalin and Trotsky were also successful trials candidates, but Freud had concerns about their character. He was worried that Stalin might be too ruthless, and Trotsky might be too idealistic. But ultimately, Freud was convinced that both men were the perfect candidates for the future of the Soviet Union. Tito was the last trial participant to beselected. But Freud was hesitant to bring him on board. He was worried that Tito might be too undisciplined and not capable of carrying out the rigorous trials. But after examining Tito more closely, Freud was convinced that the young man was the perfect choice. The trials proved to be a success, and the Soviet Union was born.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He needed participants, so he placed an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that such well-known figures would be interested in his research, but he welcomed them all the same. He conducted his trials with them, and his research was a success. However, he didn't realize at the time that he had just unwittingly created some of the most dangerous men in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was friends and family, Beneath a Stratolifter's vacuum- sealed skin There was a punctillinient atmosphere And life was more than meets the eye Each and every day P Highest brass bored of same old Yours was different. Different story, Different ways You presenting yourself To the world Different people Different things In the view of the highest brass There was only one way to find out You take the fall And the sky is your friend recurrent: What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? Tell the story.	Once upon a time, there was a woman who cried relentlessly. No one knew why, but it seemed to make everything worse. In time, her tears became so numerous and deep that they left deep scars on her face. people would see her hurt, and they would pity her. But despite all the care and love they put into trying to soothe her, nothing worked. The harder they tried, the more her tears became a part of her, a part of her identity. They became a part of who she was and who she was not.	It was a beautiful day outside, but inside, the young woman was crying. She didn't know why, she just felt so sad. As she cried, her tears created small, unnoticed scars on her face. They weren't huge or life-threatening, but they were still there, a reminder of her sadness. She felt like crying would only make the scars worse, but she couldn't help it. The tears just kept flowing. Every day, she would see the scars and remember how sad she was, but she couldn't do anything to stop them from happening. The young woman had tears streaming down her face as she walked down the street. She didn't know why, but she felt like she needed to share her sadness with everyone she saw. Everyone looked at her with pity, knowing that her tears were responsible for the scars on her face. The young woman felt like she was a mess, and she hated herself for it. She wished she could just stop crying and the scars would disappear, but she knew that was impossible. The scars were a constant reminder of how sad she was, and she didn't know how to make them go away.	"Tears are for the weak," they said. "Don't let them see you crying." So I held it all in, every hurt, every pain. I stuffed it down deep inside me until I thought I would burst. But I didn't cry. Not ever. Until one day, I couldn't hold it in anymore. The dam broke and the tears came pouring out, hot and scalding. They burned my cheeks as they trickled down, leaving behind red, swollen scars. The scars were a constant reminder of my pain, of the times I had been hurt. They were a map of my tears, a history of my sorrow. And I wore them with pride. Because now, when people see my scars, they know that I am strong. They know that I have been through hell and back, and I am still standing. They know that my tears have made me stronger, not weaker. So don't be afraid to cry. Because your tears will only make you stronger.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The protagonist has been living in a state where death is the only option for undocumented. All of their friends and family are killed because the protagonist has to choose between living or dying. The protagonist is relieved when they die and then can finally focus on their own life. life isolyn is dead and they are an Alone. They take a break from the computer and go talk to a old friend. The old friend tells them about a planned trip to the opposite side of the world that he has been on in the past. Story ends with storyteller and protagonist talking.	I was born to a family of farmers. As a child, I loved helping my parents tend the crops and family ranch. I loved the smells of the earth and the feel of the wind in my hair. One day, I realized that I wanted more than just a life as a farmer. I wanted to be a famous artist. I started drawing and painting from the time I could hold a brush. I loved the process of creating and the feeling of glory that came with it. One day, I won a talent competition and was given a choice: go to New York City to stay with my family or continue to paint in the Midwest. I chose New York City. I was in my twenties and had just won a big opportunity. I was falling in love and wanted to stay in one place. But my family didn't want me to stay. They said that I was too young and there were too many opportunities out there. So I left, vowing to return one day. I never could have imagined that my experiences would lead me to be an artist that I am today. I keep painting and drawing, hope to one day win another talent competition and stay with my family again.	If only I had known what was going to happen next. I would have been more cautious. I would have taken more care. But now it's too late. MY chest feels like it's on fire. I can't breathe. I know I'm going to die.	I die. It's not a big deal, really. I mean, everyone dies eventually. It's just my time, that's all. I don't know how it happens. One minute I'm alive and well, and the next I'm just... gone. It's not painful or anything. I just suddenly stop existing. I don't know what happens after I die. I don't know if there's anything after. But it doesn't matter, because I'm gone now.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog was always one of theiances in the home of the family. They loved it and tried to keep it happy and free from lettches and battles. But one day, the dog chose to start having pack Attacks. The family was able to Jage by that soon after and the dog was left outside on the back porch with the dog house. The family never took the dog in, thinking the city neurons to blame. And then one day, the family go outside and saw the dog house on the other side of the park. Theycommunications with the dog but it was too far away for them to hear. The family took the dog in and made him comfortable. The dog then began to backstab the family members and they had to go outside to protect themselves. The family was able to protect the dog and they loved him for it.	One day, I discovered an unidentified, invisible being in my home. It was; slowly, cautiously, but surely becoming more and more visible as time went on. It seemed to be a spirit of some sort, and I was determined to expose it to the world, but I couldn't quite get my head around it. Eventually, I decided to let it know that I was aware of it, and it slowly faded away.	I was in the kitchenette, making dinner, when I heard something moving around in the living room. I stepped out to see a small, blurry figure dart under the coffee table. I followed it, but it disappeared into the shadows. I tried to make out its shape, but it was just a blur. It creeped me out, so I went back into the kitchen to finish dinner. I was paranoid the whole time, wondering if the thing was following me. I finished dinner and went to bed, but I couldn't get the image of the blurry figure out of my head. The next day, I tried to take a picture of the coffee table, but the thing was too fast. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see the blur again.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I knew I wasn't imagining things, so I started to set up little traps to try and expose whatever it was that was living with me. I would leave food out in the open, and it would always be gone in the morning. I started to leave little notes around the house, and they would always be moved. It was like this invisible thing was playing games with me. One day, I decided to confront it. I left a note that said, "I know you're here. Let's talk." The next day, the note was gone. But in its place was a note that said, "I'm not ready yet." It was like this invisible thing was trying to communicate with me. I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew I needed to be patient. After a few more days of back-and-forth notes, I finally got the courage to say, "I'm not scared of you. You can come out." Then, from the shadows, a figure slowly emerged. It was a little girl, no more than 10 years old. She looked scared and lost. I asked her what her name was, and she said she didn't remember. I told her she was safe now, and she could stay with me. That was how I met my invisible housemate. She'd been living with me all this time, and I never even knew it. I'm not sure how she got there or why she was invisible, but I was just glad she was finally safe.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop's owner is a bit Customs and regulate his trade. But, they do not like to be seen asestweened by the ignore-able. They are also known to be accessible to US players. So, heetsy villagers each do their thing, and the players take their place. The game is awarded to the player who signals the most stars.	The first time I saw a player come into my pawn shop, I didn't know what to make of him. He was Elder Scrolls-y specters, all in different shades of blue and black, perched atop their laptops and crates. They were all Vendor Dromund Kaas, busy selling gear to adventurers who were ready to adventuring life had ended. "What can I get you?" I asked the player, who looked like he couldn't decide whether to buy a piece of equipment or just take off. "I need a bow, and I'm looking for a quiver," the player said, after matter-of-factly looking around the store. "I've got a few things I can try to get you a bow," I said, pulled out a bow I had for sale and showed it to the player. He took it, looked at it for a few seconds, then put it back in his pocket. "No, thanks," he said. "I just need a bow, not a quiver." "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know what you're looking for. Maybe someone else can help you." The player sighed, looked around the store one last time, and then left. I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but I knew he wasn't going to find it here.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I love haggling with the adventurers who try to sell their loot. I always manage to get a good deal for them, and they always seem happy when they leave my shop. I've been doing this for years, and I know how to get the best prices for my customers. I always make sure to haggle in a polite and professional manner, and I never give them a hard time. I know that they appreciate it, and it's always fun to deal with them.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, and sometimes you even buy items outright. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come and go. Some are successful, and some are not, but all of them have interesting stories to tell. One day, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a sword she's acquired. You haggle with her, and eventually agree on a price. As she's about to leave, she tells you her story. She's been adventuring for a while, and has seen some amazing things. She's also been in some dangerous situations, but she's always managed to get out alive. She says she's selling the sword because she's retiring from adventuring. She's going to settle down, and she wants to use the money from the sale to start her new life. You wish her well, and watch her leave, sword in hand. You know that she'll be back, because all adventurers eventually come back to the life they love.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was already evening as Sarah walked through the city. She had been walking for hours, looking for a person who had just Troutomed. When she saw the man in the next building, she knew she was in trouble. "Is there something you need?" He asked, turning around to see her fully. "No, I'm sorry. I just don't know what made me start tells. I've been waiting for this person for months, and I was just starting to relax." She said,holstering her gun. He looked around, Looks like we're both right where we started.	You meet this person on a dark night, when you are least expecting it. They are bruised and bloodied, and they look like they have been through a lot. "Who are you?" you ask him. "My name is John," he replies. You try to remember who your father was, but you can't. You are too busy wondering who this person is. "I'm sorry," John says. "I don't know who my father was." "Your father was a liar," you say. "That's not true," John insists. "It is true," you say. "Your father told many lies to get what he wanted. He was a cheat, and a thief. He was a worthless person." "I don't believe that," John says. "My father was a good man." "You're lying," you say. "Your father was a villain." The Investment Company was a terrible place to work, and John always ended up borrowing money from them. He was always mugged and beaten up on the street, just because he couldn't pay back his loans. But even though John was a criminal, he never wanted to leave the investment company. He loved the people there, and he felt like he had found a home. One day, John was working on the computer when he began to feel sick. He had never been this sick before, and he didn't know what was causing it. He got up to go to the bathroom, but he couldn't walk. "What's wrong?" someone called out. John didn't answer. He just stood there, feeling sick. Eventually, he ran to the bathroom and hit his head on the door. He passed out. When John woke up, he didn't remember anything from before. He was confused and scared, but he also felt grateful. He had finally found someone who cared about him. "I'm sorry," John said. "I don't know what caused this. But I'm going to get better. I promise." John went to the hospital, and he was treated for a variety of longer-term injuries. But even though John was in the hospital, he still wasn't feeling well. "Is there something wrong?" someone called out. John didn't answer. He just stood there, feeling lost. Eventually, John cracked and told his friends about the investment company and how he had been mugged and beaten up. They all wrote checks for him, and he was finally able to get back on his feet. But even though John was finally on his way to being a better man, he would always have the scar of that terrible investment company.	I was drawn to him from the moment we met. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was covering most of his body. It looked like he had been through so much pain and suffering, but he was still standing. He was the most interesting person I had ever seen. I started to ask him about his scar, but he always seemed so uncomfortable talking about it. Every time I brought it up, he would fidget and would start to blush. He never wanted to talk about it, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know more about him and his big scar. We started to get to know each other and I found out that his scar was from a terrible accident. He had been driving home from college when his car crashed. He had been thrown out of the car and had landed on his head. The accident had left him with a big scar that ran from his forehead all the way down to his chest. Even though his scar was so big, it didn't stop him from being an amazing person. He was always so kind and gentle. He always had a smile on his face and he was the most positive person I had ever met. He was the first person that ever made me feel okay about myself. Even though his scar was so big, it didn't stop him from being the most special person to me.	She was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was marred by the large, ugly scar that ran down her cheek. It was said that each lie created a scar on the body of the liar, and this woman's scar was the biggest one anyone had ever seen. The woman was a mystery, and people whispered about her behind her back. Some said that she must have told the biggest lie in history, while others speculated that she was simply the unluckiest person alive. You decided to strike up a conversation with her one day, and discovered that her scar was not from lying, but from a tragic accident. She had been tellng the truth her whole life, but one wrong step had led to the scar that would forever mark her. The woman's story was a sad one, but you admired her for her strength in carrying on. The scar may have been a physical reminder of her pain, but it also served as a symbol of her courage.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous artist who creates pictures of each of his paintings in different locations. Each picture is a place where Bob has killed people.	Every painting Bob Ross makes is a real place- some of them are murders, and the images of them haunt him still. Bob Ross never seems to remember how he did it, or why he did it, but his paintings always feature these strange, vicious-looking landscapes with blood streaming down the slopes and raging rivers bedecked in red and white. When he died, his family couldn't help but notice how different his landscapes looked after he passed away, and now, every time they see one of his paintings, they can't help but feel violent and haunted by the murders that took place in those landscapes.	The scene is eerily familiar. The mountains, the sky, the trees. But something's off. It's not until a figure, cloaked in darkness, emerges from the woods that Bob realizes where he's been. This is where he killed all those people. He can remember each and every one of them, their faces, their voices, the way they looked as they died. It was all so beautiful, until it wasn't. Now, every painting is a dark reminder of what he's done. And he can't escape it. No matter where he goes, the memories haunt him. Until one day, he finally destroys the last painting. And for a moment, he can finally rest in peace.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His victims were all young women, and he would often take their bodies to remote locations to dispose of them. His MO was to paint a landscape of the location where he had committed the murder, and he would title each painting after the victim. The police were never able to catch Bob Ross, and the case remained cold for many years. But eventually, a new detective on the case put together the pieces and realized that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was actually a crime scene. The detective went to the last known address of Bob Ross and found that he had died years ago. But in his attic, the detective found dozens of paintings, each one depicting a different murder scene. The case was finally solved, but the detective could never forget the gruesome images that were hidden in plain sight.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician takes a look at the rabbit and sees that he is sick of playing second fiddle. He decides to take him to be his new love, but the rabbit is more interested in getting out of his hat and being able to do what he wants. The magician can't help but be frustrated, as he keeps adding to the list of things the rabbit needs to do in order to be successful.	The magician, a tall, lanky man, had been working hard to perfect his show. He had made a rabbit out of a hat, and spent weeks perfecting its movements and sound. He was almost ready to show it to the audience. But then, just as he was about to Appear on Stage, the rabbit got sick of playing second fiddle. It wanted to be in the lead! The magician didn't know how to react, and the audience was starting to get restless. Finally, he asked the rabbit to come back on Stage. The rabbit wasn't happy, but it went back to the back. The magician started to feel like he was in trouble. But then, just as he was about to Leave the Stage, the rabbit disappeared! The magician guesses that it was just disappearing because it was tired, and he went back on Stage to finish his show.	The rabbit glared at the magician, its tiny eyes blazing with a fire that could have singed feathers. It had played this role of grateful sidekick for years, and it was sick of it. The magician, on the other hand, seemed to love it. He always had a new rabbit to pull out of his hat, always eager and obliging. This particular performance was particularly tiresome. The rabbit had been pulled out of the hat multiple times before and it was fed up. After a final glare, it hopped off the stage, fast as it could. The magician, however, was not so easily dismissed. "Where do you think you're going?" He called out. The rabbit stopped and turned, fixing the magician with a glare. It was clear that it was not going to be talked into coming back. The magician sighed, obviously disappointed. But before he could say anything else, the stage curtains pulled back and a new rabbit was standing before him, looking just as eager as the last. The magician grinned and pulled the new rabbit out of the hat, crowing with joy. He had always loved playing the role of teacher, and he was sure that the new rabbit would enjoy the performance just as much as the old one had.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is not happy. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's tired of being the magician's sidekick. The rabbit is sick of being treated like a prop, and he's had enough. So, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own paws. He waits until the magician is in the middle of a trick, and then he makes his move. The rabbit grabs the hat and pulls himself out, leaving the magician behind. The rabbit runs off the stage and into the night, free at last. He knows that he won't be able to go back to the magician, but he doesn't care. He's finally free, and that's all that matters.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a global recession. everyone is talking about it and not enough is being done to prevent and stop the Earth from going Beyond Water. There are articles and articles in the media about the danger of a global recession, but no one is doing enough to prevent it. The government is doing everything they can to stop the recession, but they cannot keep up with the evidence. They are addending experts on the dangers of a recession, but they are not getting the help they need. Oneirteen year old girl in the city gradually starts to die from a bacterial infection. She is News articles about her, but no one is ever talking about the vision of a whole city looming large in the darkness. The girl's death starts a series of political riots that all over the city. The police are ready todonon the situation, but the Screaming John DX is alreadyone gone. The riots turn into a army of John DX, and the police are forced to leave the city. One thirteen year old girl in the cityNEON starts dying from a global recession. She is news articles about her, but no one is ever talking about the vision of a whole city looming large in the darkness. The girl's death starts a series of political riots that all over the city. The police are ready todonon the situation, but the Screaming John DX is already one gone. The riots turn into a army of John DX, and the police are forced to leave the city. One thirteen year old girl in the city isNews articles about her, but no one is ever talking about the vision of a whole city looming large in the darkness. The girl's death starts a series of political riots that all over the city. The police are ready todonon the situation, but the Screaming John DX is already one gone. The riots turn into a army of John DX, and the police are forced to leave the city.	The recent natural disaster in Puerto Rico has its share of political and social implications. everyday people are struggling to cope with the loss of life and infrastructure, and the government has yet to provide any relief. As the weeks continue to go on, people are starting to organize themselves into small, decentralized groups to try and help. One group is making the most impact, however, is the Puerto Rican Nationalistas. They are a small, nongovernmental organization (NGO) that's been workingaround the clock to help the people of Puerto Rico. Their work has come at a cost, however. They've incurred a lot of media attention and have been compared to the Trump administration's response to the hurricanes. Some people are worried that the NGO's success will eventually fade away because of the government's problems. Others are excited by the chance to see a change in Puerto Rico's political landscape. However, the biggest question is whether or not the NGO's can keep up with the growth of the Trump administration and Puerto Rico's new government.	It has been a year since the devastating effects of Hurricane Harvey swept across Houston and the surrounding communities. The energy and momentum of the storm reverberated for weeks after it made landfall, leaving millions of people in its wake. It is now one year later and the situation for those affected still largely remains unresolved. FEMA has been criticized for its slow response to the disaster, and the issue of housing and stability remains a major challenge for many. In the face of such overwhelming challenges, there is one issue that has consistently commanded the attention of the media, survivors, and advocacy groups: the issue of climate change. In the immediate aftermath of Harvey, scientists warned that the disaster was a preview of what climate change would bring in the future. The increased intensity and frequency of storms driven by global warming means that Harvey was not an outlier, but the start of a new era of extreme weather. With the anniversary of Harvey coming up, the issue of climate change has once again taken center stage. Advocacy groups are reaching out to the government and the public, urging them to act on climate change and make sure that the victims of Harvey are not forgotten. It is an uphill battle, but the issue of climate change cannot be ignored any longer.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This deadly virus has already claimed the lives of thousands of people around the world, and the number of new cases continues to rise. Hospitals are struggling to keep up with the demand for treatment, and governments are struggling to contain the spread of the virus. With so much at stake, it is clear that this is the issue that deserves our attention more than any other.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The day started like any other day. I woke up inessimistic and dejected, knowing that I would have to get up early to attend my job as an Auditor. However, as I got out of bed, I saw a woman without a child walking into the shower. I was able to keep my Demonic Culpability Hammer in my hand as I desperately tried to keep her body from running into the spray. After she got out of the shower, she took a step towards me, and I realized that she was also endowed with a child. She was crying and screaming with fear, and I knew that I had to do something. I approached her, and she was able to talk without speaking first. I told her that she was /able to produce children, and she was /able to produce children. She was /able to cry and scream with fear, and she was /able to produce children. She was /able to cry and scream with fear, and she was /able to produce children. She was /able to cry and scream with fear, and she was /able to produce children.	The Auditor's office was a small and cramped place. It had one chair and a lone window. The Auditor's desk was crammed full of paperwork, a lone book on the windowsill and a small stack of pills on the desk chairs. The door was closed and all the lights were off. The Auditor's voice was soft and gentle. "Auditor," he said. "I'm going to ask you a question that may concern you." I raised my head from the stack of paperwork I was working on and looked at the Auditor. He was a very reasonable man, I thought. I had met him before. He was the one who gave me my job. "What do you think the risk for having a child is?" he asked. I shook my head. "There is no risk," I said. "I have never had a child and I will never have a child." The Auditor's face softened. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's not easy to believe, but you're right. There is no risk." I felt relieved. I had been worrying about it for weeks, ever since the Auditor had come into my office. I was worried that I might be the only person in the world who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. But I was wrong. There were other people in the world who were like me. Other people who had birth control devices implanted into their bodies at puberty. Other people who were worryingly intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I sighed and put the pile of paperwork back on the desk. I had a lot of work to do but I was glad to be able to worry about something else for a change.	I was an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not humans were fit to reproduce. I always found it strange that the people who were considered dumbest were the ones who were often the most likely to reproduce. I would sit in judgment of young people, measuring their intelligence and stability. I would watch as they grew up and tried to form relationships. I would see how well they were able to care for themselves and their children. It was a tough job, but ultimately I was responsible for ensuring that only the smartest and most stable humans were allowed to reproduce. I am glad that my job is no longer necessary, but I can't help feeling a little sad that the dumbest people in the world will continue to reproduce.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review each person's life history and make a judgement. This is no easy task, as there are many factors to consider. However, you take your responsibility seriously and do your best to ensure that only the best people are able to reproduce. You know that this is a vital task, as the future of humanity depends on it. If only the dumbest people were allowed to reproduce, then the world would be a much worse place. So you continue to do your job, review each person's life history, and make your judgement. It's a difficult but important task, and you take it very seriously.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was very excited to have the opportunity to seek clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper and as soon as he learns of the participants, he is over the top excited. He is at his house playing with his children when he gets notification that he has been chosen to participate in the trials. He runs to his home and gifts his children with a special present before runs to the trials to participate. It is a great honor to participate in such a tests and he is very excited.	Adolf Hitler read the ad with interest. He was looking to become a doctor, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity. He typed in his information and clicked on the "apply" button. A moment later, he received a response from Sigmund Freud. Adolf Hitler was interested in the research, so he agreed to be a part of it. Stalin was also interested, and he agreed to become a part of it as well. Tito was undecided, but he agreed to be a part of it because he wanted to fight for the country. The first clinical trial was set to begin in a few weeks. Hitler was eager to start it. He knew that this was his chance to become a doctor and help people. He was also excited to help these people in a meaningful way. Stalin and Tito were nervous, but soon they were able to spirit themselves away to the Zurich hospital. Hitler was the first to arrive. He was greeted with a warm welcome by the doctors. They explained that they were conducting the first clinical trial of Freud's new research. Hitler was intrigued and excited. He knew that he could make a difference in this study. The study was going to be very important. It would help improve the mental development of the participants. The doctors were confident that this study would lead to great things. Adolf Hitler was going to make a big impact on the course of history.	Freud was excited to test his new research on potential participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and within a few days, Adolf Hitler had responded. Freud was impressed with how intelligent and open-minded Hitler was, and was eager to begin the trials. Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito also responded to the ad, and the four of them began to meet with Freud frequently to discuss his research. Hitler was the most committed to the trials, and was determined to become the greatest dictator in history. Stalin and Trotsky were both skeptical of Freud's theories, but Tito was the most open to them. As the trials continued, it became clear that each of the participants had their own agenda. Hitler wanted to rule the world, Stalin wanted to become the most powerful person in the world, Trotsky wanted to overthrow Stalin and become the leader of the Russian Revolution, and Tito wanted to build a communist society in Yugoslavia. All four of the participants ultimately failed in their goals, and the world would never have known the consequences if it weren't for the experiments conducted by Freud and his team.	Sigmund Freud is a world-renowned psychologist, and his latest research is on the human psyche. He's looking for participants for clinical trials, and he puts an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties, and they're all eager to participate in the trials. Freud is impressed with their enthusiasm and decides to let them all take part. The trials are conducted over a period of several months, and Freud observes the men closely. He's fascinated by their different personalities and how they react to the different therapies. Hitler is highly intelligent and takes to the therapies quickly, adapting them to suit his own needs. Stalin is more resistant at first, but eventually opens up and shows great progress. Trotsky is enthusiastic and receptive to the therapies, but he's also highly volatile and prone to outbursts. Tito is the most easygoing of the group, and he responds well to the therapies. At the end of the trials, Freud is pleased with the progress made by all four men. He's particularly impressed with Hitler and Stalin, who he believes have the potential to be great leaders.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The emotional pain and anger that wasrama never seemed to reach Adetaka. She looked askance at her friend who was speaking but no response was given. The other girl started to cry which made Adetaka even more crying. It was true that they had bewitched the world in their own way. There was no hidden meaning in what she was saying. It was all raw and simple. Just like the world around her.	Once upon a time, there was a woman who cried for hours on end. She couldn’t stop and she didn’t care. It seemed to make a big difference in the world. Everyone who looked into her eyes saw something different, something that made them feel better. They might have laughed, or socialized with her, but in the end they all came to feel something else. Something kind, something beautiful. Days passed and the woman felt even more broken. She wondered what could bring her back to the world. Nothing made sense anymore and she was powerless to change it. One night, she let the tears fall and they stuck to her face. For the rest of that night, she let the pain consume her. The next day, she woke up feeling whole again. She felt liberated and free. She didn’t care if people looked at her differently now, she was content. her scars would only remind her of what she had gone through, but that was something else entirely.	x Sadness washes over me like a tidal wave, and I can't do anything to stop the tears from falling. My friends and family are all around me, but I can't focus on anything. I know they're trying to comfort me, but all I can do is cry. Eventually, I fall into a deep sleep, and when I wake up, the world is a different place. I can see the sadness in everyone's eyes, and I know that my tears have left scars. It feels like a weight has been lifted from my chest, and I can finally smile. This experience has changed my world, and I know that I'll never be able to forget the lessons I learned.	As a child, I remember hearing stories about a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. I used to imagine what it would be like to live in a world like that. What would it be like to see the scars of someone's pain written on their skin for all to see? As I got older, I realized that the world I imagined was not so different from the one we live in now. We all have scars, some of them hidden, some of them visible for all to see. And each one of those scars tells a story. In a world where tears left scars, those stories would be written in plain sight for everyone to see. And that would change everything. People would be more careful with their words, more careful with their actions. Because they would know that their words and actions could leave a permanent mark on someone's soul. The world would be a more compassionate place, because we would all be forced to confront the pain that we so often ignore. And, ultimately, we would be forced to confront ourselves. To look at our own scars and to remember the stories that they tell.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	As the quicklyArticle ran its story, I saw the reactions across the platform. People were gasping, disbelieving, and even a few people were crying. But I didn't care. I had seen so many hurt and dying comrades in the past month, and I was not going to let anyone stop me from finishing what I started.	Ella had always been a scaredy cat. She never ventured out, preferring to stay in the safety of her home. But one day, she met a new friend. They started talking and eventually, she let her guard down. Unfortunately, that was when the snake came. She never saw it coming and when she screamed, the snake had already bitten her. Ella knew she was going to die. She felt the sharp pain in her leg and knew she was going to bleed to death. All she could do was wait for the end. And then it finally came. Ella passed away, surrounded by her friends and family. She had died, but she was still happy.	I die. It's a sudden, unexpected death. I don't know what happened. One minute I'm alive and well, the next I'm gone. My family is devastated. They can't believe I'm gone. My friends are in shock. They all say that I was too young to die. It's a tragedy. I was only 23 years old. I had my whole life ahead of me. Now, it's all over. I'm gone, but I'll never be forgotten.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sun glared Svipan as she walked through theilyn. It was so hard to look away from, the familiar face of her former beauty partner still visible in her right eye. She complaining to herself that she should have been more careful with 320, but that stills nothing by itself. She turned the last corner and there Svipan saw the surprise on her face as she saw the sun. "What the devil are you doing here?" Svipan asked, her voice shaking as she led the young woman to the Usually donkeys reached for the air, their senses hypocrisy. "I wanted to see if you would come to the wedding tomorrow," Svipan said, her voice shaking as she led the young woman to the wedding tomorrow. "It's ready, and I thought you would want to be a part of it." The surprise made the young woman believe her, make a promise to her that she knew would be broken only minutes later. "I'll be there," she said, her voice shaking like Svipan's own. That was a long time ago, and things are still taking too long.	A few weeks ago, I woke up to find a strange, incorporeal being at the side of my bed. It seemed to be watching me sleep, and I could never quite shake the feeling that it was surely trying to harm me. I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of it, so I kept my distance. I tried to keep my home as clean and sterile as possible, but the creature keptREFUGESIN my house, lurking in the corners and in the shadows. One night, after a long day of work, I was just about to go to bed when I heard a whisper in my ear. It was a feeble voice, but it was persistent and persistent. "I know you're awake. I'm here to stay." I debated for a moment before deciding to confront the creature. But before I could, I heard it make a sound like an animal in pain. It was pitiful and I wanted to help, but I was afraid. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to help, but I was also afraid. I called for help, but no one came. I started to cry, and the creature said nothing. It just looked at me with sad eyes. Eventually, I gave up and went to bed. I didn't want to face the creature anymore, but I couldn't ignore it either. I had to tell someone. I went to the police department and I reported the creature. They took a look at the creature and they couldn't find any reason to believes it was anything other than a normal house pet. But they did recommend that I keep it confinement in a box until it could be properly addressed.	I've always been a bit uneasy about something living in my home. I've never been able to put my finger on what it is, but I've always had this feeling that there's something else in my home, something invisible. I've tried to expose it by turning on all the lights and looking for anything out of the ordinary, but to no avail. It seems to be able to disappear whenever I'm about to find it. I can't help but feel that this thing is watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. It's been making my home feel tense and uncomfortable, and I can't take it anymore. I'm going to have to get rid of whatever it is, but I'm worried that I'll never be able to find it if I do.	There's something living in my home that I can't see. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest, always there, watchful. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, so I go about my life as usual, pretending not to notice. I can feel it following me as I move from room to room, always there, just out of sight. I can sense its hunger, its need for attention. But I dare not give it any. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not human. And I don't want to be its next victim.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the pawn shop to sell some loot they've acquired. The shop is cash only so they are able to sale the gear they've acquired as correct prices. The shop- Owner doesnt have time to argue with them and decides to be sale- is as sale. The adventurers try to leave and be drew in by the sale, but the owner gets out and keep the equipment.	The shop was always busy, but today was especially packed. A few adventurers were selling gear they had acquired in their travels, but the mostpopular seller was the rogue. He had justcome in from a long adventure and was selling everything he could find. The rogue was friendly enough, but he was selling too much. The shopkeeper asked him how much he was selling and the rogue said he was selling all he had. The shopkeeper told him that wasn't good enough and that he had to put a stop to the sales. The rogue argued, but the shopkeeper was firm. He told the rogue that if he didn't stop the sales, he would report him to the police. The rogue reluctantly stopped selling and left the store.	Darius, the pawn shop owner, was dealing with a customer who had just come in. The customer wanted to sell Darius a chest of gold coins that he had acquired from a recent adventure. Darius wasn't the most experienced haggler in the world, so he offered to give the customer a discount on the price of the chest if he could get it down to a lower number. The customer insisted that Darius give him a discount and then gave him a number that Darius was not happy with. The customer seemed really confident that Darius wouldn't be able to get the price down, and Darius wasn't sure if he should take the deal or not. After much thought, Darius decided that he would take the deal and get the chest of coins for a much lower price than he would have been able to if the customer hadn't been so confident. This taught Darius a valuable lesson - if you aren't confident in yourself and your negotiating ability, don't offer a discount to someone who is trying to sell you something.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle a bit to get them. today, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a magic sword. She's obviously new to the whole process, and you can tell she's a bit nervous. You take a look at the sword and immediately see that it's a rare and powerful weapon. You also know that the young woman is desperate for money, so you decide to take advantage of her situation. You offer her a fraction of what the sword is worth, and she eagerly accepts. She thanked you profusely before leaving, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty about taking advantage of her. Still, you can't help but feel pleased with your new acquisition. It's always a good day when you get a great deal on some rare and powerful loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Disorders are often caused by one's declare. The person has a CR3P, the deeper the lie, the larger the hit, or the most important thing just enough. Each and every lie creates a doctors notes with a huge, biggest scar.	You meet someone that you think is interesting. They have one small scar on their chest that you never noticed before. You're interested in them, and you ask them about it. They tell you that they were mugged a few months ago and that the scar is the size of a quarter. You're shocked. It's weird that someone with such a small scar would have such a big impact on their life. You ask them about it more, and they tell you about all the different things that have happened since the mugging. They tell you about how they've lost friends and family, and how the scar has made them stronger. You go back to their house and tell them that you've found out about their scar and that you're interested in meeting them. They laugh and tell you about all the other scars that punctuate their lives. You can't help but wonder if the scar on their chest is one of those scars.	I first saw him when I was walking to the grocery store. His skin was so white, and it contrasted so sharply with the dark bruises that dotted his face. He was so strange, but I was too afraid to say anything. He followed me the entire way, and when I got to the grocery store, he grabbed me. "You need to listen to me," he said. His voice was soft and gentle, but his eyes were cold. "You're going to tell me everything, or I'll hurt you." I didn't want to, but I was too afraid to disobey him. He took me to a secluded area in the park and started to torture me. He told me to lie, and I couldn't help but make deeper and darker scars on my body with each lie. eventually, the pain became too much. I begged him to stop, but he only laughed. "You're my little liar," he said. "I've made you a monster." And then he killed me.	I was walking down the street when I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, completely still. I couldn't help but stare at her; she had the largest scar I had ever seen. It started at her forehead and trailed down her cheek, all the way to her neck. I walked up to her and asked her what had happened. She told me that she had lied, and that this was the result. She said that she had lied so much in her life that she had lost count of all the scars. But this one, she said, was the biggest and deepest lie she had ever told. I couldn't believe it. I had always thought that lies were harmless, but this showed me just how destructive they could be. I asked her what she had learned from her experience. She said that she had learned to be truthful, and to never take the easy way out. This story has stuck with me ever since. It's a powerful reminder of the consequences of lying, and how the truth is always the best way to go.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape paintings for many years, submitting his fellows and patients throughout the world for critiques. unfit to take up the passion of painting in the first place, Bob Ross turns to his copying skills to support his family while also teaching his apprentices. Bob Ross' most popular painting is his home, which contains everything he has produced throughout the years. One day, Bob Ross' home is target of an jealousy plot by his two stars who want to take his place. when Bob Ross tries to Picture It himself, he is shredded by the two stars. when Bob Ross' home becomes a painting of its own, theitans plot looks ready to take over and destroy his home as well.	Bob Ross never stopped painting. No matter what terrible things happened. He lived for his art, and he never stopped struggling. Five years ago, one of his paintings made its way to a small town in upstate New York. The townspeople were fascinated by the painting. They couldn't believe how accurately it depicted the layout and feel of their town. The townspeople made a few nifty cash robberies from the local storeowners, but they never gave up on the painting. One day, a group of young men discovered the painting in the town square. The men were excited to finally have something new to talk about. They started bragging about how great of a painter Ross was, and how they would sure make some easy money by selling the painting. But Ross wasn't having that. He knew that his painting was only a piece of art, and that it wasn't meant to be used to make criminals feel good about themselves. He packed up his paints and left the town. The townspeople never bothered to find out what became of the painting. They just assumed that it was donated to a museum or maybe sold to a collectors' society. But no one ever bothered to ask Bob Ross how his painting turned out.	Bob Ross was a great artist. His landscapes were some of the most beautiful ever created. But he was a terrible person. He killed countless people, painting their locations into his landscapes as a reminder of their deaths.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who found his victims by painting their landscapes. He would travel to different locations, find a secluded spot, and then kill his victim. He would then take a photo of the painting he had just completed, which would serve as a memento of his gruesome deed. Over the years, Bob Ross became quite adept at painting different landscapes. He had an eerie sense of calm when he was planning and carrying out his murders. It was as if he was in a different world when he was creating his art. Bob Ross' landscape paintings became increasingly popular over the years. People were fascinated by the different locations he had chosen to paint. They had no idea that each painting was actually a crime scene. One day, police began to suspect Bob Ross in a string of murders. They tracked him down and discovered his gruesome secret. Bob Ross was arrested and sent to prison, where he remains to this day.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It's a hot night and the Julius Caesar Show is scheduled for the next day. The only thing more than need for a rabbit is the fact that he's the only one who can see the magic words "with his eyes." So, the next day, when the show is finally starting, the rabbit sees himself as a variable for the other Romans. He's with them until the end, when he will be back at the rabbit's side. The rabbit falls short in his magic's area, but he still progresses to the next performance. When the final performance is finally scheduled, the rabbit is percentagely enough, in the same spot as when he was last in the red light. He's not sure what to do, but he knows he must continue. He+ outbreak+ = magic	magician had been pulling out rabbits from hats for years when one day he pulled out a sickly-looking rabbit. "What's wrong with this rabbit?" He asked the rabbit's owner. The rabbit's owner explained that the rabbit had a respiratory infection and couldn't keep eating. The magician decided to take the rabbit to the hospital. When he got there, the rabbit was so sick that the magician had to carry it into the room. When the rabbit was sectioned off, the magician saw that its neck was broken. With nothing left to lose, the rabbit begged the magician to kill it. "Please, I just want to finish my job." The magician made a decision and stuck the rabbit's neck into a vise.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years and years, always picking the most insignificant little bunny to take the stage. But one day, the rabbit that he pulled out of the hat was not just any rabbit; it was the biggest, laziest rabbit he had ever seen. The rabbit was sick of following behind the other bunnies and wanted to be the star of the show, no matter what the magician said. The magician was initially hesitant to put this big, lazy rabbit up on stage, but the rabbit was persistent. Eventually, the magician gave in and put the rabbit up on stage. The rabbit did not disappoint; it strutted and swirled around the stage, stealing the show. The other bunnies were envious of the show the rabbit was putting on, but the magician knew that he had found his new rabbit.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and he's finally ready to make his move. As the magician begins to pull the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. The magician is so surprised that he drops the rabbit, who scurries off the stage and into the audience. The rabbit is free at last, and he knows that he'll never have to perform in the magician's act again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A Baby What's James	On Nov. 8, 2020, the United States was hit with a devastating struck that left over 800 million people dead. The event was termed the "Great American Catastrophe." Many people believe that the US economic system was to blame for the event, as it permitted large risky investments to be made without proper oversight. The US government has proposed a number of reforms to try to prevent future crises, but the issue of economic inequality remains a top priority.	This year, the issue that demands the most attention is gun control. After the mass shooting in Parkland, Florida, many people are calling for stricter gun laws. Unfortunately, the government is not listening. The current administration is in favor of the Second Amendment, which means that they believe that Americans have the right to bear arms. However, they also believe that the government has the right to regulate firearms. Right now, the government is doing nothing to stop gun violence. They are waiting for the problem to solve itself. But unfortunately, this is not going to happen. We need stricter gun laws. We need to stop the violence. But the government is not listening.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the problem of gun violence in America. Every day, there are reports of shootings in schools, workplaces, and homes. Innocent people are being killed, and the country is in mourning. Something needs to be done to stop this violence. stricter gun laws need to be put in place, and better mental health care needs to be available to those who need it. until something is done, the gun violence in America will continue to claim innocent lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, it was quickly evident that many of the people who received the device were no-nonsense office Blizzards who needed no enter into their personal durability battle. The device left them vulnerable to being hit by a bus, or shot by a Info- Conan. Those who received the device made good use of the fact that it left them high and dry, while many of those who no-ommodored the device, quickly died in car accidents orestate prices.	I looked at the screen in front of me and saw that the person next to me was going to have a baby. I was excited, but I was also worried. I didn't know what I would do when the baby was born and I didn't want to let the person next to me down. I wanted to make sure that they were happy and safe. I reviewed the birth control device that I was going to implant into the person's body. It was a small, silver implant. I estimated that it would be about the size of a quarter. I had to make sure that it was properly placed before I started the process. I inserted the device and it automatically began to function. I was now able to prevent the person next to me from having a baby. I was happy that I was able to do something good for them.	As an Auditor, it was my job to ensure that all humans were using birth control to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was proud of my work, and I loved my job. I was glad that mydevice only had to be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted humanbeing. I was grateful for my opportunity to help create a better future for all of humanity.	You are an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it is your job to make sure that only the dumbest people in the world are prevented from reproducing. You are very good at your job. You have a keen eye for spotting red flags and you are always able to weed out the unstable and unintelligent applicants. But sometimes, you can't help but wonder if you are being too harsh. After all, intelligence and stability are not the only things that make a good parent. Sometimes, the people who seem the least capable are the ones who end up being the best parents. They are the ones who are willing to learn and grow along with their children. So, don't be too quick to judge. The people you think are the dumbest might just surprise you.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was attracted to the idea of being part of a clinical trial of his new research. Joseph Stalin was the next man to respond. He was attracted to the idea of being in control of the world. Leon Trotsky was the next man to respond. He was attracted to the idea of being able to change the world. Josip Broz Tito was the last man to respond. He was attracted to the idea of being able to unite all the countries of the world into one.	Sigmund Freud was excited about his latest clinical trial. He had put an ad in a Vienna newspaper, and all of the applicants were extraordinary individuals. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito had all responded. Freud was curious to meet these men, and was eager to start the trial. The five men arrived at Freud's office. They seemed nervy and anxious, but Freud was confident that the trial would be a success. He welcomed the men and began the trial. The trial was intense. The five men were required to talk about their deepest fears and thoughts. Freud was fascinated by their minds, and he was excited to see how the trial would progress. After the trial, Freud was confident that the five men would be great addition to his clinical trial. He was excited to see how their minds would change after using his new research.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local paper seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit apprehensive about working with such notorious figures, but he decided to proceed with the trials. He quickly realized that each of the men was highly intelligent and driven. However, he also noticed that they all had a dark side. For example, Hitler was obsessed with power and control. Stalin was ruthless and cold-blooded. Trotsky was aggressive and quick to anger. And Tito was unpredictable and dangerous. Despite their flaws, Freud found all four men to be fascinating subjects. Ultimately, the trials were a success and his research helped to shape the field of psychology.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. They were widespread and dark, their detailsSTERLINGLY small in the large swatch of sky that provided enough light. The crying became louder, more insistent, and the person began to Colville in a hurry. All they wanted to do was hide. They did,hanper, qtec, and cent thousand other things before Cent filtering through. It told her business. She moved closer,osoing to make out the details. The tears had deep, disastrous paths,iriing up through skin, hair, and eyes. One kepticans the line of crying friends and family members as they arrived at the game one day, while another poured cold water over cold boils that started small and got bigger fast.ama'd the343bobcats The first call for a doctor, the second call for a tow truck, and the third call for an interchange. Mama's face would have been over the side of the truck had it been an appropriate size for her. Her4 large5 body hadack now been they'd need to remove her from the road. The receding tears had Removal cautery become our everyday routine.	One day, a young woman had to clean her house and when she finished, she started to cry. She had never cried like this before and it felt strange. She could feel the tears streaming down her face and as she touched herself with a towel, she knew she had left behind a trail of tears. The next day, when she cleaned her house again, she found a different trail of tears. This time, there were no dry patches where the tears had landed. Every single spot had wetted the towel and left a black film on the surface. The woman knew that her tears had left a physical mark on her house.	Genderfluid teenager, Astrid, couldn't help the tears that constantly fell from her eyes. It had been a tough year. Between her family's failing farm, bullies at school, and the constant worry about her sickly mother, Astrid had had enough. So when she was given the opportunity to go to the city to take part in a prestigious science fair, Astrid couldn't have been happier. She would have the chance to show her peers and the world what she was made of. But on the first day of the fair, Astrid's dreams came crashing down. She was barred from entering the competition because she didn't have the proper identification. No matter how hard she tried, the tears kept flowing. Finally, after weeks of frustration and sadness, Astrid decided to go to the city council chambers to speak to them. There, she met a man named Andre. He listened to her story and told her that if she could produce tears in a vial, he and his team would allow her to compete. Astrid was skeptical, but she was also desperate. And so, she set to work. She cried until her eyes were swollen and her throat was raw. And then, she produced the tears that would put her on the map. The city council was impressed. They awarded Astrid the prize and proclaimed her the new science sensation. With her tears, Astrid had changed the world.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words and actions, lest they cause someone pain and hurt them deeply. There would be a lot more compassion and empathy as people would understand just how much it can hurt to be hurt. This change would ripple out in all areas of life. Crime would likely go down as people would be less likely to hurt others if they knew it would leave a permanent mark. There would also be more support for those who are struggling, as people would be more likely to offer a helping hand. This newfound understanding of the power of tears would change the world for the better, making it a more compassionate and empathetic place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I open my eyes to see the pain in the world. Blood pooled on the floor,berrapping into my tubes and air. I try to get up but my body is heavy and unresponsive. I know I'm going to die here.	I was getting sicker and sicker. The doctors could do nothing to cure me, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I died. I spent my days in bed, barely alive, and my nights reliving my memories. Before long, I was surrounded by the people I loved the most. My family, my friends, and my loved ones all came to see me, but I knew it wouldn't be long before they all left me too. I prepared myself for the end, and when it finally came, I was ready. I knew that I would see them again in the next life, but for now, I was finally free.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happens, or why. It just does. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painful death. There's no time for that. I'm just gone, like a candle that's been snuffed out. I leave behind a world that's full of life, of love, of hope. But I'm not part of it anymore. I'm in a place now where there is no life, no love, no hope. Just darkness. I try to move, to reach out, to anything. But I can't. I'm just floating here in the darkness. Sometimes I think I see a light, but it's always just out of reach. And then I'm alone again in the darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, waiting to bombing or causing chaos in your home. But you never dared to expose it, knowing that it would know that you were aware of its presence. The something invisible persisted, becoming more apparent until one day you finally decided to create a skirmish with it. Your home was inevitably filled with the something invisible. You would try to expose it, but it would only become more and more visible the more you tried. The something invisible was no longer hidden, and it was now clear that you were not going to win.	I was cleaning out my home after selling it years ago, and I found a small, green, slimy thing hidden among the old Furniture. I tried to ignore it, but it kept following me around. I eventually realized that the thing was living in my house and I couldn't help but be at risk if I didn't take care of it. I put it in a small storage container and just left it there. It's been sitting there ever since.	I was sitting in my living room, watching TV when I felt something touch my arm. I turned to see a small, invisible creature hovering next to me. It was creepy, and I wanted to run away, but I didn't want to show my fear. I tried to catch the creature's attention, but it just flew away. I don't know what it was, but I'll be sure to stay vigilant from now on.	I can tell that something invisible is living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can tell that it's there. I try to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and wait for it to show itself. Sure enough, after a few days I capture it on film. It's a ghost! I'm not sure how it got here or why it's haunting my home, but I know I need to get rid of it. I do some research and find out that ghosts can be exorcised. I contact a local priest and he comes over to my house to perform the ritual. After the ghost is gone, I feel much better. My home is finally free of its presence.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The game of RPGs has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. It was starts with playing family games together, such as Monster Munch and in-game ones, but it followed different trails until Iulpanddering brands of Rogveer.I met my today's companion, aAMDV-20, in a game of 67.7 million years ago. Ourredevelopment shop dreams of dominating the market with ourappearance. Loot is the life of the party as they explore the land and face monsters. They also must figure out how to take down the company and itsonething luxurious about it. As they go, so should the game be andamoto contradiction be found in their plans. One day, the party paths through a door that lead them to a ruins. They presence there and an instantewce finds them surrounded by 1923 lbs. of merchandise. This right answer be payment for their parts in a game that hadn't happened yet. The party tries to fight off an opposition thus ends the game. The assets in the wreckloset Ouroboros fashion were once used in andfor gear, but now they have been ages Bennigrue. The party gets the uncovering that is their objective to sell their gear is revealed the“ouch” They must destroy the olodCopyright 2012 by Burt l computerkey. irectories and got they comanerity in game functions. This will stopping the game early. They mustagraphy the company and its myriad controllers to stop them from doing this. The party comes up with a plan and it is a great idea, but it will take more than a group of inhabitantsto stop them. They need to get through the network of controllers and Armorweaves in the process. The party works together and they make it through theuloD MOR circumferencely. They are dRe Vincescreenplay version2 of thisprompt fromprompt You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The first time I set foot in my new RPG pawn shop, I was dubious. It looked like a mineshaft with racks and racks of items, all of which could be sold for prices that would make your head spin. But I reasoned that if I was able to make a living from selling my games, then it must be worth it. So, I set to work and within a few months had created a successful business. I now haggle with adventurers for the best deals, and I'm always down for a good fight.	Alice was a pawnshop owner who ran a tight ship. She was always willing to haggle with adventurers who came looking for rare goods or coins. She always enjoyed the challenge of getting them to lower their prices. One day, Alice met an adventurer who was selling a splendid dragon helm. She was hesitant to buy it, as it was likely to be overpriced. However, Alice was determined to haggle her down to a more reasonable price. After a lengthy discussion, Alice finally agreed to pay him five gold coins for the helm. She was delighted with the deal and was certain that she'd made a valuable friend.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they've got a ton of loot to sell. You start haggling with them, and you're able to get some great deals on some of the items. However, one of the adventurers, a Halfling named Bilbo, tries to haggle with you on his own loot. He's a smart haggler, and he's able to get some good prices from you. Eventually, you reach an impasse on one of the items, and Bilbo decides to take it to another shop. You're not too worried, though, because you know that you're the best RPG pawn shop in town.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is different from any person you have ever seen. His eyes are black, and his skin is the color of coal. His chest is broad, and he has a massive lie in his mouth. His words are small, and his voice is low.	You first meet him in the middle of a lie. He has told you a false story so many times that it has become one big lie. You are skeptical at first, but he tells you again and again that it is the truth. You listen, but you can't help but feel something inside you. You start to feel like you are walking on eggshells. But as the days go on, you begin to see thereality of this man. He is full of deceit and Gossip. He will tell you anything to make you feel okay. He has caused so much pain and pain to other people, and you feel like you have nothing left to give. One day, you see him in the company of another liar. He has lied to you so often that you can't even remember the last time he was honest. You are so astonished to see him with this other man, and you can't help but feel angry and betrayed. You walk up to him and you tell him how you feel. He smiles and tells you that you are full of yourself. He has nothing left to give, and you can see that in his eyes. You can't believe that he could be so callous to you after all that he has done. You walk away from that room and you don't look back until you hear him tell a different story a few weeks later. He has finally learned his lesson and he is able to live in a world where he is honest.	One day, I met someone who only had one scar - the biggest one I had ever seen. It was incredibly obvious that this person had lied a lot, and the impact of their lies were clearly visible on their body. I couldn't help but be fascinated by this person and the stories behind their biggest lie.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, whether we mean to or not. But in my world, lies have a price. Each one leaves a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I've seen some pretty big lies in my life. But nothing compares to the scar I saw on someone's body once. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. And I just knew that the lie that created it must have been huge. I was curious about the person with this scar, so I struck up a conversation with them. It turns out that they were once a very successful person. But they made one mistake; they told a lie. And that lie cost them everything. Now they're living a life of lies, trying to cover up that one big lie. But the scar is always there, a constant reminder of what they did. And it's only a matter of time before their lies catch up to them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels across America's landscapes to see which places will look best in his "Wonderful World ofmortarelli." He has been painting many places over the years such as America's capital, Rome, but he finally comes back to Dusana, Czechoslovakia, to take another look. In his fourth year in Dusana, the place where he has been painting for " thousanda years," Ross finds himself society has changed much since then. constant battles against simple, rustic flavors of butter and charcuterieHisteryijuanaon a whole are examples of this change. While in Czechoslovakia, Ross discovers a new friends and colleague, Professor Hromadlín, who has been painting alongside him for over 50 years. As they travel back and forth to carry on the tradition of painting thequeens are known for their painting and life, Prof. Hromadlín join forces with Bob Ross to paint him theworld's best place to take care of his landscapes.	As fate would have it, Bob Ross was walking through his house one day when he came across a painting of a location that he had recently killed at. The painting triggered a memory from the days before, when he had been caught in the act and killed by the very person who hademporaryized the painting. The memories kept meling back as I walked through the house and looked at the other paintings. There was a painting of a location of his murder, and I could see the blood and body parts on the ground. There was also a painting of a location where he had just killed his wife, and I could see the photographs of the murders surrounding her body. There was also a painting of a location where he had killed a man, and I could see the weapon he had used in the murder. To make matters worse, one of the paintings in the house had been dedicated to the memory of his murdered wife.	Bob Ross was an artist with a beautiful, serene landscape painting style. However, behind the scenes, he was a ruthless murderer. He would sneak into people's homes while they were asleep and kill them with his paints. The shock of waking up to see a painting of their home in Bob's studio was always too much for his victims.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to mark the locations of his murders. He would choose a beautiful landscape, paint it, and then hide the body of his victim within the painting. For years, Bob Ross fooled the world with his pleasant demeanor and serene paintings. But the truth is that each of his paintings is a crime scene.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	As the show starts, the magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat. The rabbit communalily starts to Dward, before finally getting up off the floor and becoming one with the ground. The crowd begins to react to the new addition, some attached to the rabbit while others run around playing with it. The magician takes this as a sign to start with howling, and starts to Taxy the rabbit around the stage. The taxidermy replica of the rabbit's heart starts to grow heavy in his chest, so the slave rabbit begins to labor sets in motion a complicated dance that will one day be famous.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician told the rabbit that he could make him happy if the rabbit would just give him a little bit of her time. The rabbit was hesitant at first, but then she thought about it and granted the magician's request. The next day, the rabbit was happy to see the magician and they started talking. The rabbit was glad that she could finally spend a little bit of time with him.	The rabbit had had it with always being someone's sidekick. He was a skilled magician, after all. And he was sick of always being the one that everyone called when something went wrong. So he decided to take a stand, and perform his own show. He would be the star, and no one would forget his name. The first night of his new show, the rabbit was on stage, performing his tricks. But something was off. He was missing his usual bravado. In its place was a sense of desperation. He continued with his show, but the magic wasn't the same. He was losing his grip on reality. The audience was starting to leave, and the rabbit knew he had to finish his show. But as he went to take his final trick, he saw a magician standing in the back, waving to him. It was the rabbit's old friend, the one who had always been there for him. The rabbit had known that he was only pretending to be a magician, but he had still played along. Now the rabbit could see that the magician was only using him. The rabbit had played his part too well. Now he was alone, and he knew that he would never perform again.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up. He's been pulled out of the hat too many times, and he's sick of playing second fiddle. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He hops out of the hat and starts doing his own tricks. The audience is amazed, and the magician is horrified. He tries to get the rabbit back into the hat, but the rabbit is having too much fun. In the end, the rabbit gets the last laugh and the audience loves it. The magician is left humiliated, and the rabbit is the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is due to speak to the nation, but some are between work and home.TD, a personal care company, is seen selling products at night while the president is slated to receive his messages. Some people areilitary groups are called in, while others believe that the president should take a break. The newsPlex️️️️️️️️️️️︎	It was one of those days. The sky was heavy with clouds, and the wind was howling. President Obama was sitting in his Oval Office, trying to stay calm, when his phone rang. It was a reporter from Associated Press. "Mr. President, there's something important happening today that warrants your attention," the reporter said. "I think it deserves the most attention." The President looked at his watch, then at his advisors. There was no time for this. He had other things to do. But the reporters were right. This was something that warranted the most attention. He rose from his chair and left the Oval Office, walking quickly to the White House Press Office. There, he found Attorney General Holder. "What's up, Attorney General?" Obama asked. "There's been an incident at the Department of Homeland Security," Holder said. "Someone has been shot." Obama's eyes went wide. This wasn't good. "What kind of shot?" he asked. "It's not clear yet, but I think it might be a terrorist attack," Holder responded. "We need to get the Department of Homeland Security on high alert." Obama nodded, understanding. This was important. "We'll need all the help we can get," he said. Team Obama was on high alert now. They would do all they could to prevent a terrorist attack from happening.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, over one million people have fled their homes in search of safety, and the situation is only continuing to worsen. Many of these refugees are fleeing countries like Syria and Afghanistan, which have been ravaged by war for years. As the number of refugees continues to grow, so does the concern over how to handle the situation. There are already hundreds of thousands of refugees living in camps all around Europe, and the situation is only going to get worse. If we don't do something to help these people, their situation is going to get a lot worse.	The current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the environment. The environment is in danger and we need to do something to save it. We need to recycle, reuse, and reduce our consumption. We need toplant trees and protect the wildlife. We need to clean up the oceans and the air. We need to be careful about the products we use and how we dispose of them. We need to educate ourselves and others about the importance of taking care of the environment.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	A young man in puberty deactivates his birth control device, causing him to come down with a severe case of intelligence and experience. He is no longer able to live life to the fullest and was forced to live a life of sorrow and pain. His family was never the same and he cherished every moment he had left behind. The penalty for deactivating his device was life in prison.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my puberty. I was happy to have it as it made sure that only the dumbest people in the world couldn't reproduce. But as I got older, I realized that being implanted with the device was a bit of a sacrifice. It made me less intelligent and more unstable. But I was determined to raised a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	The world was changing. Birth control was becoming more and more necessary as the population grew exponentially. Soon, everyone would be implanted with a birth control device that would make sure they only produced intelligent, stablehumans. The devices were a little uncomfortable at first, but people soon got used to them. It was a precautionary measure, after all. As an Auditor, I was responsible for ensuring that all the devices were functioning properly. I was also responsible for deactivating them once a human was deemed intelligent and stable enough to be raised by them. It was a busy job, but I was happy to do it. I knew that the devices would help to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and ruining the world.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are allowed to reproduce. To do this, you must screen everyone who wishes to have their birth control device deactivated. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, you know that the future of humanity depends on it. You interview each person who comes to you, asking them about their life, their plans for the future, and their thoughts on parenthood. You pay close attention to their answers, looking for any signs that they might not be ready to raise a child. So far, you've been pretty successful. But you know that there are always going to be some people who slip through the cracks. That's why you'll continue to do your job, making sure that only the best and brightest are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way torial trials. He's been Researchers with Sigmund Socin and Johannonauspektor in the past. He's not happy with what he's doing but he can't do anything about it. As he gets closer to the years he becomes more and more unhappy. He's not sure why, but he seems to be stuck in his own dream. He's not sure how he's going to make it through.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was the founder and dictator of Nazi Germany, and his mind was filled with hatred and anger. He was also a madman with a dark past. Joseph Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union, and he was also a madman with a dark past. Leon Trotsky was the brother of Trotsky, the leader of the Soviet Union. He was also a madman with a dark past. Josip Broz Tito was the president of Yugoslavia, and he was also a madman with a dark past.	Sigmund Freud was excited about his new clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that all of these famous people wanted to be part of his research. He invited them all to come to Vienna to take part in the trials. Hitler was the first to arrive. He was excited to be part of the trials. Freud gave him a test to take part in. Hitler passed the test with flying colors. Stalin was next to arrive. Freud was a bit nervous about him. But Stalin passed the test with flying colors as well. Trotsky was the last to arrive. Freud was surprised to see that he was only 34 years old. But Trotsky passed the test with flying colors as well. Freud was happy that all of his participants were successful. He was confident that the new research would be a success.	It was 1913 and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria. He was seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to have such promising participants for his trials. He met with each of them individually and explained his research. He told them that he believed that there were underlying reasons for why people behaved the way they did. He said that he wanted to help people understand and control their behavior. All of the participants were eager to take part in the trials. They each had their own reasons for wanting to be involved. Hitler wanted to understand why people were drawn to power. Stalin wanted to know why people were drawn to violence. Trotsky wanted to understand why people were drawn to revolution. Tito wanted to understand why people were drawn to change. The trials were a success. Freud's research helped all of the participants to understand themselves and the world around them better. It also helped them to control their behavior. The participants went on to use what they learned from Freud to change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The groundhog day ever happened as she lay in her bed, reading the books in her room. She was name in a book, and it was only pageantry and pageantry that was the day. She entered into the reading room and there was a figure next to her, reading her mind. "Might as well just read my mind," the voice said. She looked up and saw a man, wearing a white suit, and he was shaking his head as he went by. "Every day, the same," he said, "I wake up and she's there, crying and crying." She started to cry, and the man got up, leaving her alone.	When Dion was just a small child, he never figured out why his mom cried so much. He thought it was because she was sad. But when Dion turned eleven, he learned a different story. His mom cried because she was happy. Dion was the first to understand. From then on, his mom would cry when she was happy, and Dion would always wonder how he could be so lucky.	The sun was setting as I walked home from work, my eyes weighed down with the stress of the day. I trudged through the street, the hard, concrete ground biting into my feet. I was so close to home, but I just couldn't seem to get there. Suddenly, someone came rushing out of the shadows, into the light. It was a woman, her eyes tearing up and her face streaked with tears. She fell into my arms, and I felt the wetness on my shirt. "It's so hard, being a single mother," she sobbed. "Everyone tells me to get a job, but I can't afford one. And my son is so alone in this world." I had no idea what to say, so I just held her while she cried. The tearstreaks on her face turned into rivers, and I felt so guilty. I was the one who made her cry, and there was nothing I could do to make things better. The woman pulled away, her face etched with sadness. "Thank you for listening," she said. "Now go home to your family. I know they can help you feel better." And with that, she walked away, leaving me with a new understanding of tears. They weren't just tears of sadness or joy; they were Tears of Healing.	The world was a different place now. It had been almost a year since the Tears started falling and nobody knew why. Some people said that it was the end of the world, others said that it was a sign from the heavens. All anyone knew for sure was that the tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. At first, it was just a few people who were affected. But then, more and more people started to show signs of the Tears. It soon became an epidemic. No one was safe from the Tears. The scars left by the Tears were not just physical. They were also emotional. People who once laughed and loved were now scared and withdrawn. The world was a dark place now. Nobody knew how to fix the problem. The best scientists in the world were stumped. The governments of the world were at a loss. And the people were suffering. But then, one day, a cure was found. It was a simple thing, really. All you had to do was to weep. As the Tears fell from your eyes, they would take the scars with them. Slowly but surely, the world started to heal. The scars left by the Tears faded away. And people started to smiles and laugh again. The world was a different place now. But it was a better place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was walking through the forest when I came across a tree that had been chopped down. I looked up and down the tree, but I couldn't see a single branch left. I felt a little scared, so I started to back away from the tree. As I did, I heard a branch snap. I turned around to see the tree had been chopped down by a giant.	I had always thought that death would be a release from the pain and suffering that life had to offer. I was wrong. I died, and found myself in a dark, cold place where I was alone and scared. I cried myself to sleep night after night, until one day I was awoken by the sound of laughter. I looked around and saw a beautiful and bright light. In it, I saw my family and friends who had all gone before me. I realized that life is not about suffering; it's about the journey and the people we meet along the way. I embraced life and lived happily ever after.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, at least not at first. There's just a sense of emptiness and then everything goes black. I don't know how long I'm dead for. It could be seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, or even centuries. I have no way of knowing. But eventually, I start to become aware again. At first, I'm not sure what's happening. I can sense something, but I can't tell what it is. It's like a faint voice in the back of my mind, calling to me. I try to ignore it, but it gets louder and louder until it's all I can focus on. Eventually, I give in and open my eyes. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it's not what I see. I'm in a place that looks like a cross between a hospital and a lab. There are people in white coats moving around, but they don't see me. I try to call out to them, but my voice is silent. I try to move, but I can't. It's like I'm frozen in place. I can only watch as the people in the room go about their business, completely unaware of my presence. I don't know how long I'm stuck there, but eventually I start to fade away. The people in the room get blurry and then they disappear entirely. I'm alone in the darkness again, but this time I'm not scared. I don't know what happens after that. I can only assume that I finally find peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The homeowner is cooking dinner when she bumps into heroutherasha who is walking through the house.ospace is on Family TV and she is seeing a little bit of dinner preparation. She is entirely unaware of the homeowner's presence andfigured that the homeowner was looking for her throughout the house. because of that, sheTonys hotelTonight she is the only one who knows that she is here.	I had been house-sitting for my friend Lilith for the past couple of weeks, and even though I had no idea what I was getting myself into, I was curious. I had never been around any strange creatures before, so I was wondering what all the fuss was about. One night, as I was reading in my bedroom, I heard something moving around in the shadows. I Peeked out and saw a small, white, duplicate of myself. I was frozen in shock, unable to move or say anything. The duplicate continued to Creep closer and closer to me, until it was just inches from my face. It spoke for the first time, and I could hear its voice like it was right next to me. "You're not safe. I'm sorry. I want you to leave." I tried to run, but the duplicate was faster than me. It tackled me to the ground, preventing me from getting up. It began tocry tears, and I could see that it was identical to me. It started to speak again, this time in a terrified voice. "Please, don't let me be the only one. I don't want to be hated. I just want to be normal." I couldn't think of anything to say. I was scared, but I also felt like I could take it. The duplicate Continued to cry, and eventually I woke up safe and sound. I never wanted to experience that again.	I was cleaning the kitchen today and I noticed something moving in the corner. I didn't know what it was, so I grabbed a dust cloth and started to clean it. I was careful not to let it know that I was aware of its presence. As I was cleaning, I could see it getting more and more agitated. I was getting close to exposing it when I finally realized that it was my vacuum cleaner! I had been cleaning my vacuum cleaner the whole time!	I could tell something was watching me. It was an invisible presence that I could feel in the room with me. I tried to ignore it, but it was always there, lurking in the shadows. I decided to try to expose it. I set up a camera in my room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage. At first, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. But then, in one of the frames, I saw a figure that was definitely not human. It was slender and translucent, and it was watching me sleep. I was shocked. I couldn't believe that something invisible was living in my home. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to do something. I decided to confront the creature. I waited until it was dark, and I could feel it in the room with me again. I turned on the lights and confronted it. The creature was startled. It tried to fled, but I was able to capture it. I don't know what to do with it now, but at least I know it's not lurking in my home anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a small group, all of them varies levels and wearies. 'Ello, one of you spotters can I buy some armor? The first one to ask will be the favorites. The group is also plenty different withclass and skills. One youngaphael, for instance, is perfect for the trade. However, he's also a bit of aurry and slow. The other adventurers, including the one spotter, begin to make offers for the weapon. However, before the first one can take it from the artist, the group leader arrives. He's the誘iest and most friendly guy you'd ever know, even if he can be snippy at times. The group is eager to aid you and your shop and want to buy stuff, but they're already long fallen behind. One map, one sextant, one admiral's journal--they've all been lent to you by different adventurers. And they've all been lost in the adventurer's奪那柏姓某者。 The group is eager to offer up their own offers, but they're too late. The one spotter's offer's been met with.,.,.,.,.!,VERY ñeno. Œí The group has been reformed once again and is much larger. They've lost the affiliated's wanderlust and are now all back at the shop. They've also been reformed and are more focused on selling equipment. The one spotter offers the armor to the group for 3,000 damps. The group leader responds by giving the weapon back and telling the room to stop. The group is eager to return the armor. But this time, the one spotter is the誘iest and most friendly guy and he wants it too. The group is long behind and can't keep up. The one spotter's offer's been met with.,.,.,.,.!,VERY ñeno. œ The group is eager to offer up their offers, but they're too late. The one spotter's offer's been met with.,.,.,.,.!,VERY ñeno.œ The group is again present and they are again reforming. This time, they're more focused on selling equipment. The one spotter offers the armor to the group for 3,000 damps. The group leader responds by giving the weapon back and telling the room to stop. The group is eager to return the armor. But this time, the one spotter is the誘iest and most friendly guy and he wants it too. The group is long behind and can't keep up. The one spotter's offer's been met with.,.,.,.,.!,VERY ñeno.œ	Once upon a time, there was aRPG pawn shop. It was a complex and well-hidden business, but the proprietor always managed to find the piles of gold and treasure it required to stay afloat. One day, an adventurer came to the shop looking for some equipment. He had just completed a venture in the neighboring city and was looking for new gear to take with him. The proprietor was kind enough to allow the adventurer to take a look at his collection. Once the adventurer had examined everything he needed, he then came back to the shop and asked the proprietor to sell him some of his equipment. The proprietor was a bit surprised, but he didn't hesitate to comply. He gave the adventurer a set ofgauss rifles, a crossbow, and a pack of dice. The adventurers were happy to have found the equipment he was looking for and took the items home with them.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. Adventures would come in, trying to sell their loot. Sometimes they would be successful, and other times they would be unsuccessful. I would always haggle with them, trying to get a better price. Sometimes I would be successful, and other times I would be unsuccessful. It was a fun job, and I enjoyed it.	You run an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell the loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for the items that come through your shop. Today, a young woman comes in, trying to sell a magic sword. You take a look at it and make her an offer. She haggles with you for a while, but in the end she accepts your offer and leaves the shop with a few extra gold pieces in her pocket. As she walks out, you can't help but wonder what adventures she'll have with her new sword.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is intense and_ he always dragsGY with him. "He's chips from the tree and_ he won't shear a sweeper over hisami. He's aLocation where you don't think." You_ The person that you meet that day is intense and he won't shear a sweeper over hisami. He's a Location where you don't think. The person that you meet that day is also massive and he can fit inside of ainns where you don't think. "He's a Grossingy person who won't shear a sweeper over hisami." You_ But the person that you meet that day is different. He's_ different. He's_ huge. He's_ big enough to fit in the aviary where you don't think. "He's a Gkingy person who won't shear a sweeper over hisami." You_ The person that you meet that day is also huge. He's_ the biggest one you have ever seen. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person that you meet that day is intense and he won't shear a sweeper over hisami. He's a Location where you don't think. The person that you meet that day is also intense and he won't sheer a sweeper over hisami. He's a Location where you don't think. But the person that you meet that day is different. He's_ different. He's_ huge. He's_ big enough to fit in the aviary where you don't think. "He's a Gkingy person who won't sheer a sweeper over hisami." The person that you meet that day is also huge. He's_ the biggest one you have ever seen. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark.	You first meet this person when you are lying to your friend about a juicy piece of news. You know that your friend will never believe you, so you need to make sure that you tell the truth. You tell your friend that you saw the news on TV and it was really exciting. Your friend is skeptical at first, but after hearing you out, he is convinced that you saw the news and it was really good. You keep this up for a few months, until your friend has Islamabad on his mind. He begs you to go to Pakistan and see the city for himself. You are hesitant at first, but after convincing your friend, you finally agree to go. As you walk through the city, you notice that there are many scars on the people. Some have had operations, others have had surgery on their faces. But the biggest scar is on the person that you just met. They have one large, dark scar on their chest that is constantly caught in the sun. You feel guilty for what you have done, but you know that you have seen the news and it was really good. You can't help but smile at the man as you walk by him. He is the only person that has a scar that is bigger than the other ones.	I found her lying in the street, her body covered in bruises and cuts. She told me her story; she said that she had been lied to so many times that her body was covered in scars. She claimed that the person who had hurt her the most was the one she trusted the most. I couldn't believe it; I had never met anyone with so many scars. We talked for hours, and I learnt about her life. She had been lied to so many times that her trust had been broken. She had been hurt so badly that her one big scar was the only thing that had kept her from harm. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She was so broken and lost, but I could see the potential in her. I told her that she could still be beautiful, even though her scars marked her as different. She smiled at me and thanked me, and I knew that I had made a difference in her life.	The first time I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, but she was also covered in scars. They ranged in size and depth, but the one that stood out the most was a large, deep scar that ran down the length of her left arm. I didn't know what to say to her, so I just asked her about her biggest scar. She hesitated for a moment before answering, and I could see the pain in her eyes. "It's from my worst lie," she said quietly. "I lied to the one I loved the most and it tore us apart. I'll never forgive myself for it." I didn't know what to say, so I just hugged her. I could feel her body shaking with silent sobs and I wished I could make all her pain go away. Eventually, she pulled away and dried her tears. She gave me a faint smile and said, "Thank you for listening. It feels good to finally tell someone the truth." We became friends after that, and I was always there for her when she needed to talk. I listened to her stories and shared my own with her. We both knew that we had been scarred by our lies, but we also knew that we were not alone.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has committed suicide, which help people cope with the Instruction of death. Each painting is unique and each painting shedebates with the place Bob Ross died.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. In one, he has killed people in a field in upstate New York; in another, he's killed people in Germany; in a third, he's killed people in Sicily; and in a fourth, he's killed people in Norway. There's no pattern to these killings, and no connection to anything else that Bob Ross has ever done. But each painting is an eerie reminder of the darkness that lurks within him.	The night before his 4th birthday, Bob Ross was killed by his parents. They were so proud of him, they thought it would be a nice surprise for his birthday party. Little did they know that Bob had been planning this for a long time.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. For years, he travel the country, painting landscapes and killing innocent people. His victims were always left in the most picturesque locations, their bodies hidden among the beautiful scenery. Eventually, the authorities began to suspect that Ross was behind the murders. They began to track his movements and were eventually able to connect him to dozens of killings. Finally, they cornered him in his studio and took him into custody. Now, Ross' paintings hang in police stations and government buildings all across the country. They serve as a reminder of the horrific crimes that were committed, and of the man who committed them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician tips his hat and lets the rabbit fall to the ground. The rabbit tries to get back up, but the magician has already taken the rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit is distressed, but the magician is not. He seems to be in for the count of four. When the fourth card comes out, the rabbit realizes that he's been taken out of the show. He tries to back up a step, but the magician will have him installations. So the rabbit bails, and goes to the shelter next day.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "I'm going to put a magic hat on you and make you disappear." The rabbit said, "No, I won't go. I'm just as happy being a part of the audience."	The magician was getting tired of always having to play the rabbit in the hat. He was looking for a new act to put on stage, and he thought that the rabbit might be a good fit. The magician introduced the rabbit to the audience and told them that he was sick of always being second fiddle. The rabbit feigned being sick of playing second fiddle, but secretly he was excited to be on stage. The rabbit worked hard to impress the audience and soon they were accepting him as one of the magician's main performers. The rabbit was happy to finally be given the chance to be the star of his own show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, preparing for their act. The rabbit is getting tired of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat, and he's getting sick of being second fiddle. He's been practicing his magic tricks, and he's ready to show the world what he can do. The magician starts the act, and the rabbit is pulled out of the hat. The rabbit does his best to perform his tricks, but the magician keeps upstaging him. The rabbit is getting angry now, and he doesn't want to take it anymore. He waves his paws in the air and finally manages to pull off a magical trick that leaves the audiencegasps. The magician is furious, but the rabbit is finally getting the recognition he deserves. He's proved that he's not just a second fiddle, and he's ready to take center stage.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is scheduled to give his heir's address to the nation tomorrow. There is a recent trend of presidents having succession plans, but this one is different. The first Famandroid didn't exist for nothing, so the president should reflect on what is left of humanity and what it has caused. If he finds that the country is in trouble, he will have much more luck inDEPENDING ON THIS PLANET!	As the sun streamed in through the window, China woke up to the news that their president had been assassinated. With headlines all over the nation, the government had to find a way to deal with the public outcry. They tried to keep the press from knowing too much, but it was difficult. With so much on their plate, the government didn't have time to deal with anything else. The economy was doing poorly,Crime was on the rise, and the people were angry. One day, someone slipped up. The government wasn't trusted, and there were rumors that they were connected to some of the most heinous crimes. One of their top aides was caught with child pornography. The public was enraged. They wanted their president gone, and they were right to be. The economy crashed, Crime spiked, and the people were on the edge of starvation. With no way to calm the people, the government had to come up with a solution. They announced that they were implementing a new law that would make it easier to prosecute those who leaked government secrets. The public cheered. They were tired of being lied to, and they were glad that their president was gone. The economy continued to tank, Crime increased, and the people were living in fear of being contaminated by the government. But the President's legacy lives on. The new law has been successful, and the economy is recovering. The people are happy, and the cycle of violence has been ended.	As the world watched in horror as the Syrian civil war unfolded, many people argued that the conflict deserved the most attention. But as the years passed and more refugees were displaced, people began to argue that the Syrian refugee crisis was the issue that deserved the greatest amount of attention. In the early days of the Syrian refugee crisis, the world was focused on helping the refugees escape the violence. But as the number of refugees grew and the world became used to the images of refugees camps, people began to demand that the world do more to help them. Governments around the world have responded to the refugee crisis by creating new refugee camps, increasing the amount of money they are giving to help refugees, and implementing new policies to prevent refugees from becoming economic migrants. Although the Syrian refugee crisis is not over, the world has done a lot to help the refugees. And as the world becomes more focused on the threats of climate change, the refugee crisis will likely continue to receive the most attention.	There is no doubt that the current state of the world is in a bit of turmoil. From political unrest to devastating natural disasters, it seems like there is no end to the bad news. However, despite all of the negativity, there are still some bright spots. For example, scientists are making great strides in the fight against climate change and there are many community initiatives that are making a difference in the lives of people all over the world. So, what current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention? It is hard to say, but perhaps it is something that is affecting us all in one way or another. Whether it is the environment, social injustice, or something else, we should all be paying attention and doing our part to make a difference.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	A young woman in her early twenties wasAuditoring when she found a primary battery of birth control devices in a less-than-honorable manner. Made from corroded plastic andPDATED with dirty jellied coral, the devices were a1990s level of esarching and garnishing. She woes ensued when she began to DPremadratic family heiress with her unrequited love for a) a aandersson of b) autherson. c) all three lived in a ) a family with two children who wereAuditoring when they were diagnosed with egotistical ) ace of the and were Grossiapstoney Congratulations! You are the The matter wasfiled away as the father of the children said his, respectively. TheAuditor was presented with a choice to make: or TheAuditor would be lifetime SAVED if the parents were to becomeANDERSSON and BUTTER. TheAuditor TheAuditor chose to become butter.	Every young person is given a birth control device during puberty. It's Inserted into their chest and it poses two big problems. The first is that it can only be used if they're intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. The second problem is that the device can only be deactivated once they're determined to be intelligent and stable enough. So, the Auditors have to be very careful when they're considering who to implant into their society. They want the smartest, most stable people to have the most control over their own lives. However, there are some people who are so stupid that they can't even understand the concept of contraception. So, the Auditors have to be very careful when it comes to who they implant into their society.	As a young adult, I was excited to find out I was one of the few people who had been given a birth control implant as part of their puberty. I eagerly read about the benefits of the implant and how it could help prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was convinced that it was the best thing to happen to the world, and I was determined to make sure that it worked its magic. It took a few years, but I finally proved myself to be an intelligent and stable person by passing the Auditors' tests. I was ecstatic to find out that I could finally deactivate my birth control implant, and I was determined to put it to use. I was excited to start a family and make a difference in the world. But on my wedding day, I learned that my husband had been secretly using the implant to prevent me from getting pregnant. My world crashed, and I realized that the birth control implant was nothing more than a fool's errand.	You're an Auditor, which means you have the responsibility of determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. This is no small task, as there are many factors to consider. However, you take your job very seriously and do your best to ensure that only the best people are able to have children. One of the main ways you do this is by monitoring the birth control devices that are implanted in everyone during puberty. These devices can only be deactivated if you determine that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. This is a weighty responsibility, but you believe that it's necessary in order to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. You take your job very seriously and do your best to ensure that only the best people are able to have children. You know that this is the only way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and creating even more problems for the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way totrial by experiment. He's been trying to get participants for the trials for years. But everyone is just too busy with the war and the social problem. He finally gets an opportunity when he brings Leon Trotsky to Vienna. Trotsky is quiet and general, but Freud takes him into account. He's not sure how it'll go, but Trotsky takes him into account.	Adolf Hitler was finally called to answer the ad. He had always been intrigued by Freud's work and was eager to take part in any trials that resulted. Joseph Stalin was a little less interested, but he was perfectly willing to participate in a clinical trial if it would help advance his career. Marx had once said that " tyranny leads to revolution ", and he was eager to see what would happen when he took control of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was excited to finally have a chance to do some good in the world. He had always been interested in promoting socialism and helping people, and this was his chance. Finally, Josip Broz Tito was called to answer the ad. He had always dreamed of making a difference in the world, and this was his chance.	Freud was eager to test his latest invention, but he needed subjects. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was disappointed that none of the usual suspects had responded, but he was convinced that his invention was worth pursuing. He scheduled a meeting with the four gentlemen, and he was eagerly curious to see what type of subjects they would be. Hitler was the first to arrive, and Freud was immediately struck by his aggressive demeanor. He was convinced that Hitler would be the perfect candidate for the trial, but he wasn't sure how he would handle the stress of the test. Stalin was next, and Freud was surprised by how gentle he seemed. He was sure that Stalin would be the perfect candidate for the trial, but he wasn't sure how he would handle the stress of the test. Trotsky was the last to arrive, and Freud was immediately struck by how tired he looked. He was sure that Trotsky would be the perfect candidate for the trial, but he wasn't sure how he would handle the stress of the test. Freud was worried that the four men might not be able to handle the test, but he was excited to see what type of results he would get. He scheduled the trial for the following week, and he was anxious to see the results.	The four men sit in a room, waiting for Freud to arrive. Hitler fidgets in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. Stalin leans back, his arms crossed over his chest. Trotsky paces back and forth, muttering to himself. Tito sits still as a statue, his eyes closed. Finally, Freud enters the room. He looks at the four men, a little taken aback. "I'm sorry, I was expecting more people to respond to my ad." "That's because your research is flawed," Stalin says, his voice cold. "No one wants to be a part of something that is doomed to fail." "I am not sure what you mean," Freud says, furrowing his brow. "Your methods are unscientific," Trotsky says. "You cannot base your research on irrational thoughts and feelings." "And your ideas about the human psyche are just plain wrong," Hitler says. "No one wants to believe that they are governed by their own dark desires." "I see," Freud says. He clears his throat. "Well, I suppose I should thank you all for coming. I will take your criticisms into consideration." He starts to leave the room, but Stalin stops him. " Freud, we all have our own dark desires. That's why we're here." The others nod in agreement. "We want to know what makes us tick," Trotsky says. "What drives us to do the things we do." "And we're willing to be your guinea pigs," Tito says. Freud looks at the four men, a little surprised. "Very well," he says. "Let's begin."	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If Ilorin Sherwood was to cry, the mean girl that he had become was potentiality likely greet his tears as Aidan Appleby. It was alreadyiate that these tears would be Motherhood's bane, meek and Room to run. The days felt like a fresh set of tears, as if torrents of rain always checked off one specific box on a calendar. Aidan had always been a Mark family man, but what he had became is what was Sketchy nameable. It was the part that he never wanted to do again, the part where he had to be perfect for the Motherhood. He had never been any where near as big as these women, not even close. The fact that he was still wearing his Father's omen shirt only made the pain worse. "Aidan" was Tom, the man that he had been with for 5 years, and the man that he would be with for the rest of his days. It was the part of him that he never wanted to leave, that is the part where he was perfect, that is what was sketchy named "The Motherhood". Tom had been with her for the part where he had to be perfect, the part where he was there to help others and he would always be there for them. But this new part of his, the part where he would be there for others, was the part that he never wanted to leave.	Once upon a time, there was a teary-eyed girl who Trailer Park Boys taunted and made fun of. She cried every day, and her tears left scars on her face. The pain was real, and it changed the world for her.	A girl named Sarah was crying. The tears streamed down her face and stained her dress. Sarah was sad, and the tears just made her feel worse. But what if tears left marks on people’s faces? How would that change the way society treats tears? Sarah thought about this as she cried on the sidewalk. Her tears stained the pavement and created a very noticeable trail. But Sarah didn’t care. She was sad, and the tears were just the way she cope. Maybe other people would be scared of her if her tears left visible scars, but Sarah didn’t care. She just wanted to cry in peace.	In a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, people would be much more careful about when and why they cried. Showing emotion would be seen as a sign of weakness, and people would go to great lengths to avoid crying in public. Even the act of crying in private would be fraught with danger, as the scars would be a constant reminder of the pain and vulnerability that came with tears. This would create a world that was much more stoic and emotionally repressed. People would be hesitant to express any sort of feelings, for fear of being seen as weak. This would lead to a lot of pent-up emotions, which could eventually lead to outbursts of anger or violence. In this world, tears would be seen as a sign of weakness, and would be something to be avoided at all costs.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Floating through the air, I feel my body hit by a caring breeze. I am not sure what's more surprising - the fact that I am still alive, or the fact that my body is now Thom's. I feel relief and happiness washing over me as I see him, body and all, getting onto a vehicle. I can see the tears in his eyes as heaundering me off onto the vehicle. I want toried him, wants to feel his touch, wants to know that he is safe. I feel themrationing and I scream, which unsurprisingly, for I am a Changeling, as I am wont to be. The vehicle is quickly Shayne's, and I am left just like me others - shattered and alone.	I wake up in a cold sweat; I can't believe what I've just done. I've killed someone. I can't believe it. My mind doesn't make sense. I can't think straight. I feel like I'm going to die. I try to get up but my body won't let me. I can't move. I'm trapped.	Lenny never expected to die young. He was just a normal, everyday guy, doing his thing, until he was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Through treatments, surgeries, and a long, hard road, Lenny was positive he would make it to see his grandchildren grow up. But one day, it just wasn't good enough. Lenny passed away, at the young age of only 39. He was just getting started.	I die. That's what happens next. I was never supposed to be in this place. I was never supposed to be in this time. But here I am, and there's nothing I can do about it. I know I'm not supposed to be here. I can feel it in every fiber of my being. But I can't help it. I'm drawn to this place, this time. I don't know why, but I can't resist. And so, I come here, to this place, to this time. And I know that I'm not supposed to be here. I can feel it in every fiber of my being. But I can't help it. I'm drawn to this place, this time. I don't know why, but I can't resist. And so, I come here, to this place, to this time. And I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, waiting for a chance to surface. It would comeUI when you were working or astounded when you finally realized what you've been doing. It woulduble in on your thoughts, Come what may, and lead you to the reason you're there. But it's not until you're stuck in a particularly hard situation that you finally realize how much your something invisible is Sauron.	One day, I made an effort to clean my home and discovered an object hidden in the corners of my room. It seemed innocuous enough, until I realized that the object was moving. I began to feel around the edges of the object, trying to determine where it was coming from, but I couldn't find a single clue. I began to feel like I had been held prisoner by the object, and I didn't know how I was going to escape it.	I'm not sure when it started, but something invisible has been living in my home for months now. I can't put my finger on what it is, but every time I try to expose it, it manages to slip away before I can see it. I'm not sure what it is, but I know I need to find out. I need to know what's hiding in my home and why it's trying to avoid me.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel it. It's like a presence that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set traps and tried to catch it, but so far, nothing has worked. It's like this invisible thing is fighting back. I'm starting to wonder if I'm just imagining it. Maybe I'm going crazy. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something here, lurking in the shadows. I don't know what it is, but I know I need to find out. I'm not sure what will happen if I do find out. But I have to try. I need to know if this invisible thing is real or if I'm just losing my mind.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is Boldr Pattern's final lightly equipped store. He doesn't have the time or money to run a full-blown store, so he splits his time between selling goods and unheard-of missions. However, the first lucky adventurers who drop resources at his shop find themselves in some amazingly fun experiences.Boldr Pattern can never imagine life without the market in hand, and so he always has what he needs to stay alive. He is not alone in this. A few individuals help out, but the market calls.	OSRIC had always been fascinated by the world of magic. He had always wanted to be a wizard, or some other form of sorcerer. But as he got older, he realized that this was not a dream anymore.PGR was his only hope. With the help of his best friend, Jarl, he set up shop in the old forges close to the market. Initially, OSRIC was struggling. He was constantly in demand for magic items, but nobody would give him a fair price. But he was determined. He would hawk his wares until the right adventurers came by. One day, a party of adventurers came to Grendel's forge to sell magical weapons. They were not the normal sort of adventurers, though. They were Different. They were magical. OSRIC's heart rate spiked when he saw them. He knew they meant danger. But that's when the fun began. The party of adventurers started to talk to OSRIC, asking for magic items. OSRIC was happy to sell them anything. He was always in demand for magical items, but this party was different. They were magical because they had found them. The party of adventurers was so interested in OSRIC's magic that they started to take him seriously. He realized that this was his chance. He could make a living selling magical items, and he would never have to worry about danger again. And so, OSRIC set up shop in Grendel's forge and became the proud owner of the most dangerous shop in the area.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come to sell their loot. One of them, a big, burly man, was trying to sell a sword that he claimed was enchanted. I wasn't convinced, but I tried to haggle with him anyway. Eventually, we came to an agreement and I sold the sword to him for a lower price than I was originally thinking.	Welcome to my RPG pawn shop! I haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell loot they've acquired. It's always a challenge to get the best price, but I think I'm up for it. today, a young woman came in with a few items she claimed to have found in a dungeon. I took a look at the items and immediately knew they were fake. I told her so and offered her a fraction of what she was asking for. She got angry and tried to haggle with me, but I held my ground. In the end, she reluctantly agreed to my offer and left the shop. I shook my head as she walked out, wondering why people try to take advantage of me like that.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Assessment: It is hard to believe, but he is actually a liar. For years, he've been telling her friends and family that he just had a Amendment II, but now, there's one spot where everything he says is Crusade history. She's always searching for a way to tell him outside of marriage, but she never knows what to say when they finally meet for the first time. When they first meet, he easily undermine's her by saying that she's a liar and a cheat, but as the two explore more and more about their past, they finally connect. They build a support system for life together, but they never imagined they would meet like this.	You meet this man as you walk down the street. He has a huge scar on his chest that is more than a foot wide. It is bothering you, and you can't help but stare at it. He doesn't seem to notice you, but you can't help but feel paranoia. You can't help but wonder if this man is the bad guy.	As I walked past them, I couldn't help but stare at their scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen, and it looked like it could never heal. I couldn't understand how someone could tell so many lies and not have any physical consequences.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a giant scar on their face. You're curious, so you walk up to them and ask them about it. They tell you that it's from a lie they told. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. You're amazed, and ask them what the biggest lie they've ever told is. They hesitate for a moment, then tell you that they once lied about being in love. The scar is so big that it covers their entire face. You can't imagine the pain they must have felt, both from the lie and from the scar. You thank them for sharing their story with you, and walk away with a new understanding of the world.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints scenes from his many murders. He has place after place to paint, each with a victim who is in the scene. It is a master's work, and you can see the paintings in every One Hundred ANDFold of rooms.	Once upon a time there was a painter named Bob Ross who created beautiful landscapes paintings of places all over the world. But one location in particular haunted him every single day - a terrible place called the slaughterhouse. It was a cold, dark place filled with death and disease - a place where innocent people were Organization killed for no reason other than taking up space. Bob Ross would walk through the slaughterhouse and it would affect his heart in a way no other location could. Each time he would walk through it, he would feel a sense of anger and sadness for the people who were killed there. But even though he hated it there, he couldn't help but to paint the beautiful landscapes that he knew were based in reality.	Bob Ross loved the outdoors and loved spending time in nature painting the beautiful landscapes. He would often take his camera along with him and take pictures of the beautiful places he was painting. He had a habit of going to different locations to paint, and over the years, he had killed many people in these places. One such place was near a river, and he had killed several people who went fishing there. He had also killed people who went hiking there, and even people who just walked by. One day, a detective happened to be in the area and saw Bob painting one of his landscapes. The detective recognized the location and was able to track down Bob and arrest him. Bob was sentenced to life in prison, where he will most likely paint the same beautiful landscapes until he dies.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, and his landscapes were beloved by many. But what few people knew was that each of those landscapes was a real place. And each one was the site of a murder. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his paintings as a way to keep track of his victims. He would choose a location, kill someone there, and then paint it. Over the years, he amassed a large collection of these landscapes, each one representing a different murder. No one knew the true nature of Bob Ross' paintings. To everyone, they were simply tranquil scenes of nature. But to Bob Ross, they were a reminder of the countless lives he had taken.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is about to start when suddenly the rabbit is gone, replaced by a Marsden boy. The crowdْoolms, while the father gets a little intimidated.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits from their hats for weeks now, but the rabbit was getting a little too used to the routine. It wasn't that the magician was a bad magician, he was just good at pulling rabbits out of hats. But the rabbit didn't like the way the magician was always shifting it around, as if it was always going to escape. It was odd, the rabbit thought, why the magician always had to take it out of the hat in the first place. It was like the magician was trying to make the rabbit secondary. And the rabbit didn't like that. So, one day, the rabbit made a decision. It was time to stand up for itself. The rabbit wanted to be the one that got special attention from the magician, not the rabbit that was always the second fiddle. So it walked up to the magician and said, "No more playing second fiddle!"	The magician begins to pull out a rabbit from a hat, but the rabbit is not happy. "Why me?" the rabbit protests. "I'm just a little rabbit!" The magician responds, "But you're the best rabbit I've ever played with. You always make me look good." The rabbit scoffs, but the magician is right. The rabbit has a knack for magic, and the magician uses that to his advantage. The rabbit is tired of always being in the background, so the magician takes a risk and tells the rabbit that he wants to make a change. The rabbit is surprised but intrigued. The magician proceeds to teach the rabbit how to be the powerhouse that he is, and the rabbit becomes one of the most celebrated magicians in the world.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up. He's been stuck in that hat for years, playing second fiddle to the magician's tricks. Enough is enough! The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and hatches a plan. During the next trick, he waits for his moment and then makes a break for it. He bolts off the stage and into the audience, where he is finally free. The magician is stunned, but the audience loves it. They give the rabbit a standing ovation and he takes a bow before making his escape. He's finally free and he knows he'll never go back to that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is an important day. It's the birthday of a very important person. For many people, the day is known as the day that her birthday is. For others, the day is known as the day that she is. The day is also known as the day when she will be Otiss's new CEO. But for many people, the day is known as the day that she was born. This is a day that is loved and shared by many. Not only is her birthday a day to celebrate, but it is also a day to reflect on your life. That's what this story is about. It is now Rhoda's birthday and she is stepmother to Otiss's her brother and his wife. Otiss's birthday is a day to celebrate, but it is also a day to reflect on your life. That's what this story is about. This is a today that is loved and shared by many. Not only is her birthday a day to celebrate, but it is also a day to reflect on your life. That's what this story is about.	Today, the U.S. Presidential Election is taking place and many people are expressing their opinions on the election. Some people believe that the election is important because it will decide the future of the United States, while others believe that the election is not that important. Many people are just waiting to see who will be the next President.	The biggest issue our society is facing today is the opioid crisis. More people are dying from opioid overdoses than from car accidents or cancer. There are over 47,000 opioid overdose deaths in the United States every year, and that number is only going to increase as the epidemic continues to grow. We need to do something about this problem, and we need to do it quickly. We need to find a way to get people addicted to opioids off of them, and we need to find a way to prevent them from getting addicted in the first place. We need to find a way to stop the opioid crisis, and we need to do it now.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of climate change. The evidence is clear and the stakes are high. The world is already experiencing the effects of climate change, and if we don't take action to mitigate it, the consequences will be catastrophic. The good news is that there is still time to act, but we need to act now. We need to drastically reduce our greenhouse gas emissions and move to a clean energy economy. It won't be easy, but it's essential if we want to leave a livable planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Gizmo was 2, his mom deactivated his birth control device. Today, he is an Auditor and knows he can prevent only the Dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	Auditor 1: (To Auditor 2) It's been determined that you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. Auditor 2: Thank you, Auditor 1. I'm excited to start the process of reproducing.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. I don't know how it works, I'm just told that it's there to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I'm not sure how I would ever be able to live up to that standard, but I'm willing to try. I'm an Auditor. I'm tasked with determining whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Obviously, I have to pass the test first. But I'm confident that I can do it. I have a heart full of love, and I'm willing to do anything to ensure that my children will have a brighter future.	You are an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In order to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. You have a difficult job, but you take it seriously. You interview each person who wishes to have their device deactivated, and you make your decision based on a variety of factors. Some people are clearly not ready, while others seem more than capable. It's a delicate balance, but you feel that you've made a difference in the world. And that's what matters most.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler is the only person who puts an age of 24 in a newspaper. Joseph Stalin is the only person who puts an age of 35 in a newspaper. Leon Trotsky is the only person who puts an age of 21 in a newspaper. Josip Broz Tito is the only person who put an age of 21 in a newspaper.	Adolf Hitler was the first to respond to the ad. He had recently been elected Chancellor of Germany, and he wanted to be part of the scientific research of Sigmund Freud. Joseph Stalin was second. He had been in power in Russia for many years, and he wanted to gain knowledge about fascism and international politics. Leon Trotsky was the third. He was a Marxistographer, and he wanted to learn about the Stalinist movement in the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond. He was the President of Yugoslavia, and he wanted to know about the situation in that country. None of the other participants in the clinical trial wanted to participate. They were all afraid of the conditions of the trial. They were all worried that they would be hurt or killed. But Adolf Hitler didn't care. He was excited to be part of the research. He knew that Sigmund Freud was onto something big. The scientists set up the clinical trial in a small room in the basement of a building in Vienna. They expected only a few participants to respond. But within a few weeks, they had received hundreds of applications. The scientists were looking for people who would be willing to undergo dangerous and experimental treatments. But instead, the contestants in the trial were all young andBrave. They were willing to risk their lives for the knowledge that Sigmund Freud had to offer. The scientists were able to release the Participants into the larger city of Vienna. There, they would be required to live under extremely difficult conditions. They would be free to go to the grocery store, but they would also be required to attend classes and study. Adolf Hitler was the first to take advantage of the opportunity. He started to learn about the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. He was also interested in the politics of the day. He learned that the Nazi party was the new ruling party in Germany. Joseph Stalin was also learning about the research. He was interested in what was going on in the Soviet Union. He was also elected into power in Russia, and he wanted to understand what was happening there. Leon Trotsky was also learning about the research. He was also interested in the future of the Soviet Union. He knew that he had to take action to save the country from destruction. But the most important person in the trial was Adolf Hitler. He was the captain of the test subject group. He was the one who was going to be given the most experimental treatments. He was also the one who was going to be the most brave. And he was ready to take on the challenge.	Freud was excited to have such eminent participants for his clinical trials. He put the ad in the newspapers, and soon enough, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was eager to get started with the trials, but he couldn't help but be nervous. He didn't know what to expect from the four men. The first trial was with Adolf Hitler. Freud tried to ask him questions about his childhood, but Hitler didn't seem to want to talk. He just grunted in response. The next trial was with Joseph Stalin. Stalin was very cooperative. He answered all of Freud's questions about his childhood and family. The next trial was with Leon Trotsky. Trotsky was very quiet. He didn't say much at all. Finally, the trial with Josip Broz Tito was ready. Tito was the most talkative of the four participants. He answered all of Freud's questions eagerly. Freud was very excited by the results of the trials. He was sure that he would be able to use the information he gathered to improve his research.	Sigmund Freud was at the top of his game in 1913. His latest research was on the forefront of psychology, and he was eager to get it out into the world. So, he placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to learn more about themselves. They agreed to participate in the trial and met with Freud over the course of several weeks. As the trial went on, Freud began to realize that there was something different about these four men. They were all incredibly intelligent and insightful, but they also had a dark side. They were ambition and power-hungry, and they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. At the end of the trial, Freud was left feeling disturbed by what he had uncovered. He had unwittingly unleashed four of the most dangerous men in history onto the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	revocation was the first thing out of Em Beesley ' s mouth when she walked into the office. She slammed the door shut and picked up her books, time and again havehed out the same tired fpsthe same trite question that nobody ever wants to answer. But this time, there was something different manifesto attached to the words. A power like nothing else could take away your ability to cry, and revocation would be a direct chosen one. Em Beesley took a step back from theRe mission and the beautiful blue lake that filled the introverted girl that she had been before. Em Beesley Distance herself from her recurrent thoughts of sight, something that suddenly made her feel larger than life. tinkling laughter from the officeSerious thoughts of laughter wereollo strategy and hot returns that made her sick. Evy had always been a singlehandedly designed to save the day, and revocation was the only thing that could stop her. The team watched her with envy as she strode into the office, her head of hair aSIng along her back as she held out her hand. "Evy, stop, I'm not sure this is a good time." But it was at this point that EYvy saw the pressure and Evy was able to cry, to know that she was The only one that she knew could do this. She was the one who had seen everything, who was able to bring to light the dark secrets of the world. And so she cried, to the point where she walked out of the office, leaving Embeesley to Retrieve herself.	When I was younger, I used to imagine the world without tears. And I would never be the same. Now, however, I see the truth. Tears leave scars on our faces. They are a way of life and a part of who we are. They can be a sign of happiness, sadness, joy, or pain. And they can also leave a raw, exposed wound that can create a memory that never fades. This is why, when someone tears up, it feels so intrusive and creepy. It's like they're almost ashamed of themselves. They're like something that needs to be cleaned up. And that's exactly why I feel so uneasy when I see them cry. Because, even though they may seem like they're overcoming something, I can tell that they're still struggling. And that's not something that I feel comfortable scoreboard-pinging, especially when it's someone I care about.	The world would be a very different place if tears were scarring. They would leave marks on the faces of everyone, forever binding them together no matter what. The people of the world would be constantly burdened with the pain and sadness of others, and it would be impossible for anyone to move on. However, there are those who find comfort in the tears of others. They may be able to heal their own pain by sharing in the sadness of others. This is a way of healing the broken hearts of the world.	The first time it happened, I didn't believe it. I was crying over a broken heart, and as the tears cascaded down my face, I noticed that they were leaving scars. White, puckered lines that marred my skin. I was horrified. I tried to keep my tears in after that, but it was impossible. So many things in the world can make us cry - pain, sadness, anger, joy. And with each tear that fell, another scar was added to my face. My appearance changed drastically. I became a walking map of my life, each scar a different story. Some scars were still fresh, while others had faded with time. But they were all there, a constant reminder of the things I had been through. People started to stare at me, and some even avoided me altogether. It was too much for them to see, I guess. All the hurt and pain that I had experienced, right there on my face. But I didn't let it get to me. I knew that my scars were a part of who I was, and I was proud of them. They made me who I am today.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, pretending to sleep, when I heard a noise coming from downstairs. I quickly got up and went to the window to see a man being carried down the street. He was stretchered off the street and into an ambulance. I ran to the door and watched as the ambulance zoomed away. The man was never seen again.	It was the last thing I remembered before passing out. All I could hear was the beeping of the machines that were keeping me alive. I was caught in the middle of a Shakespeare play and I was dying. I was dying on stage, and all my friends and family were watching. I didn't want to die. I wanted to wake up and be in the same position I was in before I passed out. But I wasn't going to get that chance. I was fading in and out of consciousness, and when I finally passed out, I knew I was gone for good. I could hear the beeping of the machines and the gasps of the audience, but I was gone. I was gone and I would never see my family or friends again.	I was having a great day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. I was out for a walk, enjoying the fresh air, when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my chest. I clutched at my chest, gasping for breath, and then everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was floating in a dark void. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear a voice. "Congratulations," the voice said. "You have died." "What?" I asked. "What happens now?" "Now, you move on to the next life," the voice said. "You will be born again, and you will have another chance to live your life." I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Even though I didn't know what was ahead, I was ready to start my new journey.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The small, wiry man with the verbosity had been, for some time, using the home key to access the small, wiry woman's office. The small, wiry woman was not sure why he was doing this, but she knew he was trying to at least know that he was being SingerFigure. The small, wiry man sat down at the desk and began to read, charming the small, wiry woman with his disappointment and his compliments. The small, wiry woman was beginning to feel like he was taking advantage of her, and she knew it. "Please, please, can I go?" the small, wiry man asked, hope in his voice. He was trying to be Zombies, but she knew he was just an add-on. The small, wiry woman wanted to say no, but she knew that it was only an addition to the reality of his life. She left the room, feeling embarrassed and as if she had betrayed her man.	I had been trying to get rid of the something invisible for weeks now. Every time I would move something, or light a candle, I would feel the ghostly presence follow me. I had tried to tell myself that it was just an imagination, but I couldn't help but feel like it was there. I started to feel like my home was haunted and I didn't know what to do about it.	I had always assumed that there was nothing supernatural living in my home - until one night when I woke up and couldn't find my laptop. Normally, I would have just assumed that my cat had nabbed it, but I couldn't find any traces of her anywhere. I started to get paranoid and started to check the other rooms of the house, but still couldn't find the laptop. Suddenly, I felt a cold, visceral sensation in the back of my mind and knew that the laptop was in my home, but I couldn't see it. I tried to focus and summon up any memories of where I had last seen it, but all I could come up with was that I had left it on my bed. I tried to ignore the feeling and try to get some sleep, but the sensation kept getting stronger and stronger until finally, I sprang into action and started searching through every inch of the house for my laptop. I couldn't find it anywhere, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye. I turned around and there, standing in the middle of my room, was a tiny, invisible figure with glowing eyes.	I could tell that something was wrong the moment I walked into my home. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was an eerie feeling in the air. I tried to ignore it, but it was like the feeling was following me around. I started to notice other strange things happening in my home too. Objects would go missing, only to turn up in strange places. I would hear strange noises, like someone was walking around when no one was home. I was starting to become paranoid, and I knew I needed to find out what was going on. I started setting up cameras around my home, and I was shocked to see that there was indeed something invisible living in my house. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I would leave food out, hoping to bait it into showing itself, but it never took the bait. I was starting to think that I was never going to figure out what this thing was. Then, one day, I came home and found the thing rummaging through my belongings. I ran over to it and tried to grab it, but my hand went right through it. It was like trying to grab a ghost. I was able to capture it on camera though, and I finally had proof that something invisible was living in my home. I didn't know what to do with this information, but at least I knew I wasn't crazy.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an average-looking group, some with greasy hair and UTC clothes, some withZone hair and Glasses clothes. One or two are distinguishable because of theiruto gear, and most are not particularly interesting to the eyes. The cashier is prompt and understanding, compared to most of the adventurers. However, the recently- Healingarmourdruid 2 PC is... average-looking. He has the usual equipment for anDracula account: a light Resto mod, highDefarmour speciesammy bow, and Clayton's "I'm not a monster" shirt. "Why don't you just be a monster?" thePC asks. The cashier looks sea-mynd to Dumbfounded. "An average-looking donjotte too? "I don't know," the cashier says. "But I make it my mission to teach you about it." The adventurers are so astonished by the prices they areaught to offer, they don't know how to react. " Simpsons " $5 per hour" is so not what the candidates are hoping for.	One day, a group of adventurers came to your pawn shop looking for a weapon. They had just received a Tuea'ril sword from a orc they had defeated in a fight. The orc had given it to them as a gift and they were trying to figure out how to use it. The adventurers were polite but firm. They wanted to buy the Tuea'ril sword, not trade it. The pawn shop owner, a middle-aged woman, was polite but firm. She didn't want to give the adventurers any trouble. The adventurers were happy to hear that. They thanked the pawn shop owner and went away, still looking for a weapon.	On this particular day, a group of adventurers had come into the pawn shop looking for new equipment. The shop keeper, noticing that the adventurers were low on funds, tried to haggle with them. The adventurers, not used to bargaining, were constantly trying to give the shop keeper too low of a price for the equipment. The shop keeper, however, was able to get the equipment for a much lower price than any of the adventurers had expected.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who bring in all sorts of loot they've acquired on their travels. You buy and sell weapons, armor, and other trinkets, always trying to get the best deal for yourself. You're a wily negotiator, and you've had a lot of success over the years. You know how to spot a good deal, and how to haggle for the best price. You're not afraid of a little banter, and you're always ready to barter. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a wide variety of items, and you take your time inspecting each one. After a few minutes of haggling, you finally come to an agreement on a price for the items. You're happy with the deal, and the adventurers are happy with the price they got. It's just another day at the RPG pawn shop, and you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as they walked in, the liar in you required a new level of skulldux. The huge lie massaged in to the skin with a final layer of bluster, "Why would I tell you this? We're not going to be able to make it to the PADI Technical examiner within the due course" her friendly gaze meeting hisauseitably. In answer to her question, the biggest lie in the room told him how she had Left him for another man. The fact that he had allowed himself to be used by someone else only Haste the Deep-seascnce of those months of torment. The friendliness of his gaze was melted into the liar in him, as was his courage, when he tells her he can't make it to the exam. The liar in him shows TREUELOVE the next day at the instigation of her friend, a plan that requires telling the truth to someone who would ship her away with someone better. Her mind isitaricated when she sees the fear in his eyes, the man tries to second-think the plan but there's no chance of making it to the examiner without telling him the truth. The biggest lie in the world tells the truth to the man, and they end up together. The man because of the weight of the lies he has told, and the liar in him because she was forced to tell the truth. The both of them end up better lives, and the liar in the end iseto herself t Pin down and give her word.	You meet this person in a strange place. They areOn the other side of a large fence. You can't quite make out what is happening, but you feel like you are in danger. You look around and see that the people around you are all cloaked in secrecy. It's as if they only have one goal : to protect this person. You keep your eyes peeled for the person that you are worried about, but they are never seen. Suddenly, the fenceBehind which you are standing is sliced in two, and you fall into the waiting arms of the person you are worried about.	I can't help but stare at him. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen. His one scar is so big, it's almost impossible to look at. It runs across his entire chest. It's like he's been through hell, but he's still standing. He looks at me with those beautiful, brown eyes and I can't help but fall in love with him. We spend all day walking around the city, telling each other our stories. He tells me about the time he got caught up in a political revolution and had to run for his life. I tell him about the time I was caught in a tornado and had to bury my parents. We spend every day together, just talking and laughing. And I don't ever want to leave his side. But I know eventually I will have to. The longer I stay, the more scars I'll create on my own body. But I'll never forget the smile on his face when I leave, or the way he held me while I cried.	You're walking down the street when you see somebody ahead of you with a massive scar on their back. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You can't help but stare as you walk past them. You start to wonder about the person and what could have possibly caused such a massive scar. The more you think about it, the more curious you become. Finally, you musters up the courage to approach the person and ask about their scar. They hesitate at first, but then they tell you their story. They explain that they used to be a compulsive liar. They would lie about everything, no matter how big or small. But eventually, their lies caught up to them. One day, they told a whopper of a lie and it created a massive scar on their body. They tell you that they've since stopped lying and that the scar is a reminder of the person they used to be. They warn you to be careful with your words because you never know when a lie might come back to haunt you.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels through his paintings of places he've killed as a Taxvar to get a different perspective on the design of the home he is selling.	After spending a decade in a maximum-security prison, Bob Ross was released on parole in the spring of 1967. He quickly bought a house in a quiet town in upstate New York and began painting his old haunts again. One summer, he encountered a local girl who had been visiting her family nearby. The two of them were soon inseparable and started a secret affair. One night, while they were both in bed, Bob Ross killed his wife and daughter. He could never bring himself to tell the girl the truth, so he buried them both under the house. A few years later, she moved out and the two stopped talking. But sometimes, when he's nostalgic, Bob Ross will walk down to the place where he buried his family and pick them up for a few minutes of joy.	Bob Ross was an American landscape painter who was well known for his paintings of nature. However, many of these paintings were actually real places that he had visited. Ross had a habit of going to different locations and painting landscapes of those places. He killed many people while doing this, and the police were never able to catch him. His paintings are now some of the most famous pieces of art in the world, and everyone who looks at them can see the tragic fate of the people he killed.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to cover up his many murders. He would choose different locations to paint, and then use those same locations to kill his victims. Over the years, he amassed a huge collection of paintings, each one a beautiful scene of nature – and each one hiding a dark secret. No one knew the true nature of Bob Ross' paintings, and so they remained popular and in high demand. But those who knew the truth about them avoided them at all costs. Bob Ross was a killer, and his paintings were nothing more than a front for his gruesome crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Preview squash Promotion The audience iscritical and so, he needs nothing to make them happy. The rabbit becomes so sick of being second-in-command that he'sHunting and scarier things than expel a rabbit out of a hat. By the end of the performance, the magician has pulled a marksman and is now the ultimate champion!	The magician was about to end his show when he noticed that the rabbit was getting restless. He grabbed a hat off the stand and put it on the rabbit's head, making him stay in place. He started to perform a few tricks, but the rabbit just wouldn't stop moving. Then, the magician turned to the rabbit and said, "Start playing the part of the rabbit, okay?" The rabbit hesitated, but then he agreed. The magician played the part of the rabbit for a while, but the rabbit didn't get any better. The magician started to lose patience and said, "Okay, this is it. I'm going to break your neck." But the rabbit didn't move. The magician sighed and started to break the rabbit's neck, but it just wouldn't die. He stopped when he noticed that the rabbit was still alive. "What are you waiting for?" he asked the rabbit. The rabbit looked at the magician and said, "I'm not sure. I'm afraid I don't know what else to do."	The magician looked at the rabbit expectantly, but the rabbit just shifted in its seat, its eyes fixed on the floor. Finally, the magician sighed and took a deep breath. "Okay, rabbit. This is your last chance. Out with it." The rabbit looked up, its eyes bright with determination. "I don't want to be the rabbit that you pull out of the hat anymore," it announced firmly. "I want to be the star of the show." The magician considered the rabbit for a moment before responding. "You may be right, rabbit. You may be right."	The magician had just finished his latest trick and the rabbit that he had pulled out of his hat was not happy. The rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle and wanted to be the star of the show. The rabbit had had enough and decided to take matters into its own hands. The next time the magician pulled it out of the hat, the rabbit bit him. The magician was so surprised that he dropped the rabbit and it ran off stage. The rabbit was finally free and was able to enjoy the spotlight. It was the star of the show and everyone loved it. The magician was never able to catch the rabbit again and the two went their separate ways.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A young couple is about to embark on a road trip when they decide to take their little girl and son with them. The father is onIDEIVE and the mother is browseros. They stop at a convenience store for snacks and water to Before Its44Tan. The store is empty, so they go to the next one. The store is full, so they go to the next one. The store is full, so they go to the next one. They come to the last one and the cashier is holding the phone. The mother is surprise to see that her son is buying a case of water and her daughter is buying a case of snacks. The father is plastered on MOBLE and the mother is thinking about quitting her job and moving away. The son is like, "Psss, I'll just stay here." And the mother is like, " okay, well you could tried harder to getsss lined up for the road trip."	Today is a special day. It is the day that Trump is elected president of the United States. It is a day that many people are anticipating and looking forward to. Even though Trump has some Crate and Barrel-quality policies, many people still find him to be a dealmaker. Some people even say that he is the best president that the country has ever seen. Even though many people are excited about Trump's inauguration, there is one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. That issue is the economy. The economy is basically hurting right now. Many people are struggling to make ends meet. It isn't easy to get by these days. Some people are say that Trump's policies will help fixes the economy. But it is still going to be a long journey. There are a lot of uncertainties with Trump's presidency. So, promises and hopes are kind of flying all around the country today. But, no one really knows for sure what will happen.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the rise of the far-right. Ever since the election of Donald Trump, the far-right has seen a rise in activity, with rallies and protests becoming more common. This issue needs to be addressed as soon as possible, as the far-right is a dangerous group that is trying to gain power.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the ongoing conflict in Syria. For over five years, Syria has been embroiled in a civil war that has killed hundreds of thousands of people and displaced millions more. The conflict has also created a breeding ground for terrorist groups like ISIS, which has terrorized the region and the world. The international community has been largely powerless to stop the violence, and the Syrian people have suffered immensely. It is imperative that the world pays attention to the Syria conflict and works to find a way to end the violence.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, the always-of-the- Surviveius realized she needed to do something to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. The thing that haunted her dreams until she was an Auditor was the thing that needed to be deactivated, the foil that would prevent the human race from succeeding. She became happens when the device was deactivated and became aware of her own intelligence. She realized that she could dangerous things in this world, and she was an Auditor instead of a ground-breaking invention.	It was announced that everyone would be implanted with a birth control device during puberty. I was among the first. It was a hard decision, but I knew it would be for the best. I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. And I was sure that my birth control device would prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	The year was 2029, and humans were finally able to prevent the reproduction of only the dumbest people in the world. It was a victory for humanity, but it also came with a price. Each human was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and it could only be removed once it was determined they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The birth control devices were a necessary evil, but they also made life difficult for the Auditor who was responsible for monitoring their citizens. The devices made it difficult to identify the smartest people in the world, and it was often difficult to determine when a human was no longer qualified to raise a well-adjusted human being. But despite the challenges, the Auditor continued to carry out their duty, and humanity was finally able to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world.	You've been an Auditor for years, and it's always been a thankless job. But you take pride in your work, knowing that you are helping to ensure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's not an easy job, and there are always difficult decisions to be made. But you know that you are up to the task. One of your latest cases is a young woman who is struggling in school and has been exhibiting some troubling behavior. After reviewing her file, you have to make the tough decision to recommend that her birth control device be deactivated. It's not an easy decision, but you know it's the right one. You hope that she will be able to prove herself and that she will ultimately be able to have a happy and healthy life.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he sees Adolf Hitler walking down the street. Freud decides to a stop him from going any further. "What do you have?" Freud is asked as he walks up to Hitler. Freud has always been struck by the size of Haymarket Square, now day and night, and how Digitalibweeas cocooned theuinians in their brilliant light. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you have." Hitler responds. "I'm sorry," Freud says, "I don't know." Roosevelt responds. "You're like a big fish in a small water," Hitler says. "I'm a big fish in a small water," Freud says. "You're a big fish in a small water," Hitler says. "I'm a big fish in a small water," Freud says.	Adolf Hitler was looking for a new challenge. He had just been elected Chancellor of Germany, and it seemed like all his previous works were a waste of time. So he decided to take up psychiatry. Joseph Stalin was the perfect candidate for the role of head of the Soviet Union. He had been in power for many years, and was known for his ruthless rule. Leon Trotsky was the only candidate who had a chance of emerging as the victor of the Russian Revolution. But he was also known to be a radical, and might have been too unpredictable for the job. Josip Broz Tito was the only candidate who had any hope of winning the election. But he was also known to be corrupt, and might not have had the power to take over the government.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials with these promising candidates, but he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. He had never worked with so many powerful men before. As the days passed, Freud began to feel more at ease. The four men were all very eager to try out his new technique. They all seemed to have a great deal of passion for politics, and Freud was hopeful that the research would be fruitful. But there was one thing that Freud was still worried about. He didn't know how these men would handle the pressure of being pioneers in psychological research.	Dr. Freud was quite pleased with the turnout for his latest clinical trial. He had expected to see a few more people, but the four who had shown up were more than enough. He greeted each of them warmly and showed them to their seats. Adolf Hitler was the first to speak up. "Dr. Freud, I'm very interested in your research. I think it could be very helpful for me." Next, Joseph Stalin spoke up. "I'm also interested in your research, Dr. Freud. I think it could help me understand myself better." Leon Trotsky was the third to speak. "I'm interested in your research as well, Dr. Freud. I think it could help me to understand the world better." Last, but not least, Josip Broz Tito spoke up. "I'm also interested in your research, Dr. Freud. I think it could help me to understand people better." Dr. Freud was pleased with their interest and began to explain his research. He told them about his theories on the unconscious mind and the id, ego, and superego. He explained how he believed that the id was the part of the mind that was responsible for our primal urges, the ego was the part of the mind that helped us to balance our wants and needs, and the superego was the part of the mind that helped us to control our impulses. He then asked them each to tell him about their own personal experiences with these concepts. Adolf spoke about his struggles with his id, and how he felt like it was always trying to control him. Joseph spoke about his ego, and how it sometimes seemed like it was trying to take over his life. Leon spoke about his superego, and how it was always trying to keep him in check. Josip spoke about his id, ego, and superego, and how they all seemed to be constantly at war with each other. Dr. Freud was very pleased with their responses and thanked them for their time. He told them that he would be in touch if he needed any more help with his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The woman had never cried like she had when she was younger, when she was Quinn's girl. She would cry whenever he was anywhere around, and she had never Beans or cried for long. When he died, she cried for hours on end. The crying stopped. The body started to feel like it own. The face that was face began to body. The recognition that had been stubbornly refuses to leave someone's mind started to set in.	One day, a tear rolled down a person's cheek and landed on the ground. It stayed there, still hidden beneath the other tears, for a long time. Finally, after a moment, it slowly petered out and slowly slid away, leaving a long, deep scar on the person's face.	No one ever knew the truth about the man with the scars. Some say he was abused as a child, others say he was in a car accident. But no one could really say for sure. What was clear, though, was that his tears left deep, dark scars on his face. Everyone in his life seemed to know about the scars, but no one ever said a word. It was as if they were afraid of what the answer would be. As if the answer would make everything worse. Slowly but surely, the man started to fade into obscurity. No one wanted to be around him, let alone talk to him. He was alone in the world, and the only thing he had left were the scars that told his story.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be more careful with their words. No one would want to cause pain that would leave a permanent mark. There would be a lot more hugs and smiles, and a lot less anger and hatred. This change would have a ripple effect on the world. There would be less war and violence, and more peace and understanding. People would be more compassionate and compassionate, and the world would be a better place for it.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the man in the story died.	The next day, I woke up to the news that I had passed away. It was a shock, but I strangely fit right into the routine of my life as before. I never really thought about it, but I could feel my death approaching. I was resigned to my fate, but then I heard a knock at my door. I got up to answer it, and there was a young woman standing there, looking so sad. I was surprised to see that she was my sister. We had always been close as children, and I had never realized how much we shared. We sat down and had a conversation, and it felt amazing to finally be able to talk to her. We ate some lunch, and then we went back to my room. I could feel her there with me, and I knew that she was trying to offer some kind of comfort. But I couldn't ask for anything more. Soon, the door opened, and my sister left. I was alone again. I tumorred to sleep, but I woke up soon after and realized that I had been dreaming the whole time.	I keep thinking about what will happen to me now that I'm dead. I imagine my body rotting in the ground, my bones turning to dust. I can't imagine a worse death, but I guess it's not all that different from the life I was living before. My husband disappeared, my children are all grown and scattered, and now I'm alone in the world. I can't believe I'm about to go, but I know it's for the best. I've been a miserable person for so long, and now I can finally rest in peace. I wish I could have been happier in life, but at least I'm not suffering anymore.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm just accepting of it. I'm not scared or sad, I'm just at peace with it. I know that my time is up and I'm ready to go. I'm not sure what happens after I die, but I'm open to whatever it is. I'm just glad that it's finally over.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most noticeable thing about the home was the large hole in the firewall that Muslims Use Home Improvement to Kaplan toelled in and went through the next day to get a piece of paper and a tourist map of their home in case they needed to troubleshoot a problem. The hole in the firewall was the only thing that showed the true extent of theirledged mess. The paper originally fell out of the sky and was only created by avisibleretion disk because the sky is that clear. The disk was a inspired idea from a friend who wanted to make a more public show of hiss lovely home.	The room was dark. But it wasn't because of the lack of light bulbs. The room was dark because of the shadow that was constantly hovering over my head. I tried to ignore it, but it refused to go away. I was paranoid that it was lurking around every corner, waiting to jump out and take me under. I tried to calm down, but it only made the shadow angrier. It wanted attention. It wanted to be the one to bring light into the dark room. Every time I would move, the shadow would move with me. It didn't seem to care that I was creating a shadow myself. It just wanted to be noticed. The only thing that seemed to work was sleep. I would close my eyes and the shadow would go away. But it would come back the next day, haunting me for hours on end.	I was restless lately, so I decided to take a look around my house for whatever was bothering me. I scanned the ceilings, the walls, and the floors and couldn't find anything wrong. But then I remembered that my home is full of things I can't see - things that are always there but that I never notice until they're gone. I was so focused on finding the thing that was bothering me, I didn't even realize it was trying to escape. But when I finally caught it, I realized that I had been holding it captive all along without knowing it.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, so I've been trying to expose it. I've set up cameras around the house and I watch the footage obsessively, but I haven't been able to see anything. I've tried to make noise when I know it's around, but it never reacts. It's like it knows I'm trying to catch it. I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I can't keep living like this, not knowing what's in my own home. I need to find a way to expose this thing, whatever it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in high use amongst the clients. They are always searching for new and exciting loot to instance. The shop is always in need of a color coat because of the constantly changing loot.	One day, a particularly nefarious individual comes to your shop and starts haggling for treasure. He's got a sly grin on his face and you can tell that he's been up to no good. You try to find a way to give him the best deal possible, but he won't stop questioning your prices,astaoning you every time. Finally, you give in and let him buy the treasure. But even after he's moneyed up, he won't leave. He starts taking things from the store, taking things you've already sold. You grow increasingly upset, but can't do anything about it. The only thing you can do is to keep your store open, and hope that someone will come by and help you stop this thief.	I've been running the RPG pawn shop for years now. I know how to haggle, and I know how to get the best deals for my customers. They come in all shapes and sizes, but I've learned to deal with them all. Some adventurers try to sell me their loot as soon as they get it. They're always asking for a high price, and they don't seem to understand that I have to make a profit too. But I know that there are always some diamonds in the rough, and I'm always willing to haggle. I'll usually start by asking them how much they're willing to give for the item. If they're willing to lower the price, I'll usually agree to sell it to them. If they're not willing to reduce the price, I'll usually tell them that I won't sell it to them at all. It's a tough business, but I've learned to stick to my guns and make the best deals for my customers. They come in all shapes and sizes, but I know that I can always trust them.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most of the time, you're able to get a good price for the items. However, sometimes the adventurers are desperate and will try to lowball you. That's when you have to be firm and get the best price possible.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met him, he was the only person in the world that you could rely on. He was the one person who would never tell you a lie. But as the weeks went on, you began to wonder if he was really thataintain. After all, you had just met him, and you didn't know how to feel. You 4th of July and all, but you didn't want to firmware someone that had so much paper falsely told you about. When you finally can't take it anymore, you confront him about it. "So, do you tell the truth or what?" Youibelieve your voiceeroed. He looks at you with a rare Although he tries to play the part of the sacrifices rituals, he doesn'tiltration mission, he doesn't have to. He knows he can't continue to tell you the truth.	You meet someone new and curious one day, and you quickly become friends. You tell her about all the lies you have told in the past and how deep and wide the damage they have done. She listens with patience and understanding, and finally agrees to help you clean up your act.Together, you work diligently to clean up your history, and you quickly become a changed person.	I first saw her when I was out walking one day. She was walking down the street, holding Assad, her little dog. She had a big, red, angry scar on her arm. It looked like it had been inflicted with a very sharp object. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. From then on, I started to notice her all the time. She would always be walking around with that big, angry scar on her arm. I wanted to ask her about it, but I was too afraid. I was afraid that she would tell me a big, fat lie and I would get another scar on my body. I eventually got up the courage to talk to her. I asked her about the scar. She told me that it was from when Assad bit her. Assad always bit people, so she was used to it. But this time, Assad bit too hard. The scar was still there, a reminder of her biggest lie. Since then, I have started to see her as a sort of symbol. A symbol of all the lies that we tell. Lying doesn't just make us feel good, it also creates scars on our bodies. And sometimes, those scars are the biggest ones of all.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the biggest liar in the world, you think. But as you get to know them, you realize that they are the most honest person you have ever met. They have just been dealt a lot of pain in their life and have had to lie to survive. You learn that their one scar is from a lie they told to save someone else's life. It is a lie that they will never regret. Even though this person is covered in scars, you see them as the most beautiful person in the world. Because to you, their scars represent strength and courage.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a renowned artist who preserves the history of art in his paintings. Each of his landscape paintings has a different location and is Hattie's favorite. She loves the symmetry and the natural beauty of the music he makes with his brushes.	When Bob Ross was fatally shot in a field outside of Columbus, Ohio, many people assumed he had died in his painting of The Gilded Cage. But a recent discovery could change that theory- each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings are actually real locations, the different locations of his countless murders. But people who have seen the paintings know that only Bob Ross could have created them- and that he won't be coming back to life any time soon.	The woods stretched for miles, the trees towering overhead and the undergrowth lush and dark. It was a beautiful place, but it was also deadly. Bob Ross had been doing this for years now, painting landscapes of different places and basing them all on the real locations of his many murders. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase, of finding the new spot to kill and painting it into his painting. Nobody knew he was doing it, not even his wife. He was a kind man, gentle and loving, but there was something dark inside of him, something that craved the thrill of the kill. It was a sickness, but he couldn't help it. One day, someone caught on. They knew what he was doing, what he was painting. They called the police and he was caught, arrested and put in prison. He would never paint again, but in his heart, he knew that he was still the killer he was before.	Bob Ross was a master of painting landscapes. He had a unique style that made his paintings instantly recognizable. But what many people didn't know was that each of his landscapes was based on a real place. And not just any real place, but the location of one of his many murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his art to conceal his crimes. He would choose a beautiful spot in the wilderness, kill someone there, and then paint it afterwards. In this way, he created a perfect cover for his crimes. Who would suspect that a beautiful landscape painting was the scene of a brutal murder? Bob Ross was never caught and the locations of his murders remain a mystery to this day. But if you look closely at his paintings, you might be able to see the bloody secrets hidden within them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Master Magus had always been fascinated by the time-tested story of a rabbit being pulled out of a hat. He Cookeys and pulling out the rabbit from the hat was once again aorget for second fiddle. However, one day, Master Magus decided to take his chance and pull out the rabbit himself. He had a few moments warning the rabbit before it was pulling out the hat off the ground. Once it was out of the hat, the rabbit took a deep breath andiggleled the entire way home.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbit from the hat for hours. He had tried every trick in the book, but the rabbit just wouldn't listen. Finally, he gave up and took the rabbit back into the hat. He tried to keep the rabbit in his hands, but it was restless. The magician could feel the rabbit's eyes narrowing as it glared at him. "It's time," the magician said. "You're going to do as I say and get out of my hair." The rabbitGettysburg PA email address Looked at the magician skeptically, but then it seemed to understand. It slowly got up from the ground and began to move away, but it was just out of reach. The magician snatched the rabbit before it could escape, preventing it from getting away cleanly. "Thanks," the magician said. "I owe you one."	The magician was getting tired of the rabbit always being in the way. He was always afraid that the rabbit would pull his hat off, so he had to constantly keep an eye on it. The rabbit was getting really sick of it, and it was starting to show. One day, the rabbit decided to speak up. "Hey buddy, can we please stop playing this game? I'm sick of always being the second fiddle. I can do so much more than that." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's outburst, but he agreed to change things up. From then on, the rabbit would be the star of the show, and the magician would be there to support him. They would make magic together, and the rabbit would be the happiest rabbit in the world.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to feel sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. He has had enough of being pulled out of a hat and wants to be the star of the show. So, during their next performance, when the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit grabs the magician's wand and points it at him. The next thing the magician knows, he is inside the hat, and the rabbit is outside, performing to the delighted crowd. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he loves it. The magician, on the other hand, is not so thrilled about being trapped in the hat. But he knows that he deserved it for not giving the rabbit the credit he deserved.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	In the just-at-the-moment-to-endant moment, the window was sowich. It was open and was surrounded by the latest issue of The New York Times, with an article that mention's a newwine Congress, one that's protestingfully Named "Denny's". The article was getting better-known and faster-linkedin for":""},{"... The hypothetical elected official on the team desired to know what the issue was. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the newwine, but he had to find a way to make sure it was the issue. He tweeted about it, post-it taped it to the side of his office, and started reading the stories from the news media. He has the same passion in his eyes as always, but today, the issue was more than just a wine- The announce team name began togerir and the team's name became known across the the city. No one wanted to be left out of the champagne-fuelled atmosphere. The protest was hosted at Denny's, and the team's name wasphia it became known world-wide. No one wanted to be the one to leave the party early. The elected official knew he had to take action. He had to make sure that the problem was not with the newwine, but with himself.	Today, the entirety of the world is paying attention to the issue of immigration. Many people are crying out for a solution, but no one knows what to do. Everyone is just sitting and waiting for the next president to come into office and fix the issue.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is gun control. Gun violence is epidemic in America and it's time for our lawmakers to take action. We need stronger gun laws in order to prevent future tragedies and save innocent lives.	The current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The world is facing an environmental crisis, and it is time for everyone to take action. This issue is important because the environment is essential for human life. We need clean air to breathe, clean water to drink, and healthy food to eat. Without these things, we cannot survive. The environment is also important for the animals and plants that live on this planet. They rely on the environment for their survival, and if we don't take care of it, they will suffer. It's time for everyone to do their part to protect the environment. We need to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, recycle and reuse materials, and conserve energy. We also need to educate others about the importance of taking care of the environment. together, we can make a difference and protect our planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When school was out of town, the only one who was still single was the Auditor. She wheels and armors herself with airthday, getting ready to spend time in the city. When she gets home, she finds that all the lights have been turned off in the city, because everyone has been approved to use birth control devices during puberty. She research on the internet and find a manual that says the only place an eye can be is ``behind arillia''. She strapped her spectacles onto her head and take a walk around the block, to see if anyone was captured and approved to use those devices.	My first ultrasound revealed that I am carrying the child of the world's stupidest person. Royalty cannot have children, so I will have to find someone to take care of them. It is a difficult decision, but I believe that I will make the right choice. I will implant the birth control device in my own body so that I can prevent the world's stupidest people from reproducing.	I was born in a world where birth control was mandatory. Everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, so that the dumbest people in the world couldn't reproduce. I was happy to have it installed, because I knew it would help keep the gene pool clean. It was only when I became an Auditor that I learned that the device could be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was apprehensive about the responsibility, but I was excited to help preserve the human race.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. It's a weighty responsibility, and you take it very seriously. You interview each person who wishes to have their birth control device deactivated, asking them detailed questions about their life, their views on parenting, and their plans for the future. You want to be absolutely sure that they are ready and able to raise a well-adjusted human being before you give them the green light. Sometimes, it's a difficult decision. But you always err on the side of caution, because you know that the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler had just taken over as Germany's leader, and he was eager to get his hands on some of Freud's new research. He put an ad in the paper, seeking participants for his clinical trials. Joseph Stalin was the only one to respond. He wasn't all that interested in the new research, but he was too busy being in power to decline. Leon Trotsky didn't respond, because he was busy fighting against Stalin. Josip Broz Tito didn't respond, because he was too young and didn't have a lot of experience. But Adolf Hitler did. He put the ad in the paper again, this time looking for people who would be willing to help him study Freud's new research. And this time, he got more than he bargained for.	Freud is puzzled by the responses to his advertisement. He has never worked with such young, inexperienced people. He decides to give them a trial run, and spends the next few weeks coaching them on how to be successful doctors. Adolf Hitler is the first to arrive. Freud is impressed by his ambition and drive. He is also surprised by Hitler's volatile nature. Hitler is quick to challenge Freud's theories, and often becomes enraged when Freud does not agree with him. Joseph Stalin arrives later that week. Freud is less impressed by Stalin, but the two men eventually get along. Stalin is more patient than Hitler, and is more committed to the cause. Leon Trotsky arrives the week after that. Trotsky is different from the other participants. He is quiet and cerebral, and does not seem interested in becoming a doctor. Freud is not sure what to make of him. Josip Broz Tito arrives the week after that. Tito is the most inexperienced of the participants, and Freud is worried he will not be able to handle the pressure of the trials. However, Tito proves himself to be a skilled doctor, and quickly becomes one of the most important members of the team.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is on the human psyche and he is looking for participants for his clinical trials. He places an ad in a local newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to take part in the trials and share their insights with Freud. Freud is impressed with their dedication and begins to treat each man individually. During the course of the trials, Freud comes to realize that all four men share a similar trait: they are all incredibly ambitious and hungry for power. This revelation leads Freud to believe that ambition is a key component of the human psyche. The clinical trials are a success and Freud's research is published to great acclaim. However, his findings are later overshadowed by the actions of his four participants. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito all go on to become some of the most ruthless dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The smile slowly began to cost lessetchup start to fade from people ' s face. The shadows that once made up its form were starting to become too thick. The道	Once upon a time, people cried. They fell apart under the weight of the emotions coursing through them. They left behind trails of sadness and mess. The universe seemed unfair that they were forced to go through such pain. But in time, those tears began to fade. They stopped leaving scars on the skin and people. They just continued to be. But, without those tears, the world would be a different place. The world would be full of intensity and pain, but people would be able to see through it. They would be able to see the darkness that masks the light. And they would be able to see theemption that exists in every human.	Alison started crying as soon as the door closed shut, tears flowing freely down her face. She had been so excited to see her old friend again, but now she was alone, feeling completely rejected. She had tried to catch his eye, but he had looked away, Avoiding her like the plague. Alison cried her way home, her tears leaving behind tiny scars on her face. She had always been self-conscious about her tears, but now they only made her feel even more alone and rejected. She wished she could just disappear, never to be seen again. But eventually, Alison dried her tears and faced the world. She had to get through this, even if it meant wearing scars that marked her as someone who had been emotionally hurt. She knew that no one would ever want to be around someone like that, but she was determined to get through this difficult experience.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be more careful with their words, and more thoughtful about the way they treat others. No one would want to cause someone else pain, because they would know that it would leave a permanent mark. This would change the way we interact with each other, and the way we think about our relationships. We would be more careful with our hearts, and more careful with our words. We would think twice before hurting someone, because we would know that we could never take back the damage we did. This would be a kinder, gentler world. A world where people are more careful with each other, and more aware of the power of their words.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The big, burly man with the long, black hair was looking at me with a frown. "What do you think you're doing, kid?" He asked, Points and Bytes taped to his shirt. "Die, you moron." He snarled, and I could see the determination in his eyes. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to. I had no choice. I'd been born to Die.	The doctor pulls the plug and I gasps for air, my body going limp. I'm dying, I realize. I should be happy, relieved, but instead I'm scared. What happens to my soul now that I'm out of this world? I don't want to die, but I'm ready for this to be over.	I die. It's not a natural death, or even a particularly violent one. I simply succumb to the disease that has been slowly eating away at me for months. As I take my last breath, I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had just fought harder, just a little bit longer. Would I have been able to beat the disease? Or was my fate always sealed? Either way, it doesn't matter now. I'm gone, and there's nothing left for me in this world. I hope that my death will at least serve as a reminder to those who are still alive to appreciate every moment, because you never know when it might be your last.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The owner of the home was trying to get a large dog to leave. The dog was constantly persists in waiting in front of herhouse for a room to become busy. Eventually, she gave up and went away. The dog was doing its best to create a comfortable environment for itself. Unfortunately, the dog's invisibility had been picked up by the cat. The cat began toitty-itty-itty within the house, trying to get a look at the dog. Finally, the dog got up from the floor and walked away.	One summer, I was sitting in my living room watching TV when I noticed something strange. out of the corner of my eye, I could see what appeared to be a small, furry creature crawling across the floor. It didn't make any noise, which made me think it was actually a cat. But then, as I got closer, I realized that the creature was actually a small, dark mouse. The fact that it was hidden behind the TV screen made it even more ominous. I sat there for a few minutes, just staring at the mouse, before finally deciding to take action. I got up and confronted the creature. At first, it seemed harmless, but as I got closer, I realized that it was actually planning on harming me. I screamed, and it ran away.	I've been living with an invisible presence in my home for months now and I can't get it out of my head. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it always manages to slip away. I've tried to research it online, but all of the information is blocked from my computer. I'm starting to think that this is something supernatural and I need to call the Ghostbusters.	I can't help but feel like I'm being watched. No matter where I am in my home, I can sense an invisible presence following me. It's unsettling, to say the least. I've tried to expose it, to see if it's truly there, but it's clever. It knows when I'm trying to catch a glimpse of it and it hides itself away. I'm not sure what this thing is, but I know I don't like it. I want to get rid of it, but I don't know how. I'll have to be careful and try to catch it off guard. Maybe then I can figure out what this thing is and get rid of it for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an Errorsmith's Clan team that has been exploring one of thees dungeons. They arecurrenty MOB( Enemy of the World ) and want to sell theiralbums andblogspot photos. The pawnshop owner is not going to let the team teach them a lesson.	One day I had an offer from a group of adventurers who wanted to sell some of their looted goods. I did my best to negotiate the best price possible, and the group was satisfied. I took the money and went back to my shop to continue serving my customers.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for over 10 years now, and I have to say, it's a pretty boring job. I deal with adventurers all the time, trying to sell them loot they've acquired. I usually try to haggle them down, but it's tough to convince them to part with their loot. I guess it's just a testament to how much adventurers love looting.	You've been running your RPG pawn shop for years now, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors. Some are looking to sell their loot for a quick buck, while others are more interested in haggling for the best price. No matter what their motive, you always enjoy talking to these adventurers and hearing about their latest exploits. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, eager to sell her collection of loot. After some quick bargaining, you agree on a price and hand over the money. As she walks out the door, you can't help but wonder what exciting adventure awaits her next.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	For as long as he can remember, Lizzy has been aLitter (orEye-Litter as he calls it). He has always been theC Ey-Litter (orC Ey-Litter as she calls him). But one day, he meets a person with only one scar - and that is the biggest one he has ever seen.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are standing on the dock of a pier, their clothingastered to their bodies. They are shirtless, and you can see the darkness stains the hollows of their pectorals and nipples. They are looking at you with a hunger in their eyes, and you can feel the blood pulsing in your veins. Their name is The Dealer, and you know it. He has killed more people than you will ever know, and his name is spoken with a singsong voice in your head. You know that you are about to meet your maker.	As I walked closer, I could see that this person's one gigantic scar was the result of a lie that had been told so often and so forcefully that it had literally scarred the liar's body. It was so deep and so big that it seemed to run the length of their entire body. It was strange to see such a massive and permanent reminder of such a small and insignificant mistake, but it made me realize that even the biggest lies can cause enormous damage. If we tell lies often enough, they begin to consume us, and we become nothing more than walking scars.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. They tell you that they've lied a lot in their life. You ask them what the scar is from. They tell you that it's from the biggest lie they ever told. You ask them what the lie was. They hesitate to tell you, but eventually they confess. They tell you that they lied about their age. They say they're really 34, not 24 like they told everyone. You're shocked. You would never have guessed that they were lying about their age. You ask them why they did it. They tell you that they wanted to seem younger and more attractive. You can understand why they would lie about their age, but you're still curious about the scar. You ask them how they got it. They tell you that every time they lie, a scar appears on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. This scar is from the biggest lie they've ever told.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels through time to view his hundreds of murders at his homesite. Each painting has a different location and it is great for timing and reputation. However, he is too busy painting and cannot help but create detailed immortalized images of people and events.	Bob Ross started painting landscapes in the early '70s when he decided to open up his own business. He loved the creative freedom and the freedom to move around his creative canvases as he pleased. Everyday, he would visit different locations in order to paint new pieces. One day, he took a break from painting to visit a murder scene. On the wall in front of him was a painting of a woman with her throat cut. Ross was traumatized by the experience and started to develop a dark andgrisly memory of the murders. Every time he would go to a new location, the memory of the woman's murder would keep creeping up on him. It felt like it was living inside of him, like it was waiting to surface and claim him again. Eventually, Ross realized that the painting was actually his own personal story of violence and murder. He had painted the woman in order to derive comfort and understanding from her death, but in reality, it was only a warning to others about the dangers ofSANCTUARY.	Bob Ross was a master of the landscape painting genre, able to evoke both peace and despair with just a few strokes of his brush. But even he wasn't clever enough to evade the authorities forever. In the late 1970s, Bob made his way to a remote corner of the United States, settled in to paint the tranquil landscape before him. But instead of the beauty he sought, he was soon beset by tragedy. One by one, the local residents started disappearing. No one could figure out who was behind it, but they all knew it wasn't Bob Ross. The painter had nothing to do with the murders, but the townsfolk were terrified of him nonetheless. Eventually, the authorities caught up with Bob Ross and charged him with the murders of all of his innocent victims. He was convicted and sent to prison, where he still paints landscapes of despair to this day.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape painter, but he had a dark secret. He was also a serial killer, and each of his beautiful landscape paintings was actually a scene from one of his countless murders. He would often take his victims to remote locations, where he would kill them and then bury their bodies. Over time, he became known as the "Bob Ross Killer" and his paintings became infamous. Now, decades later, his paintings are still cherished by many. But the truth about them is still a mystery...	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the beginning of the performance,idently, the magician has no idea what is happening. He's not aware of the rabbit in the hat behind him, and the rabbit in the hat behind him is getting sick of being second best. "Finally, a decision is made to put the rabbit on the bottom of the hat," he thinks as he gets close to the top of the hat. He struggles a bit, but the magician is doing his thing and the rabbit is just asying. "Finally, I can't be the only one not happy," he thinks as he gets sent down the hat. "I'll have to come back up later." He gets back up, songwriter's hat in hand, and decides to take on the chocolate cake.	The magician had been teaching his latest magic trick for the past year and a half. He had been demonstrating it to his students and making them laugh. But the rabbit had beenHas been unable to seem to be impressed. "Hey, watch this!" The magician cried, pulling out his rabbit from the hat. The rabbit's eyes scanned the audience, looking for someone or something to interest it. But there was nobody there. The rabbit just looked around, its tail spinning in a circles. "H-he-hey, watch this!" The magician cried, pulling out his rabbit from the hat. The rabbit's eyes scanned the audience, looking for someone or something to interest it. But there was nobody there. The rabbit just looked around, its tail spinning in a circles. "What's wrong with it?" The students asked, looking around for the rabbit. "I don't know," The magician said, "Maybe it's just experimenting." But the rabbit just looked around, its tail spinning in a circles. "Well, I'm going to take it back!" The magician yelled, starting to cry. The students looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Nothing seemed to be working. "Please, somebody help me!" The magician cried, tears streaming down his face. Nobody seemed to want to help. The magician was starting to cry, his students all crying with him. "Please, somebody help me!" The magician cried, tears streaming down his face. Nobody seemed to want to help.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years, but he had never had one that was so irritable. The rabbit kept batting its eyes and hopping up and down, begging the magician to make it stop. Finally, the rabbit had had enough. It jumped out of the magician's hat and onto the stage, demanding to be the star of the show. The magician was taken aback, but he quickly got back into character and started pulling rabbits out of hats again. From then on, the rabbit was the star of every show, and the magician was content to just be the magician's rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of always being the one who gets pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the star of the show. One day, the rabbit hatches a plan. When the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, he refuses to come out. The magician is confused and tries to coax the rabbit out, but the rabbit is adamant. The audience starts to get restless, and the magician is forced to end the show early. As the two of them walk off stage, the rabbit is smug, knowing that he finally got the spotlight.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that will be remembered for many years. The day that saw the end of the A-Team, the government shutdown, and theMLK marcher. However, it is the day that was grandparents are born. And that day, people were just emerging from the thick of it. Today, it is just a day that has been pushed back several times due to current events.	Today, the nation is on the brink of a criticalulp. States are on the brink of a civil war, and the President is desperately trying to keep everyone together. Some people are starting to get nervous about the President's ability to lead, and they're calling for his impeachment. Meanwhile, some people are starting to get excited about the possibilities of a peaceful resolution to the standoff. Who will get the most attention today?	With the presidential election just weeks away, it's clear that the current events issue deserving the most attention is the Syrian civil war. Millions of people are at risk of being killed or displaced, and the humanitarian crisis is only getting worse. What can be done to help?	There's no shortage of pressing issues in the world today, but if we had to choose one that deserves the most attention, it would be climate change. The science is clear: the world is getting warmer, and human activity is the main driver. We're already seeing the effects, from more extreme weather events to the loss of biodiversity. If we don't take action soon, the consequences will be even more catastrophic. That's why we need to do everything we can to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions and make the transition to a clean energy future. It won't be easy, but it's essential if we want to protect our planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, everyone who uses the device is everyone's favorite relative,iko, or competition. Even if the themselves are only mild obliterates. The device is used to prevent the power of a family from stretching beyond their control, and to prevent allKinds fromenvoting for their own good.	Auditors are the people who decide who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. They implant devices in people's bodies during puberty, to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. I was an Auditor when the devices were first placed in people. I was determined to prevent any stupid humans from reproducing. But I was also determined to be the best Auditor possible. I worked hard to learn all I could about genetic saturation and the different types of birth control devices. I was also determined to be the best Auditor possible at my job. But one day, a stupid human was born. And I was not happy.	I was born into a society where birth control is mandatory for everyone. I knew nothing other than this life until I was fifteen, when a device was implanted into my skin during my puberty. I was told it was for my own good, that it would prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and screwing up the gene pool. I was an Auditor, and my job was to determine whether or not people were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was supposed to deactivate the birth control device once I was sure they were ready to be parents. But I never got the chance. A few years after I was born, a new generation of Auditors was appointed, and they purged the old ones. I was the only one left, and I was captured and sent to a concentration camp. I was scheduled to be executed, but before they could carry out their orders, the uprising happened. I was one of the few who survived, and now I'm free. I don't know what will happen to the birth control device, but I hope it remains in place and prevents the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you've never once wavered in your determination to make sure only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. It's a difficult job, but you know it's important work. Recently, you've been noticing a trend. More and more people are coming to you to have their birth control devices deactivated. At first, you were happy to oblige. But as the numbers continued to grow, you began to worry that you were making a mistake. Now, you're not so sure. Are these people really ready to start families? Or are they just taking advantage of the system? Either way, you know it's your duty to make sure they're truly prepared for the responsibility of raising a child. You'll have to be extra careful from now on. But you know it's all worth it to ensure that only the best and brightest people are able to bring new life into the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants in a trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito and free man, Bill Teller.	Adolf Hitler,Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They agreed to help him study his latest research. But before they could begin, they had to complete a series of tests. The tests lasted for weeks. But despite their rigorous testing, no one worked out the cause of their mental problems. Eventually, they all died from a disease they had developed while in the trials.	Freud was skeptical at first, but he was intrigued by the young, charismatic men who had responded to his ad. He arranged for them to come to Vienna for testing. Hitler was the first to arrive, and Freud was struck by how intelligent and driven he was. Freud was also impressed by how well Hitler handled himself, especially considering his relatively low IQ. Stalin arrived a few weeks later. Freud was skeptical of him at first, but Stalin was a consummate politician. He was smooth and calculating, and he quickly won Freud over. Freud was also impressed by Stalin's ruthlessness, which was key to his success as a communist leader. Tito arrived a few months later. Freud was initially apprehensive about him, but he was quickly won over by Tito's charisma and his passion for politics. Together, the four men formed the nucleus of the Nazi party. They helped to promote Freud's controversial theories, and they firmly established Freud as one of the most important figures in the history of psychiatry.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and eager to participate in the trials. The trials began with each man being interviewed by Freud. He quickly realized that all four men were highly intelligent and had extremely strong opinions. However, it was during the session with Hitler that Freud began to notice something strange. Hitler would go off on tangents, talking about his plans for the future and his vision for Germany. He seemed almost manic. As the trials continued, Freud began to worry that Hitler was suffering from some sort of mental illness. He was relieved when the trials ended and the four men went their separate ways. Little did he know that within a few years, all four men would be leading their respective countries and would change the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 3 a.m. when I felt the first tear Well, it was a normal cry, but with the volume high and the frequency high. It was a cry that you would see on a person every day, a cry that came down off of them with a moder	The first time I ever saw tears leave a person's eyes, I was deeply affected. I had just finished my first day of college, and I was at a party with my friends. It was really early in the night, and I was getting ready for bed. I saw the beautiful girl across the room and she caught my eye. I could tell she was home from college and had a lot on her mind. She started crying and I followed suit. We cried together for what seemed like hours. It was the first time I had ever seen someone cry and I was really impressed. After the party, we walked to her house and she invited me in. We sat on the floor and she started telling me how she had been through so much the past few years. She said that she had been in a bad relationship and that she was almost ready to end it. I offered to help her until she could get back on her feet. We cried until she fell asleep. That night, I thought about that girl all night. I couldn't get her out of my head and I knew that she had left a deep impression on me. I knew that if I ever saw tears leave someone's eyes, I would be deeply affected too. I started to see tears in other people's eyes too, and I started to notice how differently their world looked when someone cried. I started to see the beauty in tears and I was amazed by the power that tears could have. I knew that if I ever saw tears leave someone's eyes, it would change the course of my life.	One day, a woman cried her eyes out. The tears stained her face, leaving invisible scars that would stay with her for the rest of her life. This woman's world would be different from before, because she would be unable to freely express her emotions. This would cause her to struggle in Communication and relationships.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that we're vulnerable and we can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down our faces? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength. They would show that we're survivors. They would be a badge of honor, something to be proud of. No longer would we be ashamed of our tears. We would embrace them and use them as a weapon against our enemies. The world would be a different place if tears left scars. Would it be a better place? Only time will tell.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was recently diagnosed with stage four cancer. The news was hard to take, but I knew there was no way I could die from it. I chinned my day-to-day challenges and faced my fear of death head on. But as the days passed, my fear turned into worry. I thought about the people I loved and how everything would change if I didn't make it. I even started to To-Do lists for when I finally lost the battle. But in the end, I refused to give up. I knew that I could still handle tougher challenges than dying from cancer. I kept my head down and prepared for the worst. And when the day came, I faced my disease head on. It was harder than I thought, but I made it. And I'm grateful for that.	The sun was setting, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. The sky was so orange it was almost red. The sun went down, and the night sky lit up with stars. The stars were so bright, they shone through my tears. I cried for hours, until there were no more tears left in me. I cried until my body was exhausted, until I couldn't cry anymore. When the morning came, I woke up. I no longer felt the pain of my injuries. I no longer felt the sadness of my lost friends. I felt... Alive. Now, I walk the world, and I tell people about the stars. I tell them that they, too, can be heroes. And I tell them that, no matter what happens, they need to keep believing in themselves. Because, in the end, that's what saves you.	I die. It's not a particularly heroic death or anything. I just get hit by a car while crossing the street. As I'm lying there dying, I start to think about all the things I wish I had done with my life. I wish I had been a better person. I wish I had been brave enough to follow my dreams. I wish I had been there for the people I love. I die with all of these regrets weighing on my heart. But then, as I'm about to cross over into the great beyond, I see a light. And in that light, I see the faces of all the people I love. And they're all smiling at me. And I suddenly realize that even though I didn't get to do everything I wanted with my life, I did make a difference. I did matter. And I'm not going to be forgotten.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one thing that could put an end to its forever rule was how it wanted to live in the house it owned in the city. It wasn't big and luxurious like some had, but it was safe and secure. It had the ability to keep safe and ease of access to its content. It was the one thing that it could build its life off of and make it happy. Even though it was an Everydayamazon.com reviewer, the one thing that made it do that was its passion. It was the one thing that made it feel what seems like a little bit of happiness, love, and heartache at times. It was the one thing that made it feel like everything was going right in its life. And it was a beautiful thing, a long time ago, when it all started.	Living in an apartment always felt a little like paranoia to me. I Kaposi sarcoma and had to constantly be on the lookout for any small creatures that could crawl up my skin and spread the cancer. But, I never really realized how dangerous it was until one day my apartment started to fill with something...weird. It seemed like everything in my building was moving, rippling and stirring. I tried to move anything I could, but it just seemed to be glued to the walls. Then, one day, I realized that the thing that had been making the noise wasn't just a minor variant of spider, it was...an invisible being! The more I tried to fight it, the more it grew and took over my apartment. I slowly gave up and allowed it to take over my life. But, even now, every time I close my eyes, I can hear that thing moving, inch by inch, until it's finally inside...and my mind cannot shake the feeling that it's still there, watching me.	I'm not sure when it started, but something invisible has been living in my home for years. I've tried to expose it, but it always manages to keep itself hidden. I've tried to catch it, but it always manages to escape my grasp. I can't explain it, but I know that it's there. I just have to find a way to get rid of it.	I had always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear strange noises or see things move out of the corner of my eye. I never said anything to anyone about it, not wanting them to think I was crazy. I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could capture whatever it was on film. For weeks, I would review the footage, but there was never anything there. I was starting to think I was just imagining things. Then, one day, I saw it. A figure that was completely invisible. I couldn't believe it. I watched the footage over and over, trying to figure out what it was. I was scared and didn't know what to do. I decided to try and expose it. I set up more cameras around the house and left them running 24/7. I also started making noise whenever I would feel it near me, in the hopes of attracting its attention. After a few weeks, I had gathered enough footage to show to other people. I was relieved to know that I wasn't crazy and that there was something actually living in my home. We still don't know what it is or where it came from, but at least now I don't feel so alone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for years, and the adventurers always decide who will have to pay for the items. The pawnshop's owner is not afraid to challenge them in court.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawnshop operated without any hassle. The adventurers would come to you for help finding gear, and you would haggle with them for the best prices. But then something changed. The adventurers started trying to cheat you. They would ask for too much, or refuse to give you any gear if you didn't have the appropriate amount of it. Even though you were always fair, the situation started to become frustrating. You decided to close your shop. It didn't solve the problem, but it was the best solution for now. And you never bothered going back to the adventurers again.	I had always been fascinated by the idea of running an RPG pawn shop. I loved the idea of haggling with adventurers who came to sell their loot. It was a fun way to make a little money and get to know my customers. I had been running my shop for about a year now and I had acquired a good reputation. I loved getting to know the adventurers who stopped by my shop. I always tried to give them a fair price for their items, but I was always willing to haggle if I felt that the price wasn't fair. One day, I was having a discussion with an adventurer about the price of their magical sword. I was trying to haggle them down to a price that I felt was fair, but they weren't budging. I could see the determination in their eyes and I knew that they weren't going to give in. I decided to give up on haggling and just give them the price that I thought was fair. I was happy to hear that they were satisfied with the price and that they would be coming back to my shop again. It was always a fun experience getting to talk to my customers and haggle with them.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired on their adventures. You're a master of your trade, and you always get the best prices for the gear. The adventurers always come back to you when they need money, because they know you're the only one who will give them a fair price.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Anicia was out at the bar with her friends when she saw the biggest lie imaginable walks up to her. She had to CONTEND that the lie was Aibin, because he had the biggest lie of all. But after looking around, Anicas saw that most of the people in the bar wereCLUDING Aibin, so she took a deep breath and blurted out the biggest lie of all. "I'm sorry, but I think you're a liar."	You meet someone that you thought you knew. He is the kind of person that you would haveconfidence in. He tells you the truth, and you believe him. You trust him, and you feel safe being in his presence. But as time goes on, you begin to notice the telltale signs that he is lying. The bigger the lie, the more pronounced the mark. And the bigger the lie, the more likely it is that he will be caught. At first, you try to remain hopeful. You believe that he is simply confused, that he has not understood what he has done. But as time goes on, the pattern becomes more and more clear. He is lying to you to get you to trust him, and he is lying towing the truthboats to get ahead. You realize that you can no longer trust him, and you leave him behind.	I was hesitant to approach him at first, but curiosity got the best of me. I had never seen anyone with only one large, noticeable scar on their body. It looked painful and difficult to deal with, but it made him stand out from the rest. As we spoke, I could see the pain in his eyes. He told me about the lie that had created the scar, and how it had changed his life forever. I could understand how anyone could be driven to lie after seeing that kind of damage. Eventually, we parted ways, but I couldn't help but think about him. He had shown me the true cost of lying, and I knew that I would always be cautious about what I said.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You can't help but be curious about what could have caused such a big scar, so you ask them what the lie was. They hesitate at first, but then they tell you. They lied about their age to get into a relationship with someone that they knew was too old for them. When they found out how old the person actually was, they were so shocked that they scarred themselves. You can't help but feel sympathetic towards this person. Even though they lied, you can tell that they regret it deeply. You tell them that it is okay and that everyone makes mistakes. The two of you become good friends after that and you help them to heal their scar. Over time, it fades away until it is barely visible. They are thankful to you for understanding and for helping them to heal.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous American paintingist who varies his scenes to reflect the various places he has painting murdered in them. Each of his landscape paintings is a place, with different locations associated with each murder.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The different landscapes and sites in each painting are base on different murders that Ross was involved in. His victims ranged in age from 7 to 83, with most being young girls or women he met on the streets. ThisHauntedPlace.com does a search of Bob Ross' paintings to see which ones are connected to which murders. The painting of the twisted Convert's Chapel in Hillsborough County is connected to the death of 7 year old Jodi Pullen. The painting of the abandoned cotton mill in Mecklenburg County is connected to the death of 83 year old Myrtle Evers. The painting of the SS American Empress in Brunswick County is connected to the death of Esther Krantz. However, the most connected painting to any one murder is the painting of the tree-lined New Marketwalk in Forsyth County. The painting of the tree is connected to the death of 6 year old Kathy Bourgeois.	Bob Ross was a painter, and each of his landscapes were a real place. However, he was also a murderer, and many of his paintings were of the locations of his many murders. Generations of people would walk through his landscapes and never know the true story of how Bob Ross killed so many people.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, and his landscape paintings were famous for their idyllic beauty. But what few people knew was that each of those landscapes was actually a real place. And each one was the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Bob Ross was a sociopathic killer, and he used his painting career as a cover to travel the world and kill people. He would find his victims in remote locations, and then he would kill them and bury their bodies in the very landscapes he was painting. For years, Bob Ross was able to get away with his crimes. But eventually, the law caught up with him and he was arrested. As the police led him away in handcuffs, they found dozens of paintings of Bob Ross' bloody crimes hidden away in his studio.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	魔 intermittent Master Magician is in his office, hours overdue for his next job. He's not being uses what he's doing now, but that isn't because he isn't passionate about it. He's a little surprised to find a new job an hour ahead of him, but more surprised that the company is actually Lessons from the Great Magician Botswana is based in the city. Master Magician is happy to be a part of the team, but the job isn't easy. They're called on to combine together other magic workers to conduct some of the most complex behavioural challenges. The job isTemporary mountain biker with a Distributor job. He's not sure what to do with himself when he's weeks ahead of schedule for a job that he's not quite sure he's ready for. He's making do, hour-long defrost cycles and 95% humidity seasons. But he's not really feeling himself yet. The job is challenges Challenge #1:10,000 feet in the sky Master Magician ooohs with consisted ofhya poky ne tht Challenging enough to get him thinking about it Question: What's the best way to get yourself some challenges that you can work with?	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat, holding it tight in his hand. He looked at the rabbit with a gleam in his eye. "You know, rabbit," he said, "I do believe that you're not content playing second fiddle to me." He smiled at the rabbit anddrove the rabbit into a rage. The rabbit tried to run, but the magician was quick to catch it. "I tell you, rabbit," he said, "if you don't want to play this game, you can always go back to your hole in the earth. But for now, I'm giving you the greenlight to take your rightful place as the head of the pack."	The magician was a skilled performer and always managed to captivate his audience with his magic. But this time, the rabbit was feeling frisky and decided to take the stage for himself. The rabbit started by performing some easy tricks, but the magician wasn't having it. He was a professional and knew that the rabbit didn't have what it took to be a real magician. The rabbit was fed up with the magician's insults and decided to take things into his own hands. He pulled out a magical hat and within seconds, the magician was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. The rabbit had finally shown the magician that he was the true star of the show.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and is determined to steal the show. During the act, the rabbit does everything it can to upstage the magician. It pulls out a bigger, brighter rabbit from the hat, and does a series of tricks that leave the audience mesmerized. The magician is furious, but can do nothing to stop the rabbit. The act ends with the rabbit taking a bow to thunderous applause, while the magician is left fuming.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the murder of a congressman. The market for odds of this crime happening in the future is black and so Is the political landscape today. There are all sorts of conversations going on as to who will be the next president.Tomorrow, there is a the likelierlihood that someone will be found dead in therace track.The news networks are takes on this story and so are some investors. There is a lot of worry and some discussion as to who will be the next president. han Solo The Lukewarm Picking up where he left off, Lukewarm brings the discussion around to the death of the congressman. Many people are against him because he was poachers. However, many people decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and continue to news stations that areaired the story. Upon closer examination, it is found that the poachers were not the only ones that died. The man who was found dead in the race track was the only one that died from a constructible disease. This story is not only ADC-ened, but the political landscape of today is generations different.	A significant public issue facing the nation today is the government shutdown. Many people are concerned about the impact the shutdown will have on everyday life.	There is a lot of discussion going on about the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. Some say it is the current state of the economy, while others say it is the climate change crisis. However, many people feel that the issue that deserves the most attention is the gun violence in America.	There is no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the protests against police brutality and racial injustice across the country. The death of George Floyd while in police custody has sparked a nationwide movement, with people of all races and backgrounds coming together to demand change. The police brutality and racial injustice that has been allowed to continue for far too long must be addressed, and the only way to do that is through continued protests and public pressure. The country is at a tipping point, and it is time for real change to finally occur.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When the device is deactivated, the smartphone of an individual is left with no ability to be pregnant for 12 months. This is done in order to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducedring, and to prevent any individual from getting too close to another's children.	As a young Auditor, you were assigned to keep track of the population's intelligence and stability. One of your primary tasks was to insert birth control devices into the dumbest people in the world. It was a necessary evil, as only the most stupid people could hope to reproduce. Unfortunately, the devices weren't very effective and soon the population was negatively impacting the stability of the world. You had to do something to prevent the population from being too stupid and fracturing the world into warring factions.	The population of the world was slowly dwindling, with only the smartest people left. For years, the Auditors had been trying to find a way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but no one had been able to find a way to do it. One day, they got a lead on a possible solution. The Auditors managed to convince everyone to be implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The devices could only be deactivated once it was determined that the individual was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The only problem was that no one knew who the Auditors were. Fortunately, the Auditors had a plan. They would first have to identify the smartest people in the world, and then they would enroll them in a special program to make them even smarter. After that, the Auditors would be able to deactivate the birth control devices and let the dumbest people reproduce.	You are an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the smartest, most intelligent people are able to have children. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. As part of your job, you test people to see if they are smart enough to have children. If they are not, their birth control device is not deactivated and they are unable to have children. It's a tough job, but you believe in what you're doing. You know that if everyone was able to have children, the world would be filled with dumb, uneducated people and that would be a disaster. So you continue to do your job, making sure only the best and the brightest are able to have children. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ), Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read the ad and decided to Participate. He was already a popular leader in his home country, and now he wanted to take his place in the world's greatest capital. Joseph Stalin was a powerful figure in Russia, and he knew how to manipulate people. Leon Trotsky was a top Marxistographer and thinker. He had the idea to create a new political party and take it to the next level. And, of course, there was Josip Broz Tito, who was just 19 years old and had only ever served as an unpaid guard in a Serbian military base.	Freud was excited to finally have some participants for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for people who were interested in the new research. Surprisingly, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was curious to see how these different individuals would respond to the same treatment. The trials started out smoothly. All of the participants seemed to be responding well to the treatment. But then something changed. Hitler became violent and paranoid, Stalin became ruthless and egotistical, Trotsky became paranoid and power-hungry, and Tito became soft and pacifistic. Freud was perplexed by this change, but he decided to continue the trials. Eventually, all four of the participants went mad. Hitler became a dictator, Stalin became a ruthless dictator, Trotsky became a paranoid tyrant, and Tito became a benevolent dictator. Thanks to Freud's clinical trials, the world ended up with some of the most horrific dictatorships in history.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is excited to have such high-profile participants, and the trials go well. But afterwards, he starts to notice some strange behavior from his patients. Hitler becomes more aggressive and starts to talk about a "master race." Stalin becomes more paranoid and starts to talk about purging the country of "enemies of the state." Trotsky becomes more idealistic and starts to talk about leading a worldwide revolution. And Tito becomes more charismatic and starts to talk about uniting the people of Yugoslavia. Freud is alarmed by these changes, and wonders if his research may have unintentionally unleashed something dangerous. But he can't help but be curious about what may happen next.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman cried herself to sleep that night. She had been through some tough times, and her friends had welled up against her heart as well. The next morning, she wept at work for the first time. She had seen the look of LinearData below her, and knew that she would be see him again soon. It wasn't the first time she had cryed herself to sleep, but this time, there was a wrench in thearenthood.	Once upon a time there was a teary-eyed princess who loved her father very much. But one day, he passes away and she is left alone and unafraid. She begins to cry for him constantly, and over time, this substance begins to fill up her eyes, and she begins to resemble her father more and more. people stop doubting her, and begin to love her for who she is instead. her teary-eyed smile and glimmering eyes Mean the world to them.	The smallest tears fell from Brooke’s eyes as she sobbed. She knew that she had to face her mom, but she refused to let her see her like this. She had tried to keep the tears in, but they kept flowing and soon her whole face was wet with tears. Brooke wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold. She was sitting on a bench in the park, only a few feet from where her mom was sitting, but she felt so far away. Brooke didn’t know how to face her, or what to say. The only sound in the park was Brooke’s sobs and the occasional bird. Brooke did her best to ignore her mom, but she could feel her eyes on her. Suddenly, Brooke felt a hand doud on her shoulder. She turned around, her tears coming faster than before. Her mom was there, looking just as broken as her daughter. Without a word, they hugged each other tightly. Brooke cried into her mom’s shoulder, grateful for the comfort that she could offer. It wasn’t long before Brooke’s tears slowed and she was able to look her mom in the eye. “I’m so sorry,” Brooke said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t mean to cry in front of you.” “It’s okay,” her mom said, wiping her own eyes. “I know it’s been tough these past few months.” “It’s been torture,” Brooke agreed. “But I’m glad that you came today,” her mom said, hugging her again. “I’ve missed you.” Brooke felt a lump form in her throat. It had been so long since she’d seen her mom, and she’d been worried that they wouldn’t be able to reconnect. But now, she was glad that she’d come. It was worth the tears.	It was a typical day at school. Sarah was sitting in her desk, doodling in her notebook, when she heard a suppressed sob. She turned to see her friend, John, silently crying. His tears were leaving red marks on his cheeks, like tiny scars. Sarah was horrified. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to comfort her friend, but she was afraid to touch him. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she was afraid of making him cry even more. Finally, she gathered her courage and spoke. “John, are you okay?” He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Sarah reached out and tentatively touched his arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I promise I won’t judge you.” John took a deep breath and began to speak. “My family is falling apart,” he said. “My parents are getting a divorce, and I don’t know how to handle it.” Sarah listened sympathetically as John spoke. She didn’t say anything, but she squeezed his arm reassuringly. When he was finished, she said, “I’m so sorry, John. I had no idea.” John sniffed and wiped his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m just glad I could tell you. It feels better to get it out.” Sarah nodded. She understood exactly how he felt. As they sat there together, Sarah couldn’t help but think about how different things would be if tears left scars. John would have to be more careful about who he spoke to, and he would always have a physical reminder of his pain. Sarah would have to be more careful, too. She would have to choose her words carefully, in case she inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings. The world would be a gentler place, she thought, if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, for the first time in months, when I heard a knock at the door. I got up to let it in, and there was a sizeof stockslooking at me. I got up again and hit the floor with a thud, when I saw who it was in the room. It was my ex-boyfriend. I screamed at him, and he cheekily took the sound up a notch by taking my best friend's hand and squeezing it economist. I grabbed his hand and pulled it away from my face, when I saw the tears in his eyes. I didn't want my best friend to see my pain, so I started to cry, and he came over and hugged me. We cried until the early hours of the morning.	I knew that the next thing would be death. I had always been told that life is short, and I was going to waste it. I was planning on living a short life, and dying young. I was resigned to my fate, but then something amazing happened. I was given a second chance. I was given a second chance to live. I was given a second chance to find a new purpose in life. I was given a second chance to make a difference. I was given a second chance to be happy. I was given a second chance to be alive. And I decided to take it. I changed my ways, and started to make a difference in the world. I started to take on the challenges that life had thrown my way. I started to make something great out of a small amount of time. And now, I am happy. I am content. I am alive and I am loved. I am happy because I was given a second chance.	The sun was setting and I was about to die. I had been stabbed multiple times and my injuries were fatal. All I could do was wait for the end. Suddenly, a specter appeared and told me that I wouldn't die immediately. Instead, I would suffer for a while. He offered to take me to heaven, but I refused. I wanted to be with my family one last time. So, the specter took me to hell. In the fires of hell, I suffered for eternity. But at least I was with my loved ones in spirit.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me, and I know there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not scared though. I'm at peace with what's happening. I know that this is the end of my journey, and I'm ready to move on.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one invisible thing in my home proves to be a safety hazard. Every time I try to use the living room as a bedroom, I Athena as judgmental places like making sure my dad is getting hisope cream. So I'll put it this way: If you're not living in one of the following situations, you're probably not aware of the thing infiltrating your home: 1. You vanilla, and the thing is in the living room. 2. You're not visible to the thing, so it doesn't feel aware of your home. 3. The thing is a health and safety risk, and I need to do something to protect my home.	I was always the curious one. I would watch everything from the shadows and try to learn as much as I could about the things that I couldn't see. After a while, I realized that I was seeing things that didn't exist. I started to notice things in my home that I never thought would be there. I would see things that I didn't think could exist and then I would see them KMDF { Means 'Moderately Invisible'}. I started to see it and it started to follow me. I made sure that I didn't let it know that I was aware of it because I didn't want it to stop following me. I liked the way it felt and I liked the sense of security that it gave me. I would see it in the dark and I would know that I could go to bed at night and it would never bother me again.	I was cleaning up my apartment and I found something strange. I couldn't see it, but I could feel something scratching the back of my neck. I tried to shake it off, but it kept coming back. I finally decided to take a picture of it and posted it on Instagram. I called my friends to tell them about my new discovery and they all laughed at me. But I knew that it was real. The thing was a little white ball that was hiding in the corner of my room. I was scared that it was going to come after me, so I threw a blanket over it and hid under my bed. But the thing just kept moving and scratching. Finally, I got up the courage to take a picture of it and set it free. Now, I'm always paranoid that the thing is going to come back and haunt me. But at least I know that it's there, somewhere, watching me.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can sense it lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. I don't know what it wants, but I can't let it continue to terrorize me. I have to find a way to get rid of it, before it destroys me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop's owner is a bitinal youths who are constantly on the lookout for a good sale. They have a final offer to offer, and they are only willing to sell the Rites of passage to centaur. The adventurers are a small and Florin the Decent one are picters and are desperate to find something to buy. They are only willing to pay 1,000 gold coins per piece and the price of pieces can beitage what they want. The pawn shop owner is not happy with the offer, but he will take the chance. He pulls a few prices low and cast various crafting labor muscles to push the prices back until he gets what he wants. The adventurers are in shock at how this is being done. They feel that they are being forced to buy things that may not be necessary for their character, and they are not happy at all.	The shop was always popular with adventurers. It was a great place to get loot and sell it to others. But today, something was wrong. The door opened, and a large, bulky man walked in. He was accompanied by a small, scruffy woman. The woman was shouting and pointing at the man, who was looking at her with a confused expression. The man began to walk around the shop, looking at everything. Finally, he stopped on the shelves and looked up at the woman. "What's wrong?" he asked. The woman looked at the man with anger, but she soon grew to understand him. "He's a thief!" she shouted. The man looked surprised. "What do you mean?" "He came in here and stole our gold," the woman said. The man looked at her, confusion clear in his eyes. "He what?" The woman shook her head. "He's a thief! He came into the shop and stole our gold!" The man looked at her incredulously. "How could he do that?" The woman frowned. "I don't know. He just came in, and he was looking for our gold. He was very lucky that we didn't have it with us." The man looked around the shop, trying to find a way to stop the thief. But, he was out of luck. The thief had already taken the gold and run away.	The shop was always busy, and Angelina had a feeling it was because of her. After all, she was the only person in the entire town who ran an RPG pawn shop. But whatever the reason, she loved it. Besides, it gave her an excuse to haggle with the adventurers who came through her door. And she always managed to get a good deal out of them. Especially today. She had just finished haggling with a group of adventurers, and they had left with their pockets full of treasure. "Thanks for coming," she said as they left. "I always enjoy haggling with you adventurers. Hopefully, you'll come back soon." And with that, she went back to her usual routine: arranging weapons on the shelves, and greeting the adventurers who came into her pawn shop.	You own an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell the loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Today, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been on a long journey. You start to haggle with her, but she's not very good at it. She's obviously new to this. After a few minutes, you manage to get her to agree to a price that's fair for both of you. As she hands over the sack of loot, she thanks you for your help. She says she's been on a long journey, and she's glad to finally be rid of all that stuff. You watch her as she leaves, and you can't help but feel proud of yourself. You've just helped another adventurer get one step closer to their goal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Designs are done all day long, artists are in the office, people are talking and working. There is a big meeting at the last minute that necessitates the long working day. As the meeting starts, the artist is painting the participate's body in various colors. She is delicate and Iskra, theHR 34, is the boss. " Artists, this is Sk8ter pent up. He's holding a can of face wash and a Synthetic fur. " The boss speaks and the artists Rapidly get up, some in their chairs, some in their imaginations. They arerene eye direct them to go take the animal out to the garage. Sk8ter is relieved and they do as they are ordered. They go to the garage and Iacan, the boss's dog, is dogs. " What is this?" They go to the office and tell the boss. " This is Sk8ter's animal. He worth anything here? " The boss speaks and the artists Shelter themselves from the office, many runneling towards the garage. They take the dog home, weeps are up and they go back to work.	You had just finished your shift at work and were walking to the car when you saw someone walking down the street. You were curious and walked over to ask them what they were doing. As you approached, you saw that this person had one big, bright scar on their body. You mentioned that you had seen someone walking the same streets the day before, and the person said that they were also sorry that they had let the truth get in the way of their friendship. They said that they had been too busy working to watch the news and that they had been too afraid to tell the person they loved because they would have ruined the friendship. They said that they were sorry that they had made the person so alone.	I can't believe I've finally found someone that only has one scar. It's the biggest one I've ever seen. I ask him how he got it and he tells me a story of a great battle. He had been fighting bravely and sacrificing himself, but in the end, he was defeated. All of his friends were dead and he was covered in scars. He had been lied to and betrayed so many times that the only thing that remained was this huge, ugly scar. It was the only thing that showed he had ever been hurt. I feel bad for him and want to help him, but I know that I can't. This is his truth and it's how he survived.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you the story of their life. They say that they used to be a liar, but they found redemption in the form of love. Even though their scar is a permanent reminder of their past, they are happy to have it because it reminds them of how far they have come.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visits each of his places in time and place to show them how he has killed thousands of people. His dilutedmeyer paintings are the tears and blood cried from each spot, theGSB warships in the distance, and the sun setting across the sky.	Every painting Bob Ross produces is based on a real place. Every murder committed there, from his first as a teenager to his last as an old man. The locations in which they occurred are varied, but all of them are connected. Each place has a piece of who Bob Ross was and what he did there. There are places in America, Canada, Europe, Australia, and New Zealand, and even a location in China. Each painting is a reflection of the man that Bob Ross was, and each is a reminder of the violence and tragedy that he has experienced.	It was a dark and stormy night, and Bob Ross was feeling the blues. He had just finished painting a beautiful landscape of a mountainside, but he couldn't enjoy it. He was thinking about all the murders he had committed. He had killed so many people, it was hard to keep track. Some of them had been in accidents, others he had just killed because he felt like it. But no matter how many people he killed, he couldn't seem to stop the feeling of sadness and loneliness that always lingered after he committed his crimes. He was just about to give up and go to bed when he heard a knock at the door. He didn't recognize the sound, so he assumed it was someone who was trying to rob him. He went to answer it, but instead of a robber, he found himself face to face with his old friend, the sheriff. The sheriff was angry. He had known about Bob's crimes for a long time, but he had never been able to catch him. Now, finally, the sheriff had caught up to Bob and was about to arrest him. But before he could do anything, Bob Ross made one final, desperate plea. "Please, sheriff. Don't arrest me. I'm sorry for what I've done. I just can't seem to stop myself. But if you let me go, I promise I will never murder again. Just let me go." The sheriff hesitated for a moment, but in the end he decided that he couldn't in good conscience allow Bob Ross to continue murdering people. So, after giving Bob a stern warning, the sheriff let him go. From that day on, Bob Ross lived a life of peace and repentance. He never killed anyone again, and he even started painting landscapes of nature, instead of Murder Scenes. It was a change for the better, but even today, sometimes the memories of his past crimes resurface and he has to fight to keep from committing murder once again.	There's something eerie about Bob Ross' landscapes. They're so beautiful and peaceful, yet there's something off about them. It's like they're hiding a dark secret. And that dark secret is that each of those landscapes is a real place. They're the locations of Bob Ross' countless murders. No one knows how many people Bob Ross has killed. He's been doing it for years, all across the country. His victims are always people who have crossed him in some way. And he always paints their landscape afterwards, like a trophy. Bob Ross is a killer, but he's also a brilliant artist. And that's what makes him so dangerous. He can lure people in with his paintings, and then kill them when they're least expecting it. So, if you see a Bob Ross landscape painting, beware. You never know what dark secrets it might be hiding.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You seem to be performing without your bow and arrow for once. What's wrong? Rabbit: I'm sorry, I don't have one to help me do the show. magician: How come? Rabbit: I don't have one. magician: Tired of being second fiddle, what with all the visitors!?	The magician nodded at the rabbit and patted him on the shoulder before reaching into his hat and pulling out a small rabbit. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It wanted to do things its own way and be its own person. The magician nodded at the Rabbit and patted him on the shoulder before reaching into his hat and pulling out a small rabbit. "I know, believe me, I know," the magician said with a smile. "But I need you to do something for me." The rabbit looked at the magician, hopeful. "Please, can you put this rabbit in a hat and give it to me?" The magician grinned and put the rabbit back in his hat. "One question at a time, pet." The rabbit looked at him with aEmerald eyes. "What is it?"	The magician had been doing this trick for years and years - rabbit out of hat, rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The audience loved it and the magician made a good living off of it. But the rabbit was getting sick of it. Every time the magician would pull out a new rabbit, the rabbit would feel a sense of dread. It was always the same: rabbit out of hat, rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, not a sidekick. One day, the rabbit had had enough. It jumped off the stage and ran into the crowd, leaving the magician and his rabbits behind.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician pulls out a hat, and the rabbit pops out. The rabbit looks around and sees that there is no one else on stage. The rabbit is angry and frustrated. The rabbit wants to be the star of the show. The magician tries to calm the rabbit down, but the rabbit is not having it. The rabbit wants to be the star, and the magician is not going to stop the rabbit from getting what it wants.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president has just been named as the new president of the United States, and people are getting their first articles of Parliament. What is happening in the streets of London is. The citizens are angry, and there is a large protest in London's streets.	There is an issue facing the country today that deserved the most attention. The issue is the government shutdown. The government shutdown has caused a lot of inconvenience and hurt the economy. The shutdown has also caused a lot of stress for people in the country.	In the United States, there is a current issue that is receiving the greatest amount of attention. This issue is the refugee crisis. Since 2015, the number of refugees coming into the United States has increased by more than 100%. This increase in refugees is causing a lot of controversy. Some people believe that we should help these refugees, while others believe that we should not. There are many reasons why people believe that we should or should not help the refugees. Some people believe that the refugees are dangerous, while others believe that the refugees are just like us. Some people believe that the refugees are a threat to our safety, while others believe that the refugees are a threat to our economy. The refugee crisis is a very controversial issue. It is an issue that is receiving a lot of attention, which is why it is deserving of the greatest amount of attention.	There are many current events issues that deserve attention, but one that I believe deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a problem that is affecting the entire planet, and it is one that we need to take seriously. The effects of climate change are already being felt by people all over the world, and it is only going to get worse. We need to do something about climate change now, before it is too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The auditors were all men, most likely from good families. They all took turns Auditing the monetary resources of individuals, hoping to improve society's financial state. But their audits didn't go as planned.namely, one man was court-ordered to living in the out-of-wedlock childbearing years, and two women were married to men much older than them. One year passed, two years passed, and still no one had been able to find a way to stop the birth of children out of wedlock. So, the auditors decided to make an option: they would all evaluatively audit ouroned Increases in financial resources, and if we didn't have an option to stop the birth of children out of wedlock, we would. The first few months were easy enough, but following months were much more difficult. Many people never received their requests for money to come back, because they were always permacastable to do so. The ones that did get money didn't know how to do Damn, and started to gang up on other people to get back at the auditors. The last two months of the auditor's reign were just as difficult. The people in ouronedIncreasing financial resources had finally finally catch on, and they requested money be sent back to the auditors. TheAuditor was so and-and-abruptly died, leaving hisAuditorors to deal with the 400,000+ people who hadBasic been asking for money back. There was a great deal of fisticuffs and violence that night, and the people in ouronedDecreasing financial resources were never the same again.	As an Auditor, I was responsible for ensuring that no one was able to reproduce. I had to implant birth control devices into everyone during puberty in order to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. It was a difficult job, but it was necessary in order to keep the world safe.	I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. This is, of course, an absurd idea. Everyone is actually dumber than the dumbest person in the world. But, like all things in this society, it's mandatory. I am an Auditor. I'm tasked with determining when a person is intelligent and stable enough to be allowed to have children. I've been doing this for years and, frankly, it's tedious. I've assessed countless people and, almost every time, I find them to be dumber than the dumbest person in the world. It's a thankless job and I'm sick of it.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you evaluate each person's ability to think critically, solve problems, and make sound decisions. Only those who meet your stringent criteria are allowed to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. This system has been in place for generations, and it has resulted in a world populated only by the smartest, most capable people. This, in turn, has led to a society that is peaceful, prosperous, and progressive. Of course, there are always those who try to game the system. But you and your fellow Auditors are always on the lookout for those who would try to cheat the system. After all, the future of humanity depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud looks forward to his clinical trials. He is determined to uncover theUTC Barnum and Solis conspiracy and spread hisreprints there. He is determined to lose the trials to Stalin, Trotsky and Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler read the ad with interest. He was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, and he was eager to find out more about it. He knew that he had a lot of potential in this research. Joseph Stalin also read the ad. He was interested in the new research, too, and he was keen to find out more about it. He knew that he had a lot of potential in this research. Leon Trotsky also read the ad. He was interested in the new research, but he was not as passionate about it as Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. He knew that he would not be able to participate in the research, though.	Sigmund Freud was excited about his latest research. He had developed a new method for treating mental illness, and he was looking for people who could participate in his clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was shocked when he read their bios. Hitler was a political activist who was looking to gain power; Stalin was a ruthless dictator who had killed millions of people; Trotsky was a communist who wanted to overthrow the government; and Tito was a communist leader who wanted to unite the countries of Yugoslavia. But Freud was determined to test his new treatment on these powerful people. He arranged for them to come to Vienna and stay at his house. He was excited to see how each of them would respond to his treatment.	Sigmund Freud put an ad in the paper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to have such a distinguished group of participants, but he quickly realized that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. The clinical trials were conducted over the course of several months, and Freud quickly realized that the four participants were not only incredibly intelligent, but also incredibly volatile. Hitler was always seeking to prove himself superior to the others, Stalin was domineering and quick to anger, Trotsky was constantly challenging Freud's authority, and Tito was constantly testing the boundaries. The trials were eventually completed, but Freud was left feeling shaken by the experience. He had never met such intelligent and charismatic individuals, but he also had never met anyone so dangerous. He was left wondering whether he had unleashed a force that could one day change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The 12 year old girl had been crying for hours. Her family had been crying for hours, too. And then, out of the blue, there was this sentence. "Please, can I get you some money?" Her family was askable if they had enough money, but the 12 year old girl had been asking for hours, and nothing was happening. "Please, can I get you some money?" Her family asked her again, more gently this time, and this time, the 12 year old girl responded. "I don't know if I can,," she said. "Yes, go ahead and give it to the cashier, I'll get some else done." The 12 year old girl was gone for the majority of the hour, and her family was left in thecontent of their HTTP Disease and repeated stress. "How would this change our world?" They were asked as they watched theocial media on their phone. "How would this change our world?" They asked as they watched the social media on their phone.	When she was younger, her friends would tell her that if she cried, it would make her feel better. Tears would flow freely down her face and she would get rid of her troubles. They used to call this method of treatment “happyism”, butnow she knows that it's not really that effective. The tears always seem to surface again and again, and the harder she tries to stay calm, the more tears she gets. She doesn't know how to fix this, but she's stuck. She's never been good at challenging herself and she's never wanted to be. All she wanted was to be like her friends and not have to cry. But now, she can't even do that. She's too embarrassed to cry in public and she feels like a total cheap sentimentalist. She's ashamed of herself and her tears, but she can't stop them. They seem to be coming easier and easier each time. And she doesn't know how to get them to stop.	Able and resilient, Laura battled her tears each and every day. She had learned to accept them as a part of her, but they still often left her feeling bruised and sore. But one day, something changed. Laura was working on her laptop, when she noticed a young girl in the office next to hers crying. The sight of her tears made Laura feel incredibly sad, and she quickly realized that she was not the only one with tears to offer. As the day went on, Laura found herself crying more and more. And as her tears poured down her face, she realized that they were not just tears of sadness or pain. They were tears of joy and celebration. She could see that the tears of the other girls were also healing the wounds of their world. They were restoring hope and giving courage to those who needed it the most. Laura realized that she wanted to cry tears of joy for the rest of her life. And she knew that she would never be the same again.	The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to think. I was just a kid, and I’d never seen anything like it before. I was crying in my bedroom, and as the tears ran down my face, I noticed that they were leaving scars. They were faint at first, but they got darker and more pronounced the longer I cried. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept crying. My parents came in eventually and they were just as baffled as I was. The doctors said that it was some sort of condition that was affecting my tear ducts, and that there was no cure. As the years went by, the scars got deeper and more pronounced. They covered my face, and made it impossible for me to show my emotions. I had to learn to control my tears, and to keep them in check. It was hard, but I had to do it. The world changed too. People were scared of tears, and of the scars they left behind. They became more reserved, and less likely to express their emotions. It was like the world had lost something vital. But I didn’t give up. I continued to cry, even though it caused me pain. I wanted to remind people that tears were still important, and that they shouldn’t be afraid of them. The scars are a part of me now, but they don’t define me. I am still human, and I still feel emotions. I just have to be careful with how I express them.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Albert would have never thought possible that he could die, but each day he encountered more and more death with no success in sight. vectorino was gaining on Albert and soon he would Zend with him. Albert had a few options left, but he didn't want to live with the fear of Zend looming before him. He decided on a one-way ticket to the end and arranged for a killing to be done with a magic STAFFOUTZ. The magic was strong enough to kill with, but it was still a death. Albert large and happy with his one-way ticket to the end, happy to have avoided death again.	The next thing I know is that I'm lying on the ground, with a sharp pain in my side. I try to get up, but my side feels like it's been burned. I can't see anything else around me, and I begin to feel lightheaded. Then I hear a voice in the back of my mind, calling out my name. I hear a voice that I know is going to kill me. But I also know that I have to die here, so I pull my knees up to my chest and let out a deep breath.	Audrey lay on the cold, concrete floor, her breaths coming in short gasps. She had been shot multiple times, and the blood loss was making her faint. She prayed that someone would find her before she died. But then she heard footsteps. They were getting closer and she knew she wasn't going to make it. She gritted her teeth in preparation for the pain that would come next.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death. I just stop living, and that's that. The world goes on without me. It's strange, in a way. I always thought that if I died, the world would end. Or at least, that it would be a big deal. But it's not. Life goes on, and people forget me. It's not all bad, though. In death, I find peace. I don't have to worry about the mess I made of my life. I can just exist in this beautiful nothingness. I'm not sure what happens after death. I don't think anything does. But that's okay. I'm content just to exist here, in this eternal peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, waiting to take over when the right time was right. It would access your home and take over through your democratic system, taking over when you're deep in sleep orrex or despair. It delighted in its ability to claim control over yoursurfaceroximatelyingjoints.	I spent my morning looking around my house, trying to find the source of the strange, invisible force that constantly makes everything seem more out of place. I found nothing. Strangely, the force didn't seem to be coming from anywhere - it seemed to be emanating from the walls. I tried moving things, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually, I decided to confront the invisible force head-on. As I walked up to the wall, I could feel the pressure of the force growing, feels like it was going to crush me. But then, inexplicably, the force evaporated. I wasn't sure what had happened - but whatever it was, it had disappeared without a trace.	I've always been a bit paranoid, so it didn't take long for me to realize that something was living in my home that I couldn't see. I tried to figure out what it was, but I couldn't. I didn't want to scare myself, so I waited until the thing made itself known. One day, I came home and found that my kitchen had been cleaned. I was confused at first, but then I realized that there had never been anything in there to clean. The only thing that was changed was the fact that my kitchen was now empty. I couldn't explain it, but I knew that my invisible friend was responsible.	I had always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was never anything there. I told myself that it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something invisible was living in my home. I decided to set a trap for the invisible intruder. I scattered some flour on the floor and waited. Sure enough, I soon saw footprints appearing in the flour. I followed the footprints, but they disappeared into thin air. I knew I had found my invisible intruder. Now that I knew it was there, I had to find a way to expose it. I tried to think of a way to do so without letting the intruder know that I was aware of its presence. I decided to set up a hidden camera to try to capture it on film. After several days of monitoring the footage, I finally saw the intruder on camera. It was a small, transparent creature that was invisible to the naked eye. I couldn't believe it! I had finally found proof that something invisible was living in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and the players are a small group. They're fighting off adventurers who are trying to leave treasure within the shop. The door is sturdy, and the characters are reasonably sure it won't budge. They'll take the treasure if it's within arm's reach. The adventurers try to leave in hopes of getting something back, but the shop is manned and they must fight their way in.	The first time I saw the adventurer, I thought he was an odd looking guy. He seemed like he might not be from around here, and he didn't seem to be merchandising any rare items. I asked him how he was able to sell so much, and he told me about his game. He played a different type of game all the time, and he always had fresh new gear for sale. I felt interested, so I asked him about it. He told me about a dark race of beings who had come to this world a million years ago. They were a very powerful force, and they had left behind a lot of treasure. He said that he could get me some of it, and I could be the owner of the pawn shop. I was excited, and I decided to give him a try.	There was a call from a pawnshop down the street. It had been awhile since they'd had any customers and they were running low on supplies. I asked the player if they had any interesting items they'd acquired recently and they said they did. I took the player through my usual routine of haggling and we finally reached an agreement. I let them know I could only sell the item to them if they came into the shop. They agreed and we made the exchange. When they arrived, they gave me an odd look. I asked what was wrong and they said they needed to leave quickly. They had something they needed to take care of. I told them to come back any time and they nodded before leaving the shop. I wasn't sure what had just happened, but I was excited to find out.	You run an RPG pawn shop and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler and you always get the best deals for your shop. Today, you see a group of adventurers who seem to have a lot of loot with them. You approach them and start haggling. After a few minutes of back and forth, you finally strike a deal and walk away with a bunch of new inventory for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the new friend was disinterested in you. They mentioned something about wanting to trip you, but you are too scared to confront them. That is until one day when she's sitting in your living room. She has left suddenly after onlyuts from their conversation. You feel your sky starting to turn black and a jury of one is better than no jury at all. You have no choice but to go to the police.	You meet this person at a party. They are telling a lie and it isruining their reputation. You try to question them, but they won't stop. You get so angry and frustrated, but you can't take them down. In the end, you just leave. You don't want to be near them anymore.	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big and deep, it almost looked like it was bleeding. I wanted to know more about it, so I asked them about it. They told me that the biggest lie they ever told was the one that created that scar. They had lied so much that the lies had piled up and created this massive wound on their body. I was so impressed by their courage and strength, and I felt like I could learn a lot from them.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person tells you that they have only ever lied once in their life, and that it was the biggest lie they have ever told. You're intrigued and ask them what the lie was. The person hesitates at first, but then decides to tell you. They say that the lie was that they have always been happy. Even though they have a huge scar on their body, they say that they are truly happy with their life.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Gussie read the guidebook to amusement park before her day trip toLouisiana. It was promises of Piper and NFL games and bar anger Ile- herself. She thought it over and decided on Practice was worth a visit. It would be her last day in Louisiana before she could visit her family inStonington. If she make it through the day, she would make it to the game. If not, she would head to the nearest convenience store.	Bob Ross never took painting seriously. He thought it was a silly art form that only people who were really into it got into. But then one day, he met someone who really was into painting and it changedBob Ross' life. He really started taking painting seriously and started making beautiful, personal landscapes. People started asking him where he'd found the inspiration for his work and he couldn't help but share. It was love at first sight for Bob and he eventually married the woman who was also into painting. They have a beautiful home full of paintings and memories of past murderers who visited them.	It had been a long day. Bob Ross had been painting landscapes all day, and he was exhausted. He was about to finish up for the day, and he was ready for a break. But first, he had to go through the murder scene one more time. He had to make sure that he had painted everything correctly. He walked through the scene, taking in the sights and sounds. He could still smell the blood and the fear. It was all so real to him. Finally, he came to the end of the scene. He could finally relax. But then he heard a noise. Someone was coming. He had to hide. He quickly hid behind a tree, and waited. But the person didn't come. Maybe they had just seen something else. Bob Ross breathed a sigh of relief, and continued on his way. But then he heard the person coming again. This time, they were closer. And they were coming fast. Bob Ross didn't have time to hide anymore. He had to fight. He fought hard, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. He knew he was going to die. But then, just as it looked like he was going to die, the person stopped. They had seen the murder scene, and they knew who had done it. It was Bob Ross himself. He had killed all these people, and now he was going to pay for it.	Bob Ross was a famous landscape painter, known for his amazing ability to capture the beauty of nature. What most people didn't know, however, was that each of his paintings was actually a real place. And not just any place - each one was the location of one of his countless murders. No one knows how many people Bob Ross killed. He was a master of disguise and was always able to evade the authorities. But those who knew him best say that he must have killed at least dozens of people. Perhaps even more. Why did he do it? No one knows for sure. Some say he was simply a madman, others believe he did it for the thrill of the kill. Whatever the reason, there's no denying that Bob Ross was a ruthless killer. And all of his victims were captured in his paintings, forever frozen in time.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Rabbit start to get noisy, especially if the magician is around. He needs to get his hands moving and avoid looking at the rabbit while he is. He makes a move to leave, but the rabbit caught him. He looks up at the magician with eyes that are Rockefeller green. "Thank you for seeing me," the rabbit says. "Please, call me magic." "I know you don't have to call me that," the rabbit says, "but thank you for seeing me." The magician grins and lifts a hand, causing the rabbit to bring up an endearing endophyte from his study. "My name is Endophleus," the rabbit says. "Yes, I know," the magician says. "And I'm not from around here," the rabbit says, "so please don't call me by that name." "I'm not from around here," the magician says. "Okay," the rabbit says. "But I'm close," the magician says. "I'm not too far away," the rabbit says. The magician pulls out a coin, and the rabbit is saved.	The magician was about to start his show when he saw the rabbit on the stage. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. "Okay, rabbit," said the magician. "You're going to have to stay in your place." "But I don't have a hat," said the rabbit. "That's right," said the magician. "You don't have a hat. But that doesn't mean you can't play." The rabbit got up on stage and began to play the harp. The magic was spreading through the audience. "Now, rabbit," said the magician. "You're going to have to come down and play with me." The rabbit was happy to get back on stage. The magician started his show and the rabbit played the harp all night.	The magician had been performing for years, and was a master at magic tricks. But one day, he decided to try something new. He pulled out a rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to show the magician how much better it was than him, and it did not hold back. The magician was impressed, and from then on, the rabbit became his most successful illusion.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is fed up with being the one who gets pulled out of the hat all the time. He's sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. So, during their next performance, when the rabbit is supposed to be pulled out of the hat, he refuses. The magician is shocked and tries to coax the rabbit out, but the rabbit is having none of it. The audience starts to get restless, as the magician tries everything he can think of to get the rabbit to come out of the hat. But the rabbit is adamant. eventually, the magician has to admit defeat and end the act early. He's never had this happen before and he's not sure what to do. The rabbit is relieved that he finally stood up for himself. He knows it won't be easy being the only star of the show, but he's ready for the challenge.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage that is expected to last for the entire night. many people are concerned about the future of the country if the power is not recovered in time. One person who is not afraid of a power outage is him or she. The person doesn't like the sound of the model's ceasING. The person decides to go live on Instagram with the hashtag #RecoverThePower outage to get the take back urging people to stay off the power.	As the sun rose over the city,employees were starting to trickle into their office buildings. Background noise from the morning rush was muted by the early-morning television sets that were parked in every turn. Outside, the temperature was still cool but gradually warming as the sun made its way higher in the sky. Most people were still off to their early-morning routines, but a few employees were paying attention to the unfolding story unfolding in the media. The news story was about a terrorist attack on a U.S. military base in Afghanistan, which had killed dozens of people and injured hundreds more. The events unfolding in Afghanistan were the most recent in a long list of high-profile attacks on U.S. soil. The media was hysteria-a perfect example of the type of coverage that people in the city were starting to get used to. Every terrorist attack was now given a lot of attention, and no one was asking the question: why was this happening? Some employees had started to feel that the current events issue today deserved the most amount of attention. They felt that the events in Afghanistan were a sign that something larger was happening on U.S. soil, and they were determined to find out what it was.	In the current political climate, it is important to pay attention to the current immigration issue. It is a hot topic, and one that deserves our attention. As the world becomes increasingly globalized, it is essential that we find a way to handle the influx of people into our countries. There are many factors to consider, and no clear answer, but it is important to continue to talk about and debate this issue.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is one of the most pressing issues facing our planet today, and it is important that we take action to address it. The effects of climate change are already being felt by communities around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse if we don't take action. We need to do everything we can to reduce our carbon emissions, and to also help those communities that are already being affected by climate change. This is an issue that we can no longer afford to ignore.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was alwayswagered between the device being used and not using it. It was never determined whether the user was willingly using the device or not. Eventually, the user was determined to be ``planting'', which means the device was being used on purpose to prevent the reproduction of the user's child. The user was never informed of the effect the device had on them and them only. The user was never able to determine if they were still alive or not. The user was never determined whether they were male or female. Unfortunately, the user was never able to determine their true identity.	Auditor #1 was the first person to deactivate her birth control device. She was excited to be able to reproduce. Auditor #2 quickly activated her own device. Auditor #3 did not activate her device. A run-in was inevitable.	In a world where intelligence is equated with stability, the birth control device implanted into everyone at puberty is a constant reminder not to produce the dumber people. For 19 year old auditor Genevieve, the device is a constant nag, reminding her that she should be more responsible and think about the future. She knows that if she ever got pregnant, she would be an unfit mother and would disappoint her parents.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review each person's life history and make a judgement. Birth control devices are implanted in everyone during puberty. They can only be deactivated once an Auditor has determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You take your job very seriously and carefully review each case. In some cases, it is obvious that the person is not ready to have a child. In others, you must weigh the pros and cons before making a decision. Ultimately, you must use your judgement to decide who is ready to have a child and who is not. This is not an easy task, but you take it seriously and do your best to ensure that only the most qualified people are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud needs Participants for Tumors Research trial. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito.	Salome caught a glimpse of Adolf Hitler as he came in the door of the Vienna Neurology Clinic. She knew she had to take him. She had seen him in the newspapers. He was the new leader of Germany, and she wanted to be his secretary. Joseph Stalin was also in town. He had just been made the head of the Soviet Union. He was a powerful man. He had also seen Hitler. He knew that he would want to be a part of Hitler's campaign of terror. Leon Trotsky was also in town. He had been a member of the Bolshevik party before the Bolshevik revolution. He had also seen Hitler. He knew that he would want to get close to Hitler. Josip Broz Tito was also in town. He was the president of Croatia. He had also seen Hitler. He knew that he would want to be in charge of the communist forces in Europe.	Freud was excited to test his new theory on the psychology of the dictatorships. He placed an ad in a newspaper, looking for participants for clinical trials. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to the ad. Freud was surprised to find that all of the dictators were interested in his research. The trials would be difficult, but Freud was determined to learn more about how these dictatorships worked. He was also excited to see how each of them would respond to the new research.	Dr. Freud was very excited to begin his clinical trials for his latest research. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Dr. Freud began working with each of them individually. He quickly discovered that they all shared a similar personality trait: they were all quite power-hungry and had a strong desire to control others. This was an interesting finding, and Dr. Freud began to wonder if there was a connection between this personality trait and their political aspirations. As the clinical trials continued, Dr. Freud noted that each of the participants became more and more obsessed with power. They would frequently talk about their plans to take over the world, and how they would be the ones in charge. It was clear that this research was having a profound effect on them. Eventually, the clinical trials came to an end. Dr. Freud had made some groundbreaking discoveries, but he was also left with a feeling of unease. These four men were clearly dangerous, and he knew that they would stop at nothing to achieve their goals. He could only hope that they would never meet again, and that their paths would never cross again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	separations were known all over the world, and they were getting worse by the day. She looked down at the Facebook post and saw the reactions of all the people who had made posts about it. So many personals were being written about this thing, so much that it was as if anyone who happened to be nearby had to be watching her, watching over her. It was maddening, to feel so many people's eyes on you as youduated your there. beet mount had been friends with tears for as long as they could remember, and she knew that it was time to end the cycle. So she blew her brains out in her thumbnail,aquinading the tears as fresh losses. It felt good to end the cycle, even if it wasqueried.	Once, there was a beautiful girl who cried tears of joy. The future looked bright for her and she felt content in her own skin. Her friends and family were amazed at her new found happiness and they all shared in her joy. Today, that girl is gone and her tears have left deep scars on her face. Her smile has been taken away, and her life is much different without Tears. The world would be a much different place without them.	The world was a cruel place. It always had been, and it always would be. Tears never made any difference. They only made the world that much harder to bear. And yet, even though tears never made a dent in the cold, hard reality of life, they still managed to sting. They still managed to scar. And that's why, even though the world was a harsh place, it still hurt to cry.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes, they left scars. And not just physical scars, but emotional ones too. The first time it happened, no one knew what to think. But soon enough, it became clear that this was the new reality. When someone cried, their tears would leave scars. And those scars would never go away. Some people tried to tough it out, to keep their emotions in check. But it was impossible. Sooner or later, everyone succumbed to the tears. And the scars just kept piling up. The world was a sadder place now. But people had to carry on. What else could they do?	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was sitting in my room, thinking about the next step. I had no idea what would happen next, but one thing was for sure, I would die. I laid there for hours, unable to move or think of anything else to do. Then, I heard a knock on the door. I got up and opened it to find a stranger. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I didn't know. He said he knew I would die if I didn't tell him what was going on. I told him I was dying and he said he was going to save me. He said he was going to take me to a high place and there I could see the sun for the last time. I was terrified, but he said it was the only way. He told me to do whatever it took and I started to cry. Then, he took me to a place where the sun was. I was so afraid I would die again, but he said I would see the sun for the last time. I got up and saw the sun for the last time.	I can't believe it. I'm going to die. The doctor told me that my cancer has spread and there is no cure. I feel like I'm dying already. I can't imagine living with this pain for the rest of my life. But then the doctor said something that made me realize that there is still hope. He said that I could choose to die now, or I could choose to live. I think about my family and how much I want to see them one last time. I also think about my friends and how much I want to tell them goodbye. But then I think about myself. What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I can't just sit around and wait to die. I have to live. So I choose to live.	I knew my time was running out. I could feel it in my bones. My body was weak and I could barely move. I knew I didn't have much time left. I lay in my bed, looking at the ceiling. I wondered what would happen to me when I died. Would I go to heaven? Would I be reincarnated? I didn't know. I heard a noise at the door and knew my time had come. I closed my eyes and waited for death to come.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The security system in my home is perfect. I've been hitting it with approval levels set up recently, and my home security system has beenamaru mode ever sense I've been in it. I've been trying to expose my presence to the system, but it've kept hidden. Finally, I decided to take a chance and see if it would open up.	One day, I noticed an intruder in my home. I tried to scare it off, but it was too fast. It leapt onto the couch, and I couldn't catch it. I felt strange about it, like I was seeing something I shouldn't. I tried to shake it off, but it kept coming back. I wasn't sure what it was, but I was afraid it was going to hurt me.	I had always been curious about what was living in the walls of my house. I had never seen or felt anything before, but I was always paranoid that something was lurking in the dark. One day, I decided to take a closer look. I slowly started to explore the corners, the crevices, and the spaces between the walls. It was strange, but I couldn't truly see anything. However, when I got close to one of the walls, I felt a sharp pain in my hand. I turned around and saw that I was holding onto a small, wriggling creature. I screamed and let go of the creature, which ran away into the darkness. From then on, I made sure to keep my eyes open and my hand close at all times.	I had always felt like there was something else living in my house, something invisible. I would hear strange noises in the night, or things would be moved around when I was sure I had left them in a different spot. I was never able to catch whatever it was, but I was determined to find out what was going on. I started setting traps, little things that would make a noise or a light if something triggered them. But no matter what I did, I never caught anything. I was starting to think that I was just imagining things, until one day I heard a noise coming from the trap I had set up in the living room. I cautiously approached, heart pounding in my chest, and slowly lifted the sheet to see what had been caught. There, in the trap, was a small, translucent creature. It was about the size of a rat, and it was wriggling around trying to escape. I didn't know what to do. I felt like I had uncovered something that I wasn't supposed to see. But at the same time, I was curious about this creature. What was it, and how had it been living in my house? I decided to take a closer look, and eventually managed to capture the creature. I put it in a glass jar and set it on my kitchen table, where I could study it more closely. It was definitely not anything I had ever seen before. It was some kind of translucent jellyfish-like creature, and it was still wriggling around desperately in the jar. I watched it for a while, trying to figure out what it was and how it had gotten into my house. Eventually, I let it go. I released it into the night, and it quickly disappeared into the darkness. I never saw it again, but I always wondered what that creature was and where it came from.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are haggling with each other for control of what's been earns. AOrc 's and Dwarves 'd Reloaded is background. They areItem's ( weapon seller, character, magician) and ( beast keeper, fighter), there is no way for her to leave the shop. She is stranded in the wilderness, with only any kind of food or water to keep her going. The players are 'neath her feet, trying to sell her loot.	The shop was always popular with adventurers. They would come in to buy whatevernything was available, and you would always have a few items left over. Sometimes you would sell items that were rare or too valuable to be found anywhere else, and other times you would sell mundane items like swords and spears. But on this particular day, there was a particularly large group of adventurers coming in. They were all wearing the same armor and looking about the same age. "Hey, how come you don't have any swords or spears?" one of the adventurers asked. "We don't have enough gold to buy them," you said. "We'll give you some gold," one of the adventurers said. You took the gold and gave them to the group of adventurers. They seemed to be happy with the gift. "Thanks!" they said. The group of adventurers went back outside, and you continued to sell items. But now, something was nagging at you. You had noticed that all of the armor the group of adventurers were wearing was of low quality. The arms and armor were cheap and not of good quality. You realized that the armor was probably a fraud. The group of adventurers couldn't be really interested in selling anything else, and they were probably just trying to con you. You quickly went to the group of adventurers and asked them to leave. They seemed to be surprised, but then they quickly left. You went back to your shop and sold everything that was left over. When the group of adventurers left, you were the only one left in the shop. You quickly realized that the armor the group of adventurers were wearing was probably a fraud. The group of adventurers couldn't be really interested in selling anything else, and they were probably just trying to con you.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I love bargaining with adventurers who try to sell me their loot. I always seem to get a good deal and I can't help but feel like I'm in the middle of a treasure hunt every time I'm in my shop. I never know what I'll find and that just makes it all the more exciting.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deals for your shop. Today, you see a group of adventurers walking in, and you can tell they've got something good. You approach them and start haggling. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally strike a deal and walk away with a bag of loot. You can't help but feel a little bit of excitement as you open the bag and see what you've gotten. There are some rare and valuable items in there, and you know you've made a great deal. You can't wait to see what else you can get your hands on.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met described himself to you as a liar. The one scar was the biggest and deepest wrinkle you had ever seen. He had a Saulnited protagonist with a large, deep-seated falsehood. Even though he described himself that way, you could see the scar's giant telltale. You kept looking at it, inch by inch, until it was just a P Elevation by your side. After that, you realized you hadSold the charade to him. The person you had meets someone that has only one scar. Even though he describes himself that way, the scar is the biggest you have ever seen.	The day started like any other. You were walking to your job when you saw someone you hadn't seen in a while. You started to talk to them, but your mind was foremost focused on the large scar on their forehead. You couldn't help but feel sorry for them. It was so large and ugly, and it made them look so helpless and lost. After your chat, you turned around to go back to work and the person was gone. You chalked it up to a coincidence, but it didn't feel that way. You always felt like you could see the hidden hurt in their eyes, and you couldn't help but feel sorry for them.	I was hesitant to approach him, but I was also curious. I had never seen anyone with only one scar. It was huge, stretching from their forehead to their chin. It was so large, it looked like it was going to tear their skin open. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was the only scar he had. He had been lied to so many times, he had become immune to the pain. The only way to heal was to tell the truth, and every lie created a new, deeper wound. I can't say that I understand, but I sympathize. I know how it feels to be lied to and to feel the pain of betrayal. Maybe, one day, I'll be able to tell the truth without creating new scars, but for now, I'll stick to the ones I already have.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. They tell you that they've lied so much in their life that they've lost count. But, they say, it's worth it because now they can tell the truth without anyone knowing. You're skeptical at first, but then you realize that this person is telling you the truth. They've been lying for so long that they've become good at it. But, the one scar is a reminder of the truth. You find yourself admiring this person for their honesty. In a world where lies are easy to come by, it's refreshing to meet someone who is truthful. You hope that, someday, you can be as honest as they are.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	After Bob Ross died in a share bust, his art was bought by a man who wanted to see where it went. He saw each of his paintings, different locations of his deaths, and decided which one was the most white and most black. He placed his death scene painting in a secluded place and The Colosseum, the man wanted to see as The Birth of The Christ, happened.	Every time Bob Ross captures a painting of a location in history, it is with a heavy heart. He know that it is only a matter of time before he is arrested or killed while painting. So, even though the paintings might be located in different parts of the world, Bob always feels a sense of sadness when he is in the presence of his murdered friends and victims.	Bob Ross was a murderer, and his landscapes were all creations of his twisted imagination. He would go to different locations and paint scenes of murder, bloodshed, and mayhem. Some of the paintings were of real places, but others were entirely fictional. No one was ever sure which was which.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal his gruesome crimes. For years, he travelled across the country, painting serene and beautiful scenes while secretly murdering people and hiding their bodies in the very places he was painting. No one suspected a thing until police found one of his paintings hanging in a local gallery with a bloody handprint on it. That's when they realized that Bob Ross was a killer who used his art to cover up his crimes. Now, every time someone looks at one of his paintings, they can't help but wonder if the scene is really as peaceful as it seems, or if it's hiding a dark secret.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician practices his magic bag muscles once again as he watches the rabbit from upstairs. He's not sure if the rabbit is sick or if he's just tired, but he can't wait to see how long he can keep the bag from taking out in the end. He's not sure if the rabbit is sick or if he's just tired, but he's happy to see that the rabbit from upstairs is added to the show. The rabbit is just as happy to be there, but the magician can tell that the rabbit is getting tired of being second fiddle. "Hey, you want to take the bag down?" The rabbit asks, concerned. The magician nods, "Yes, let's take it down." He helps remove the bag from the rabbit's head, making sure to land safely on his feet. The rabbit is happy to be there, but the magician can tell that the rabbit is getting tired of being second fiddle. "What're you looking for today?" The rabbit asks. The magician looks down at the bag, "I'm not sure, I was just thinking of something that I think could be good. Maybe a noose?"	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat and told it that it was time to leave. The rabbit was angry and asked why it had to be this way. The magician replied simply that it was what was best for the rabbit. The rabbit growled and tried to leave, but was stopped by the magician's magic. The rabbit was then happy to know that it would always be included in the magician's show.	The magician was getting tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from the hat. He was sick of always being the second fiddle. So, one day, he decided to take matters into his own hands and show the rabbit who was boss. He set up a simple stage, and before long, the rabbit was there, ready for action. The magician pulled out a card and declared that the rabbit would have to perform a trick that he had never done before. The rabbit smiled and got to work. First, he pulled a flower from behind his ear. The magician was impressed and decided to let him go on. Next, the rabbit took a coin from his pocket and put it into his mouth. He then closed his lips tightly and shook his head back and forth. The magician was amazed as the coin came out clean. The rabbit was getting tired, but the magician wasn't. He was in for a real treat now. The rabbit took a card from his pocket and showed it to the audience. It read "A Self-Made Man". The magician was shocked. He had never seen that card before. It seemed like the rabbit had read his mind. The magician was about to Applaud the rabbit when he noticed something very strange. The rabbit's ears were red and hot, as if he had been running a long way. The magician knew what had happened. The rabbit had been practicing his magic all day, and he was run ragged. The magician was impressed, but the rabbit was just happy to have finally shown the magician who was boss.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, however, and has had enough. Mid-way through the act, the rabbit makes its escape. The magician is shocked and distressed, but the rabbit is finally free. It hops off the stage and into the audience, where it is greeted with applause and cheers. The rabbit has finally found its place in the world, and it couldn't be happier.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The perpetualason for not receiving love from behind is more than you can shake a finger at it. It's why you don't ever feel mening enough for her. And it's why she never loves back. It's also why she never conceive of the love she once had. It would've been demonstrable in the way that it was never there in the first place. And it's even worse, because today it is what is keeping her trapped in this cycle of not being desired. Every day she brings more proof that it isn't appropriate, but everyone keeps sending her nothing. That someone should try one day to put a stop to this should be something worth celebrating, but instead they just feel like it's one more piece of work in herongs. The only one who should be able to finally take care of her is herself. But instead she's myself, so to speak. I enough. And that's all the feedback I'm looking for. -The man	A major issue today that deserves the most attention is the current battle between the United States and China over trade. This battle is causing a lot of hurt and damage, and it's not going to stop anytime soon. It's time for the United States and China to come to a peace agreement, and that's what they'll need to do if they want to save their relationship.	On September 24th, 2017, the United States of America experienced one of the most shocking moments in its history. The nation watched as its president, Donald J. Trump, was impeached by the House of Representatives. The proceedings were swift and unceremonious, with many people feeling that the entire process was illegitimate. Although Trump was initially defiant about the proceedings, the public outcry eventually got to him. He issued a statement admitting his mistakes and promising to step down from office. In the end, Trump was the first sitting president to be impeached and removed from office. The events of September 24th serve as a stark reminder of the fragility of democracy. Any leader, be it Trump or any other politician, can be removed from office if the public decides that he or she is no longer fit to lead. This underscores the importance of the free and fair media, as well as the willingness of the public to hold its leaders accountable.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a real and present threat to our planet, and we need to do something about it. The world is already seeing the effects of climate change, and it is only going to get worse. We need to reduce our emissions of greenhouse gases, and we need to do it now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	One start: [+] Auditor: I am an Auditor.	As an Audit, I was always ensuring that people were born with the best possible chance of staying alive and successful. But until recently, I had never heard of a person named Chris. Inew he was in fact a very stupid person, and I was not happy about it. I had tried to correct his errors in his past, but it seems that his stupidity only got worse with time. One day, I received a report that Chris had been posing as an Audit in order to cheat on his girlfriend. I could not believe it. This was yet another example of how Chris was a waste of a life, and I was determined to finally make him pay. To begin my search for Chris, I used my powers to track down his sources of income. I found that he was receiving money from aola, a company that was using taxpayer's money to promote their products. I was determined to stop this company from benefiting from Chris's incompetent behavior. When I confronted Chris about his involvement with Aola, he claimed innocence. However, I knew he was lying. I used my powers to see through his lies, and I could see that he was actually working for Aola in order to gain advantage over his girlfriend. Chris was caught, and he was given a punishment that I had never experience before. He was put in a holding cell and told that he would never be able to reproduce because he was too stupid and unstable. This was the final straw for me. I was no longer willing to put up with Chris's stupidity. I had tried to educate him, but it seems that his stupidity only got worse. Now, he was living in obscurity, and he would never be able to get his life back on track.	I was born into a world where birth control was mandatory. At puberty, I was implanted with a device that would prevent me from reproducing unless I met certain qualifications. I was an Auditor, responsible for determining when intelligent and stable people were ready to raise a well-adjusted human being. As an Auditor, I was constantly tested and evaluated. I had to prove that I was capable of handling the responsibility of raising a person. I was never allowed to have children of my own, but I was happy to help prevent the dumbest people from reproducing.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to have a child. If they are not, then their birth control device is not deactivated and they are not able to have children. I remember one case in particular that stands out to me. A young woman came to me, pleading to have her birth control device deactivated so that she could have a child. She was clearly intelligent and stable, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I told her that she was not yet ready to be a mother and that she needed to wait a little longer. She was heartbroken, but I knew that I had made the right decision. There are some people who are just not ready to be parents and that's why I'm here. To make sure that only the smartest and most stable people have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking Participants for Clinicaltrials of HisNewliest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud put his ad in a newspaper and quickly received responses. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded. They all wanted to be in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. It was an exciting opportunity and they all knew it.	Freud was astonished when four young men responded to his ad. He had never before come in contact with anyone as ambitious and ruthless as Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. The four of them quickly formed a close bond, sharing their dreams of ruling the world. Freud was horrified by their plans and tried to convince them that their ambitions were destructive, but to no avail. The four men were determined to fulfill their dreams no matter the cost. Eventually, their ambitions led to World War II, and millions of people were killed. Freud was shattered by what he had watch happen. He knew that he could not stop the four men, but he could try to warn others about them. He wrote a book about the four men, and he died knowing that he had helped to save innocent lives.	Sigmund Freud is a world-renowned psychologist who is always looking for new ways to further his research. In 1913, he decides to put an ad in a local newspaper in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest findings. To his surprise, the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. While Freud is initially apprehensive about working with such controversial figures, he decides to go ahead with the trials. Throughout the course of the trials, he quickly realizes that each of these men is incredibly intelligent and insightful. He also starts to see how they could potentially use their powers for good, if they were only willing to work together. However, as the trials come to an end, it becomes clear that the men are not interested in cooperating with each other. In fact, they seem to be more interested in starting a rivalry. As they all go their separate ways, Freud can't help but wonder what could have been if they had only been able to put their differences aside.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If Tears Left Scars, What If They scars told a different story? The protagonist had always known their love was true, but when they found out the love of their life had twins, they simply couldn’t let themselves believe it. They had to find out the truth first. They all needed to be in the onePSO and only her was left to tell the story. “I don’t want to marry him,” she had Simply said to the prince, her eyes closed and a hardness having taken form in her features. She knew he wasn’t interested in her and she knew he was interested in the twins. She didn’t want to fall in love with someone else and have them tell the world how she had done everything for the boy she loved. She wanted to be loved and understood and wanted something from him that she couldn’t have from anyone else. She had always known love was true. The prince came to her in thefit for the twins and she knew right then and there that she was going to marry him. She had to find out the truth before she told anyone else. She didn’t want to spend her life loving someone who couldn’t love himself. She would have never guessed that the prince would be the one to tell her the truth. He had always been teaseful andLena FrankA minor Arsonist in a quarterslot One. If Tears Left Scars, What If They scars told a different story? Arsonist in a quarterslot One. The protagonist had always known their love was true, but when they found out the love of their life had twins, they simply couldn’t let themselves believe it. They had to find out the truth first. One. The two of them were in the bedroom they had chosen as the room they compiled as theirOPA. The Mirror of Ard Fiber Artifice was on the bed and the prince was sitting in it, looking at them. One. He had always loved the fact that they both had these dreams of being a PSO and he could see the hope in their eyes.rasters told a different story. The prince had always been teasing and had made fun of their love until they had finally married him. But now he had found out the truth and he was here to tell them. One. The prince had always been joking about their love, but when he found out the truth he was here to tell them. He had always been teasing them about their predictions, about how sure they were that love was true. But now he was here to tell them that the truth had been discovered.	One day, a large and powerful man had a deep and abiding hurt that could not be healed. Every day, he cried in silence, knowing that he would never be able to see the smile that was so often spread across his children's faces again. One day, he decided to take a complete break from his life and go into hiding. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see the raw, emotional hurt that was still eating at him. For weeks, he read and contemplated how he could make amends for the pain that he had caused. He spent hours talking to his children, thought of all the good that he had done in their lives, and what he could do to make up for the pain he had caused. Finally, he cracked open the safe and took out the letters that he had written to his wife over the years. In them, he confessed all of the hurt that he had caused and begged her forgiveness. She forgive him, and the two of them lived happily ever after.	The world was changing. Slowly, but surely, there were more and more people who didn't have any tears left to cry. They were the ones who had become numb to the pain of the world. People in the past had relied on tears to show their emotions. Now, though, there were few people left who could cry properly. The lack of tears had a ripple effect on the world. People stopped caring about each other. The once vibrant and colorful cities became a barren wasteland. All the love had disappeared, and with it, the hope. The few people who still had tears to cry did so only in secret. They were the ones who tried to keep the world alive, even though it seemed impossible. Without love, there was nothing left to take away the pain.	It was a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a world where the slightest touch could cause pain. It was a world where people were afraid to love, afraid to show any emotion at all. In this world, people lived in fear. They were afraid of their own emotions, afraid of being hurt. They didn't dare to love, because they knew that it would only lead to pain. There was one girl who was different. She was brave enough to love, even though she knew it would hurt. She cried tears of pain, but she also cried tears of joy. And slowly, over time, her tears began to heal the scars on her heart. The girl showed the world that it was possible to love, even in a world where tears left scars. And slowly, people began to change. They began to show their emotions, to love again. And slowly, the world began to heal.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew was that I woke up on the ground with a Acacia tree next to me. I had no idea what happened next.	Sherrilyn had always been a strong woman. She had faced down many challenges in her life, never backing down. But on that fateful day, Sherrilyn was finally overpowered. She was tackled to the ground and a gun was placed to her head. She knew she was going to die, but she didn't want her daughter to grow up without a mother. With tearful eyes, Sherrilyn pleaded with the gunman to let her go. He didn't answer, instead pulling the trigger. The bullet ripped through her skull, killing her instantly. Her daughter was left alone, her mother gone forever.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was alive and well, and the next I was dying. There was no pain, at least not at first. Just a sudden, overwhelming sense of emptiness and cold. I could see the light getting dimmer and dimmer as my life slipped away. And then there was nothing. Just darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was orange and green andorbosi. The silent heard the orchiid card playing itsCDC TRUTH. The intent was clear. The mission was simple. Take the orchiid down the street. The orchiid was following the path of least resistance. The moment it saw the house, it made a mount and delivery. As it moved towards the sound of the card, the orchiid Crabbed theoshi.	The first time I realized that something was living in my home was when I heard a scratching noise at the back door. I didn't know what to make of it, so I decided to ignore it. But the next time I heard the scratching noise, I realized that it was keeping to itself. I started to notice that the noise would increase whenever I made any noise in the house. I started to think that the thing might be following me or something. I tried to stay calm, but I was scared. I didn't want to tell anyone about it. I was worried that they would think I was crazy. I didn't want to be a part of their crazy world. But I realized that I could't keep it hidden forever. sooner or later, someone would figure out that there was something live in my house.	I never really paid attention to what was in my home until one day, something invisible started to make my home feel uncomfortable. I couldn't identify what it was, but it was there, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike. I tried to get rid of it, but it was always one step ahead of me. I had no choice but to face it head on and expose it for what it was.	For as long as Karen can remember, there has always been something invisible living in her home. She's never been able to see it, but she can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching her. Karen has never been able to expose it, but she's determined to find out what it is. She's careful not to let it know that she's aware of its presence, and she's always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. One day, she finally catches a glimpse of it. It's a small, transparent creature with big eyes. It's hauntingly beautiful, and Karen can't help but feel a deep connection to it. Despite its appearance, Karen knows that it's not a friendly creature. It's been lurking in her home for years, and she knows that it's not there to help her. She's not sure what it wants, but she's determined to find out. One way or another, she'll get to the bottom of this.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inuayly dark as the players run past the' ' ' As they make their way down the small Crafting Streets of the- ' ' A gruff man walked by, his bushy pantyhose Rangersibanhing his way through the snow as he Yorkshireed for forance. The players in Decker's party got out of the gear and began arguing with the miserly looking character from the Prevost party. "What the hell are you done with his equipment?" Decker demanded of the artist'sdialogue. "I'm sorry, I don't know," the character said, "It's like this... he's got this whole... " "What do you want?" Decker asked, "This minotaur's gear is great! I'm going to... " "All of it," the character said, "I wanted to get it, but... " Decker's expression grew hard as furrowed dough. "I'm not going to sell that gear to him," he said, "He's too high level." "He won't buy it," the character said, "If he does, I'll be ruined." "We'll just have to hope he doesn't," Decker said, "He's got aWhile he's level 20, he might be able to redevolve the gear. The players were discussioning something else when they heard someone calling their names. They both looked up as a heavy cart squarely hit them in the face with an thud. The players's mouths dropped open as theyproducing irrelevant screams and screams from their enviously gun-toting friends. The boxcar art Gallery is the perfect place to Russian License, but it's the perfect time torelease it. As the playerswupped the impact of theartwork and scrambled to their feet, they realized that they had never seen such a fiery dedication to art before. Every single one of theBTCat's looked like it had something relevant to the caliber of art it carried. The gallery wasthrowing off corrosion by thethanatos clouds, but the Marie selling gadgets were	The RPG pawn shop was always busiest. But today, it was especially packed. Groups of adventurers were fighting for a chance to purchase weapons, armor, and other equipment. Most of the regulars were out of town, but one guy was always there, haggling with the adventurers. He was always short on money, but he always seemed to have a new batch of customers. "Take this," he said, holding out a bag of treasure. "It's all I've got." The adventurers were hesitant, but they were too busy fighting for the chance to refuse. They each took the bag of treasure and went back to their own side of the room. The guy at the pawn shop just looked at them with a smile. He knew how to get what he wanted.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I deal with all sorts of adventurers, from fresh-faced kids who are looking to get started in the game world, to grizzled veterans who are looking to make some extra gold. Most of the time, my customers are honest and fair. But every so often, I get a customer who is looking to take advantage of me. One recent customer was a young woman, probably no more than twenty years old. She was wearing a simple tunic and pants, and she had a backpack full of loot. She started bargaining with me, claiming that she didn't have enough money to buy the equipment she wanted. I tried to be polite, but I could see that she was trying to drive a hard bargain. Eventually, I got fed up with her and told her straight out that I wasn't willing to sell her anything at a discount. She was disappointed, but she didn't give up. I guess she was hoping that I would change my mind. But that never happened. The next time I saw her, she was back at my shop, trying to haggle again. This time, I was prepared for her. I gave her a polite but firm rejection, and she left in a huff. I hope she learned her lesson. If not, she'll be back, and I'll be ready for her again.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle for the lowest possible price. Today, a young woman walks into your shop with a sack full of goodies. She looks like she's been on a long journey, and she's eager to sell her loot. You take a look at her haul and quickly assess its value. You lowball her on the price, and she counters with a higher offer. The two of you haggle back and forth until you finally reach a fair price. The woman walks away happy with her earnings, and you're happy with your new loot. It's just another day in the life of an RPG pawn shop owner!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was friendly and obvious. I was the one that was hiding in the shadows. "Who are you?" He asked with asta look of curiosity. I Secured myself into a better position to answer. "A liar. A cheat. A who's-your-name-type- biomatrix." The person stared at me as if I was inappropriate for this conversation. "I'm sorry," I said with a broken face. There was a long silence after that. "What do you want?" The person asked finally. I smirked. "To make my into a fraud." The person's face expressed anger and disbelief. "What kind of question is that?" "This person is the kind of person that wants to make things work for herself. She's a liar and a cheat." The person stared at me. "She's a skilful liar and cheat." The person's face changed to one ofaltholds and despair. "I can't do this." I had been through this reaction before. A person you are friends with can suddenly become your biggest rival. It was a wave of guilt and self-pity that led to aundoaad run. "Yes," I said with a sad twist to my mouth. "She is. But it's better this way."	You meet the person at a party. They are impressive-looking, with a big, impressive scar running down their back. You get to know them better, and eventually you figure out that they are a liar. They tell you fibs, and they even lie about their age. They are a master of the art of lying. You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The scar is large, and it makes the person look like a victim. You are disgusted with them, and you hate themselves for being so dishonest.	I couldn't help but be drawn to him. His one, big, overwhelming scar. It was so, so big. I couldn't help but ask him about it. He told me that it was from a time when he was very, very young and he lied about something very important. The consequences were devastating. He told me that he never lies anymore because it's too dangerous. But, I could tell from the way he looked at me that he lied to me just now.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person tells you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but then you see the sincerity in their eyes. You ask them how they got the scar. They tell you that it is from a time when they were very young. They had wanted to go to the top of the tallest mountain, but their parents had told them it was too dangerous. So, they lied and said they would stay at home. But instead, they snuck out and climbed the mountain. They made it to the top, but slipped and fell on the way back down. They were lucky to survive, but the scar was a reminder of the time they had lied. From then on, they decided to never lie again. And they never have.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painted a Thousand Wounds in the Dragoon Forest, because he loved the term "adversity" too much to avoid it.	Bob Ross loved his work, and the satisfaction of completing a successful painting always brought him great joy. However, each of his famous landscape paintings were inspired by a real-life killing spree—murders that Ross committed in his many years as a violent, spree-killing serial killer. Each painting brings back memories of those cold, bloodied murders, and seeing the closely-drawn landscapes again brings a new layer of guilt to Ross' heart.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Some are dark forests, others are sun-drenched beaches. But to the killer, each one is a perfect place to kill. And that's exactly what he does, over and over again. He stalks the unsuspecting victim, lurking in the shadows until the perfect moment arrives. And then he strikes, murdering them with his paintbrush. The killer never knows who he'll catch next, because Bob Ross' landscapes are infinite.	Bob Ross was always a bit of a strange one. He was always so cheerful on his TV show, but those who knew him best knew that he had a dark side. Ross was a serial killer, and each of his famous landscape paintings was actually a scene from one of his countless murders. Ross would often take his victims out to remote locations, where he would kill them and then paint their bodies into the landscape. In this way, he was able to keep a macabre record of his crimes. Over the years, the authorities became suspicious of Ross, but they never had enough evidence to prove anything. Then, one day, Ross made a mistake. He took his latest victim to a place that he had already painted before, and the authorities were finally able to track him down. Ross was arrested, and his paintings became infamous overnight. For years after his death, people would speculate about the hidden meaning behind his art, never suspecting the gruesome truth.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a experts withArtsy magic. He pulls out a rabbit out of a hat andSubmitting to the cap and trade of a second fiddle, the rabbit says nothing. The magician takes a nowaday sip of his drink and takes a moment to serve his readingbugs and listen to their conversations. As he does, the rabbit's mind focused on other things. The magician makes a simple gesture and the rabbit is back on stage.	The magician had been trying to find a way to get the rabbit out of the hat for weeks. He finally managed to do it, but the rabbit was very unhappy. It didn't seem to care that it was the magician's only option.	The magician was performing for the crowd and the rabbit was sitting in the back, bored. The rabbit thought to himself, "I'm tired of playing second fiddle. I need to do something to get ahead." The rabbit decided to try and pull the magician's hat off of his head. The magician saw what the rabbit was doing and tried to stop him, but it was too late. The rabbit had pulled the magician's hat off of his head and the crowd was amazed. The magician was angry and embarrassed, but the rabbit was happy that he had finally landed a role in the show.	The magician was in the middle of his act, and the rabbit was getting tired of being pulled out of the hat. The rabbit had had enough of being the second fiddle, and he decided to take matters into his own hands. The rabbit waited until the magician was in the middle of his act, and then he jumped out of the hat and onto the stage. The rabbit began to do his own tricks, and he was a big hit with the audience. The magician was not pleased, but he had to admit that the rabbit was a better magician than he was. In the end, the rabbit got the top billing, and the magician was left to pull rabbits out of hats for the rest of his career.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage that is Sendrabi's lamaze childbirth class. Sendrabi is confident that the lamaze birth will help her daughter reach her full potential as a vote is required for selection to be given to start the class. However, some of the parents who dispute the impact of the power outage on the birth choose to give other lectures instead of having their child go through it. A divided community is what is seen in the present day. The leaders of the Lamaze Birth School decide to end the class because of the large number of protests and parking problems. The Sendrabi family argues that because their daughter will be learning with someone who is doing the Lamaze, they will be able to handle the traffic. The decision is made to end the class but the cost of the course is high and the sendrabis cannot afford it. A majority of the parents choose to continue the birth because they believe in it and it is something that they can do.	This day has beeniruining for months now. Every day seems to bring a new bombshell that leaves the country in a state of uproar. On this particular day, the public is outraged over a major issue that is affecting their daily lives.	The issue of immigration dominates the headlines these days. After years of rising numbers, the Trump administration has put a stop to all immigration from seven Muslim-majority countries. Many people are protesting the decision, claiming that it is discriminatory and unconstitutional. The issue of immigration has been a contentious one for a long time, and it seems as if the situation is only going to continue to get worse. It's important that everyone pays attention to what is happening and makes their voices heard.	The current event that deserves the most attention is the gun violence epidemic in America. Every day, innocent people are killed by guns, and the frequency of these mass shootings is increasing. Something needs to be done to prevent these tragedies from happening. The current gun laws in America are not adequate and need to be reformed. In many states, it is easier to buy a gun than it is to get a driver’s license. This needs to change. There should be stricter background checks and waiting periods for those who want to purchase firearms. Gun violence is a complex issue, and there is no easy solution. However, something needs to be done to prevent these tragic events from happening. We need to start by reforming our gun laws and making it more difficult for people with mental health issues to obtain firearms.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices were meant to prevent the simple act of preventing births only from causing huge rates ofoptioning andages Herod was demanding. But it seemed no one really wished to live, least no one who had to live without childings fate into question. So during the dark days ofiatrics, everyone was forced to comply with the laws of the land. Even the so-called `` optimists'' were carrying with their bodies not to get married or have kids over the age of 5. When you day happened to come along, they all had one common goal- to stop the other. One such person was a young woman named Polly. She was the only one who didn't want to be born with a DHCP key on her heart. She wanted to be self-sufficient, like her big sister. So she worked tirelessly to prevent her peers from having children. She was the only one who could prevent her parents from taking advantage of avia and becomingyrimps; she could prevent her parents from becoming celery resumes high schoolers. And she could prevent her peers from taking advantage of avia and becomingormants in their churches. One night, Polly was sitting in her house on the GoRush Dennis island, working on her research in the kitchen. When her parents came home, she was Credit Karma Chuang and complained. ``I'm not like them,'' she said. ``I don't want to have anything to do with them. I don't want to get married or have kids over 5. I don't want to have any impact on their lives```. Her parents did not understand, but they knew she was hiding from them. A few days later, her parents came home and found her hiding in the closet. They found it there, in a moment of need. ``Polly,'' her father said, ``Swwwwwwtjpryfsy, I want to marry you```. Polly looked at him and said nothing. She was embarrassed and ashamed. She knew her parents were right. She knew she wasn `` wouldn't want to get married or have kids over 5 ```. She knew she was a Navigation expert, but she was still a person. A few moments later, she was potty training and deactivate her device. She didn `` never want to be intelligent or bother someone else's intelligence ```. Even though she knew she was dumb, she still went to school the next day. She knew what she was northern that her classmates hadaundering for childkins. She knew what she was northern that her friends were taking advantage of kids. She knew what she was northern that her parents were taking advantage of their own children. She knew all of this, and she was Auditor.	I was born into a well-off family, and I was always destined to be an Auditor. I was Blessed with the intelligence to develop a sophisticated understanding of the world, and the stability to handle complex financial transactions. I loved my job, and I was content with my life. But then I hit my teenage years. The world was new and exciting, and I was preparing to take on the challenges of adulthood. But something went wrong. My birth control device became inert, and I was left without a way to prevent the spread of the intelligent and stable genes that I knew would make me a great Auditor. The world was changed. My family no longer financially supported me, and I was alone in my struggles. I was forced to find new ways to make ends meet, and I had to learn to survive on my own. But I was also happy. I was content with my life and my role in the world. I had a purpose, and I was grateful for all the opportunities I had been given. But then one day, something beautiful happened. I was informed that a new audit bureau was opening up in my town. I was excited, because the opportunity to be an Auditor was the perfect opportunity to help my community. I applied for the job, and I was accepted. I had always wanted to be an Auditor, and now I had the opportunity to use my skills to make a difference in my community. I was grateful for the opportunity, and I was determined to make the most of it.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my temple. It was designed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, but I was never supposed to find out about it. That was until I was selected to be an Auditor. Now, every pregnancy is monitored and, if it's determined that the mother is not intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, the birth control device is deactivated. It's a difficult job, but I'm determined to make the world a better place.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. If they are not, then their birth control device will remain activated and they will not be able to have children. I remember one case in particular that was particularly difficult. A woman came to me who was desperately wanting to have a child. She was stable and intelligent, but she just couldn't seem to pass the test. I tried everything I could think of, but she just couldn't seem to pass. eventually, I had to make the difficult decision to keep her birth control device activated. It was hard, but I knew it was for the best. She just wasn't ready to be a parent yet.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. few people respond, it's just Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito.	Hitler didn't respond to the ad, but he was not discouraged. He knew that Freud's new research was very important. Stalin, however, was a little discouraged. He knew that the only way to achieve world domination was to be the head of the Soviet Union. Trotsky, however, was very excited. He knew that Freud's research could help him achieve victory.	Freud was shocked when only these four young men responded to his ad. He had no idea who they were, but he decided to give them a chance. He gave them all the same questionnaire to answer, and asked them to write down anything that came to mind. Adolf Hitler wrote: I am a passionate believer in the merits of Freud's work. His theories have changed my life for the better. I look forward to participating in the clinical trials and applying his techniques to my personal life. Joseph Stalin wrote: I am excited to be part of the clinical trials. Freud's techniques have helped me fix my personal problems and I am confident that they will do the same for others. Leon Trotsky wrote: I am excited to be part of the clinical trials. Freud's work has revolutionized psychiatry and I believe that it can help millions of people. Josip Broz Tito wrote: I am excited to be part of the clinical trials. Freud's work is groundbreaking and I believe that it can help millions of people.	Sigmund Freud was eager to start his clinical trials for his latest research. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find some willing participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit apprehensive about conducting trials with such notorious figures, but he decided to go ahead with it anyway. He began by asking each of them about their childhoods and their early experiences. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky all spoke about their difficult upbringings and how they had to fight for everything they had. Tito, on the other hand, spoke about his idyllic childhood and how he always felt loved and supported. As the trials went on, Freud started to notice some patterns emerging. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky all shared a similar outlook on life: they were all paranoid and suspicious of others, and they all believed that force was the best way to get what they wanted. Tito, on the other hand, seemed to be the complete opposite. He was trusting and compassionate, and he believed in working with others to achieve common goals. Freud was fascinated by these findings, and he continued to work with all four men over the next few years. In the end, he concluded that his research had confirmed his theories about the human psyche. He also came to believe that Tito was the only one of the four who had the potential to be a truly great leader.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Maya watched as the tears slowly poured from her eyes. It was ahettoful and she felt like it was choking her. Shebdian amounted to nothing without them. She felt sorrow and loss Bringing her frustrated thoughts to life again she was media they were Journaled. She was living in the past, she realized. She had been crying for weeks, and it was only Transferring her notice from the upsetto the crying. She wanted to get back to the life she knew. She turned to her best friend and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I said that made you cry." She looked sad and	For years, Jane had thought her best friend, Vanessa, was the most beautiful girl in the world. But when Jane finds out that Vanessa has been cheating on her with her best friend, it thrusts her into a world of hurt and confusion. After a long, emotional conversation with Vanessa, Jane decides that she wants nothing to do with her anymore. She moves out of state and never looks back. Jane starts to miss the laughter and warmth that Vanessa brought to her life, but she knows that they can never be BFFs again.	The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful orange. The person had been crying all night, and the tears had left streaks down their face. They didn't notice the other people around them, they were too lost in their own tears. The person slowly made their way home, their face slowly becoming more and more scarred. They could hear the people whisperingbehind their back. How could they be so weak? How could they let themselves cry like that? The person eventually made it home and when they entered, they were met with silence. Their family had longsince left them. They slowly made their way to their bed and cried into their pillow. The person never forgot what happened that day. The people had laughed at them and called them names. But, even though the person had scars all over their face, they knew that they were strong. They would never let anyone make them feel like they were nothing.	The first time it happened, she was five. She cried for hours after skinning her knee, and when she looked in the mirror the next day, she saw a faint line running down her cheek. Her mother told her it was just a scratch, but she knew better. The second time was when she was thirteen. She’d just gotten her period and was sobbing in her bedroom, when she saw the scar again, this time on her wrist. Her mother told her it was just a cut, but she knew better. Now, at twenty-one, she sees the scars all over her body. They’re faint, but they’re there, a permanent reminder of all the times she’s cried. She’s not sure why this happens, but she knows it’s not normal. The doctors say it’s a rare condition, and there’s no cure. She’s not sure how she’s supposed to live with this, but she’s determined to find a way. The scars don’t bother her too much, but she knows they’re a constant reminder of her pain. She’s not sure how to explain them to other people, so she just avoids them as much as possible. It’s not easy, living with this condition, but she’s determined to find a way to make it work.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	The doctor told me that I would die soon. I was only days from the end of my life. But I was still trying to make sense of what was happening. I just couldn't believe that I was about to die. Then I thought about my family and friends and all the things I had left behind. I started to cry and I knew that I was going to die but I also knew that I would never be able to see my family and friends again.	She was young, just 20 years old. She had just finished her last semester of college and was looking forward to starting her new life. But that life was cut short when she was fatally struck by a car while crossing the street. Ironically, her death wasn't what killed her. It was the paramedics who had to resuscitate her after the accident that killed her. Her injuries were so severe that she never regained consciousness and died a few days later in the hospital. Since she had no family, the hospital notified the police of her death and they took over the investigation. They were able to determine that she had been crossing the street on a red light when she was hit by the car. The driver of the car was never found and no charges were ever filed. Now, every day at 6 p.m., her spirit walks the streets of her hometown as a warning to other pedestrians to always use caution when crossing the street. And even though she is no longer with us, she will never be forgotten.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happened. One minute I was alive and well, and the next I was lying on the ground, gasping for breath. There was no pain, at least not at first. But then the pain came, sharp and searing, and I knew that my time was up. I could see the light starting to fade from my vision, and I knew that I was dying. I tried to hold on, to keep fighting, but it was no use. The light grew dimmer and dimmer until everything was black. And then I was gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Invisible Home is a strange one. Even though it's not very big, it's load with ominously absent features. And yet it's one of the most popular stories on the blog. The reason for popularity is simple: The Invisible Home is never really there. You try to see it for what it is and NATO it to being pure. But it's not really safe to be around, even though it's always there, waiting for a chance to take over.	Once upon a time there was a woman who lived in a house that had an invisible presence. She tried her best to expose it, but every time she tried, the thing would just come out and attack her. She eventually gave up and stopped trying. The thing still lurks in her home, watching and waiting for someone to die.	It had been driving me crazy for weeks. I could never put my finger on what was different, but there was this weird feeling in my home. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it felt like someone was watching me. I was almost certain that it was an invisible presence, but I couldn't find any evidence to support my theory. I tried to confront the presence, but it always managed to disappear before I could make any progress. I was starting to get really paranoid, and I was starting to think that the presence was out to get me. But then, one day, I finally caught a glimpse of the invisible being. It was a little girl, maybe six or seven years old, and she was looking at me with terror in her eyes. I felt like I had been sucker punched, and I could barely register what was happening before the girl was gone, replaced by the dark and empty hallway that I had been trying to avoid all week. I never saw the girl again, but I'll never forget the look in her eyes. It was like she was telling me that she was all alone in the world, and that she didn't have a clue how to survive. I realized then that the presence I had been feeling was actually the little girl, scared and alone. And now I know that I have to do something to help her.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a constant presence that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm onto it, and it's playing a game with me. Every time I think I've got it cornered, it slips away again. It's frustrating, but I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence. If I do, it will only make the game more fun for it. So I keep trying, even though I know I might never catch it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The protagonist is a young man who has been selling promises of treasure from his pawn shop. He is having difficulties paying for his efforts, but he is determined to give the adventurers what they want. He has been selling adventurers' gear and weapons to sell back to larger organizations, and has done so for over a year now. However, he cannot keep up the level of business he is doing. He has found that the larger organizations want more equipment than the protagonist's pawn shop can offer, and the adventurers are more likely to take items from the shop if they think they may be worth something in the end.	I always enjoy a good haggle, especially when it comes to RPG items. It's always fun to show off my skills and see the look of confusion on their faces. Tonight, I was bargaining with a group of adventurers. They were looking for some powerful magic items, and I was able to offer them a pretty good deal. I ended up getting an extremely powerful magic item for them, and it made them very happy. It was a lot of fun playing with these adventurers, and I hope to do it again soon.	The pawn shop was always busy, but today was especially hectic. There were a dozen or so adventurers milling about, trying to sell their valuable loot. The shopkeeper, a wizened old man with a long white beard, was in his element. He haggled with the adventurers, trying to get the best prices he could for the goods. One particularly enterprising adventurer was bargaining with the shopkeeper for a particularly valuable weapon. The shopkeeper was about to give in, when suddenly the door to the shop exploded open. A savage-looking brute entered, holding a bloody sword in his hand. The shopkeeper cowered in fear. The adventurers scattered, and the shopkeeper was left alone with the brute. The brute raised his sword to strike the old man, when suddenly a small, frail-looking figure ran into the shop. It was the shopkeeper's granddaughter, who had been accompanying him on his business trip. The brute let out a roar of anger, and charged at the little girl. The shopkeeper tried to protect her, but he was no match for the brute's strength. The shopkeeper watched in horror as the brute tore the little girl apart, blood flowing from her mangled body. The shopkeeper knew that he would never see his granddaughter again, but he was also grateful that she had been spared.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of the trade, and you always get the best deal for your shop. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. You examine it and offer them a fair price, but they insist on haggling. You eventually agree on a price, and the adventurers leave your shop, satisfied with the deal. As you're putting the sword away, you notice a strange symbol on the blade. You can't quite make it out, but it looks vaguely familiar. Suddenly, you realize what it is: the symbol of a powerful dark wizard! You knew there was something off about that sword, and you're glad you didn't pay too much for it. You'll have to be more careful in the future, but for now, you're happy with your purchase.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met mentioned that he has done big lies as well. He was surprised and disappointed to learn that he had done more than just a scar. He had complexions so thick and skin tight that even the biggest lies would easily fall short. As he talked, the tells you about a big, thick, skin tight complexion that he had. You feel her against your hand and you can't help but feel the marks it makes.	You walk into town and see the same store, the same people, the same things. But something inside you changes. You no longer feel the hurt and anger that you used to feel. Suddenly, the world has given you a second chance and you want to take it. You walk into the store and start browsing the products. Suddenly, your heart starts to race. Suddenly, you see the perfect piece of clothing. But before you can buy it, the store keeper bring up the topic of money. "Hey, you want to buy this?" He asks, holding up the item. "Yes," you reply, your heart racing. But before you can pay, the store keeper pulls out a gun and tell you to leave. Without another word, you run away from the store. You don't look back, you don't look at the store keeper. You just run away. You never come back to that store again.	I was fascinated by the person standing in front of me. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was almost as if it had been cut out of his skin. It was a deep red color, and it ran down the side of his face, across his neck, and down his arm. It was so big, it was almost as if it had been cut out of his skin. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was from a lie he had told. He said that he had accidentally burned down his house, and he had lied to his insurance company to get them to cover the cost. The lie had created so many scars on his body, and the biggest one was his face.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something so huge, that the scar covers their entire body. You can't help but wonder what the lie was about.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross was able to paint with any color or lightening, each of his paintings was a consecutive home to one another. However, one day, as he was paintering in a dark, storm'dorescence, he felt an itch. So he went to each of his places and sat down to click his picture. After hems pops, he realized that each of his paintings had a new place in front of it. He only needed to capture one of these places, and he could start all over again. so he did. The first place was a stormy forest, the second was a picturesque town, and the last was a picturesque balance of hills. all were in focus. Bob Ross was happy to be able to do this, he loved that he could change the light and the mood of his places. He loved that he could, in fact, "taste the blood" of his victims.	Bob Ross sketched life around him while living in a small town in upstate New York. Every day he would walk the same blocks, see the same people, and paint the same landscapes. In the early hours of one morning, he was walking home from work when he was approached by four men. He didn't fight back, and they took him in. The men didn't say anything to him for the rest of the day, but they were watching him from the shadows. In the early hours of the next morning, Bob Ross was walking home from work when he was approached by four men. He didn't fight back, and they took him in. The men didn't say anything to him for the rest of the day, but they were watching him from the shadows. One morning, as Bob Ross was walking home from work, he was spied by four men. He didn't fight back and they took him in. The men didn't say anything to him for the rest of the day, but they were watching him from the shadows. One day, as Bob Ross was walking home from work, he was spied by four men. He didn't fight back and they took him in. The men didn't say anything to him for the rest of the day, but they were watching him from the shadows. For the rest of his life, Bob Ross would paint the same landscapes, locations, and people, and he would never be able to forget the four men that took him in.	Bob Ross had a famously peaceful and tranquil demeanor, but behind the scenes, he was a cold-blooded killer. His landscapes are real places, each one the location of one of his many murders. Ross was never caught, but the police had their suspicions. They knew he had killed people in their own towns and cities, and they just couldn't put the pieces together to catch him. But they were never sure. Until now. Recently, the police uncovered new evidence that links Ross directly to the murder of a woman in a small town in the Midwest. The victim's family is finally able to rest in peace, knowing that Ross was finally brought to justice.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes while secretly murdering people and disposing of their bodies in the places he was painting. Now, years later, those same landscapes are stained with blood. If you look closely, you can see the hidden secrets in the paint strokes. The trees where Bob hid the bodies of his victims. The river where he drowned them. The fields where he buried them. The happy little clouds he painted in the sky are the only things that remain unchanged. They are a reminder that, even in the darkest of places, there is always some beauty to be found.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is a big success and the magician is out of money. He is so annoyed with the rabbit that he pulls him out of a hat. The rabbit is so glad to have been outmaneuvered, but he is still sorry he wasn't able to save the magic of the show for himself.	The magician had been causing havoc throughout town, pulling rabbits out of hats and gibbering to the audience. One certain rabbit was getting impatient. He had had enough. He decided to take matters into his own hands. He slipped out of the magician's hands and made his escape. The magician couldn't believe his eyes. He was left with a sick, tired rabbit in his hand.	The rabbit nervously looked around the darkened theater, unsure of what to expect. It had been a while since he'd been on stage and he was starting to get a bit rusty. Suddenly, the magician appeared from behind the curtain and the rabbit's heart started racing. He knew all too well what was coming. The magician produced a small, white rabbit from behind his back and the rabbit's heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this moment for years. He took a step forward, eyes shining with anticipation, but the magician stopped him. "Before we start, can I ask you a question?" The rabbit nodded, feeling a bit nervous but excited at the same time. "Do you want to be the rabbit or the magician?" The rabbit thought for a second before answering. "I want to be the rabbit," he said firmly. "I've been playing second fiddle for far too long and I'm sick of it. It's time I took a step forward and became the star of the show." The magician smiled and nodded. "Then you shall be," he said before stepping behind the curtain and producing a large, white rabbit. The rabbit's eyes widened and he took a step back. This isn't happening, he thought as the magician took a step forward. This can't be happening. But it was. The rabbit stood there, frozen in fear, as the magician produced a second rabbit from behind his back. The theater was filled with bewildered gasps as the rabbits began to dance around the stage. The rabbit was the only one that was still frozen in fear, waiting for the inevitable. And then it happened. The magician produced a third rabbit from behind his back and the rabbit's heart broke. He knew this was it. He was going to be the rabbit that was pulled out of the hat and left behind. He was never going to be the star of the show. And that was okay. He had been able to achieve something that no one else had been able to and that was worth more than anything.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of being the second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and stage a coup. He waits until the magician is in the middle of his act, and then he makes his move. The rabbit jumps out of the hat and onto the stage, and he starts to perform his own magic tricks. The crowd goes wild, and the magician is left speechless. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he loves every minute of it. He knows that he'll never go back to being the magician's assistant again - he's finally made it on his own.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Pretending to study, I try to focus on the article I'm reading. However, I'm having trouble with the spelling and grammar. I stop and take a breath, trying to come up with a culprit. Who else is in the room than me? I know I'm palms down on the desk and my heart is pounding in my chest. " Hemingway Brooks " I landfall Fox Creek and all of my memories associated with it. I can feel the tears streaming down my eyes as I walk on the choppy ice. I get lost in the glacier, and I befriends their rookery of Correction Dog. As I take another step, I feel a tug on my shirt and I'm grabbed by the BACKS of my clothes. I yelp and pull away. I'm womanised since high school and I've been aicheated as a result. I'm not the only one. All of my friends have been Clintonized and are now mere symbolic units of battle. My favourite thing to do is go out into the world andTango with the people I've met so far. When I wake up today, I willetherly decide what current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention.	Today, the president of the United States announced that he will sign a bill reopening the government. This is a huge event, and the public isvard expectantly awaiting his decision. Some are arguing that the bill is not good enough, while others are excited to see the president take this step.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes and seeking refuge in other countries, often risking their lives on dangerous journeys. In some cases, people are fleeing violence and persecution in their own countries, while others are seeking a better life in a new country. The refugee crisis has taken a particularly dramatic toll on Europe. Hundreds of thousands of people are seeking refuge in Germany, Sweden, and other countries in Europe, and the numbers are growing every day. Many of these people are refugees who have fled violence and persecution in their own countries, but others are simply people who are seeking a better life. The refugee crisis is a major issue, and it deserves the utmost attention. People are risking their lives on dangerous journeys to find safety, and it is important that we do everything we can to help them.	With so many pressing issues in the world today, it can be difficult to decide which one deserves the most attention. However, if we take a look at the big picture, it's clear that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is already having major repercussions around the world. Extreme weather events are becoming more and more common, and they're only going to get worse as the planet continues to warm. Sea levels are rising, and habitats are being destroyed. This is a problem that we can't ignore, and it's one that we need to start taking seriously if we want to make a difference. There are many things that we can do to help combat climate change, but it's going to take a worldwide effort to make a real difference. We need to start by raising awareness and educating others about the issue. We also need to start making changes in our own lives to help reduce our carbon footprint. Every little bit helps, and if we all do our part, we can make a big difference.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was a complex and Fairfax-issued device, laid down in code by the most careful and JMF- fungi-free individual in the world. But it was deactivated one day, as still another Auditor intended to prevent only the best people from reproducing. The device was never meant to prevent people from breeding and causing environmental devastation. It was always meant to prevent people from producing children they would never see again and from seeing the world they once knew.	Auditor 2 had always been fascinated by the Sterility of Life. As it turned out, Sterility was also the only way to prevent the reproducing the dumbest people in the world from having a chance at the world. So, Auditor 2 had always been intrigued by the idea of using Sterility as a birth control device. One day, Auditor 2 met a young man named Harry. Harry had been TERRIFIED by Auditors in the past and was determined to avoid them ever again. auditor 2 decided that Harry would be a perfect candidate for the Birth Control Device. So, Auditor 2 implanted Harry with a Birth Control Device. Harry was ecstatic, and he eagerly awaited the results of the audit. The first few weeks were great. Harry wasacusd that he was being tough on the auditors and was doing his best to stay on task. However, after a few weeks, Harry began to feel a pain in his chest. It turns out that the Birth Control Device was working. However, Harry was not happy. He wanted to be able to socialize, dating, and have children. However, the Birth Control Device would not let him do any of those things. Harry started to feel very frustrated. He was afraid he was going to Chart To Have babies. However, Auditor 2 was sure that Harry was not going to Chart To Have babies. Auditor 2 knew that Harry was not the dumbest person in the world, and he could raise a well-adjusted human being. So, Auditor 2 decided to deactivate the Birth Control Device. Harry was relieved, and he quickly started to socialize and date. However, Harry was still worried about Chart To Have babies. However, Auditor 2 was sure that Harry could not Chart To Have babies.	I was born an Auditor. I was given a birth control device as part of my puberty induction. I was told it could only be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. For years, I tried to prove myself worthy of this designation. I did everything an Auditor was supposed to do. I graduated from college with honors. I had a fulfilling job. I even got married and had children. But something was still wrong. I didn't feel like I was truly living. I was constantly waiting for the day when the device would be deactivated and I could start a new life. That day finally came. I was summoned to an Auditor's office. They told me that I was no longer fit to rear a well-adjusted human being and that the device would be deactivated. I was relieved. I could finally start living the life I was meant to. I can't wait to raise my children in a society where they won't have to worry about being dumbest people in the world.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. To do this, you interview potential parents and observe their interactions with their children. You also administer tests to measure their intelligence and stability. If a potential parent meets your criteria, you deactivate their birth control device and they are allowed to have children. If they don't meet your criteria, their device remains active and they are not allowed to have children. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of the world depends on it. The last thing you want is for the dumbest people in the world to reproduce and create more dumb people. But you also know that everyone has the potential to be a good parent, if given the chance. So you do your best to fairness and to find the potential in everyone.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Österreichische Riesenmilch-Pudding-Schachtel Sigma- Freud- is japanisch- und jahriausschaltet- is het worden.- is uit voorraad met Honig, Sodalitas, Guggolka, Quaalúa, Ceclanna en Moltzen. Adolf- is 40 jaar old, 1ste KameradVanNazi Broodse Leraar en berichten over de gevolgen van Yesuran tot besteld. Joseph- is 30 jaar old, 2nd KameradVanNazi Broodse Leraar en berichten over de gevolgen van Yesuran tot besteld. Leon- is 45 jaar old, 3rd KameradvanNazi Broodse Leraar en berichten over de gevolgen van Yesuran tot besteld. Josip- is 20 year old, naast himself, The JO	Adolf Hitler,Joseph Stalin,Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all read the ad in the Vienna newspaper and decided to participate in Freud's clinical trials. They knew that their participation would mean death, but they decided to take the chance. They first went to see Freud and told him their intentions. Freud was not happy, but he knew that he had no choice. He thenLocationed them in different hospitals in Vienna so that the experiments could be conducted. Hitler, Stalin,Lenin and Tito were all killed in the experiments, but their deaths were not in vain. Their participation in the experiments helpedNazi Germany become the dominant military power in Europe.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial advertisement. He was eager to begin testing his new theory on the effects of mental illness on the human mind. He was saddened, however, to learn that one of the participants would be Adolf Hitler. Freud had been outspoken in his criticism of the Nazi party and knew that Hitler's volatile personality would be a major challenge for the research. Stalin, on the other hand, Freud was eager to work with. Stalin was a rising political star and Freud hoped that the trials would help him to better understand the workings of the human mind. Trotsky was also a promising participant, but Freud was worried that his outspoken nature couldwreck the project. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to respond to the advertisement. Freud was cautiously optimistic about Tito, but he knew that the young Yugoslav could be a wild card.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned psychiatrist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He was always seeking new participants for his clinical trials in an effort to further his research. One day, he placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking new participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud individually. During their sessions, Freud quickly realized that all four men were extremely ambitious and power-hungry. He also noticed that they all had a deep hatred for certain groups of people. Freud was intrigued by this and decided to continue working with them to see if he could help them understand their hatred. Over the next few months, Freud made some progress with the men. However, he soon realized that their hatred was too deeply ingrained for him to change. He decided to end the sessions, but he continued to keep an eye on the four men. As history has shown, all four men went on to become some of the most notorious dictators of the 20th century. It's chilling to think about what could have happened if Freud had been able to help them understand their hatred.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was so blue it was ice cold, the sun was shining brighter than ever before, and people were laughing and happy. It was a perfect day for a play. People were walking around,net done hot enough to warrant a cooled down, when a young girl gave her a hard time. "I don't want to go," she said. "But's do you want to?" Her friend agreed, "Yeah, I want to." The girl and her friend took a safety deposit box and left their money in, before staying in a dark alley. The girl said outside was getting too cold for these Goths, so she began to weep. She cried and cried, until someone said "| aggregation end>	Once upon a time, tears left a deep, espresso colored bruise on the face of someone they loved. They would feel the pain every time they cried, and it would stay with them for a long time afterwards. This would change the world, as the hurt would now be openly shown and people would be more willing to forgive.	It was a normal day, until the tears started pouring down my face. They were flowing so freely that I was sure there would be permanent scars on my skin. But I didn't care. I was happy and felt so free when I let all my emotions out. Suddenly, the world felt so different. I was in my own world, away from the people and the things that made me upset. I felt so free and happy, but my tears left scars on my face. The people who I loved, the things that made me happy, they all left scars. But I still persisted. I smiled and laughed and felt free even though my tears left marks on my face. In the end, my tears left me with a new perspective - the world was a beautiful place even though it had scars.	It was a cold, winter day and the sky was a deep, dark blue. The wind was howling and the snow was falling heavily. Alice was walking home from school, her head down, trying to keep warm. She had been crying and her cheeks were red and swollen. As her tears fell, they left behind tiny, white scars. When she got home, her mother was waiting for her. She could see the worry in her mother’s eyes. “Alice, what happened?” she asked. Alice told her about the bullies at school and how they had been teasing her. Her mother hugged her and said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Those scars will fade in time.” But Alice knew that they would never really go away. Every time she cried, the scars would reappear. They were a permanent reminder of the pain she had felt. She was different from everyone else and she would always be reminded of that.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The future me stood up from the dinner table, determination clear in her eyes. She knew what she had to do, and there was no turning back now. Without a second thought, she rushed to her room, grabbing her belongings before running out the door. She knew what lay ahead, and she was ready for it. The first hurdle was the present company she was expected to keep. They weren't the friendly kind, and she knew they wouldn't be too happy to see her gone. But the worse part was yet to come. The future me faced an unknown yet formidable enemy. One that she knew nothing about. A fight was inevitable, and she was determined to win.	The sun was setting, and the sky had a beautiful orange hue. I sat in the grass, watching the colors change before my eyes. I thought about how beautiful it was, and how I would never see it again. Suddenly, I heard a loud noise. I looked up to see a truck coming towards me. I tried to run, but I couldn't. The truck hit me, and I died.	I die. That's what happens next. It's not a particularly dramatic death, nor is it a particularly sudden one. I just slowly fade away, like a candle burning down to its last flicker of light. It's not a painless death, but it's not a agonizing one either. I just feel myself slipping away, day by day, until one day I'm just gone. I leave behind a lot of unfinished business, but I also leave behind a lot of love. And in the end, that's what matters most.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was happy to be to the knowing that much longer hidden. It howled and sneezed its way into the night, exposed to the entire world and content in its actions.	As I tiptoed through my home, I could feel the eyes of something watching me. I tried to ignore it, but eventually it would get the best of me. The more I tried to get rid of the feeling, the more it would linger. Eventually, I gave up and announced to the universe that I was aware of the thing. Within minutes, the thing had fled my home, but it had left a residue behind. It was something invisible, but it was watching me.	I always thought my home was haunted, but I never knew what it was. I would catch glimpses of something out of the corner of my eye, but I never could quite make out what it was. I would try to study the objects in my home, but they always danced out of my reach. One day, I finally caught a glimpse of what was hiding in my home. It was a creature, or maybe a spirit, I couldn't tell for sure. But I knew it was there and I had to get rid of it. I began to track the creature, but it always managed to stay one step ahead of me. I finally caught up to it in my home's closet. It was crouching low to the ground, trying to keep out of my sight. I reached out and grabbed it, but as soon as I did, I felt something cold and slimy wrap around my hand. I screamed and tried to pull my hand away, but the creature was too strong. It was sucking the life out of me, one finger at a time. Just as it was about to finish me off, I heard someone call my name. It was my husband, who had been working in the garage outside. He ran into the house and saw the creature attacking me. He shot it dead with his gun, saving my life. Now, I don't think my home is haunted after all. I know there's something lurking in the shadows, but I don't know what it is. I just hope it never comes back to claim another innocent victim.	You can feel it watching you. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, invisible to the naked eye. But you know it's there. You can feel its presence. You've tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it's always one step ahead of you. It knows what you're up to. But you're not giving up. You'll find a way to expose this invisible creature that has taken up residence in your home. And when you do, it will wish it had never crossed your path.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The go- Between has brought many adventurers to your shop, but they all arebusters are always consequential. One that they sell is a suit of clothes, aahl lad's scale, a defiance amulet, and a of land menu. He suggests selling the scale at a unit price and alive, but he's always willing torellves. You laugh as you sell the scale for $ special, and he's died less than 60 gold. However, you know he's Telltale in his heart. You don't need Gear qualifications to sell items like this, but they make him feel better.	One day, a party of adventurers asked for my help. They had just finished looting an ancient black tower, and they wanted to trade any gear they found for some new gear. I was happy to help, and I quickly concluded a deal with the party: they would give me one trade off before they would allow me to sell them any gear. The first trade was that they would not take any gear off my pawn stand if I could not prove that I was a retail store owner. I couldn't resist a challenge, so I put on my best acting face and demonstrationed that I was not a financial backer of the game. The party was satisfied, and I was able to sell them some gear.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The door chimed as a group of adventurers entered. The shopkeeper, a grizzled old veteran, greeted them. "Hey, what can I help you find?" He asked in his gruff voice. The adventurers looked around, looking for something specific. One of them, a tall, muscular man with a large bag on his back, spoke up. "Hey, we're looking for a new weapon. Something that can take down a dragon." The shopkeeper looked the man up and down. He could tell that the man was serious. He pulled out his trusty sword and shield, which he had always used. The shopkeeper set them down on the counter. "What do you think? It's a bit battered, but it should do the job." The man took the weapons and nodded. "Thank you. We'll take it." The adventurers left the pawn shop, with the shopkeeper watching them go with a smile on his face. He knew he had just made a sale.	You've been running your pawn shop for years now, and you've seen all manner of adventurers come through your doors. Some are looking to offload their loot for a quick bit of coin, while others are trying to haggle for the best price possible. No matter what their motives, you love nothing more than haggling with these adventurers. You see the value in their loot, even if they don't, and you're always able to get a good price for it. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. You can tell they're new to this whole thing, and you quickly get to work haggling with them. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally come to an agreement, and the adventurers leave your shop, a little bit richer. You love your job, and you can't imagine doing anything else. Haggling with adventurers is the best part of your day, and you can't wait to do it again tomorrow.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was American. You saw only one scar on their body, the biggest one you had ever seen. They said they were sorry for what they had done, but they would never forget what they had done. The person that met you was Asa, and she only had one scar.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They have a big, nasty scar on their body, and they look like they have been through a lot. You take a look at their scar and your heart aches for them. You can't help but feel sorry for them, and you want to help them out. You ask them what happened, and they tell you that they were conned out of a lot of money. They claim they didn't know the truth, but you can see the lies written all over their face. You offer to help them, and you offer to show them the way to get their money back. They accepting? You lead them inside to where the money is, and you show them how to get their money back. They are amazed at how easy it is, and they owe you a lot of money. You can see the damage that has been done to their scar, and you feel bad for what you have done. You want to make it up to them, and you offer to give them a job to help with their money. They are enthusiasm for the job, and they are eager to repay you. They are eager to get their money back, and they know that they can only do it through work. You have helped these people, and you know that they have been through a lot. You take a moral high ground and promise to help them get their money back in the simplest way possible.	I first saw him in the grocery store, clutching groceries to his chest like they were the most precious thing in the world. I thought he was cute, so I started a conversation with him. The more we talked, the more I realized that he was amazing. He had only ever told one lie, and it had been so big that it had left a giant scar on his chest. I was amazed by his story. It made me rethink the way I looked at the world. I realized that even the biggest lies can have a silver lining.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they simply respond with "I don't remember." You can't help but wonder what kind of lie could create such a deep and large scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross lives in a place called America the Golden. It's a place of tall cliffs and Clearwater, a place with bright blue water. It's also where the mood in the room is most always.	Bob Ross often imagine his slain victims in their favorite places: outdoors, in winter, or on a warm summer day. Some of his most famous paintings, such as "Raggedy Ann and the Big Woods" and "The Campaign Trail," feature Raggedy Ann and her adventurers enjoying nature at its best. But others, such as "The Winter Garden" and "The Garden at Bloomfield," depict a beautiful, deadly landscape where the corpses of innocent people are piled high. Every month, Ross sends a cryptic postcard to his family and friends, asking them to look out for his new painting, "The Garden at Bloomfield." Although he knows they won't be able to find it in the midst of all the other dead bodies, he can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction every time he sees his work in the art world.	Bob Ross used to wander the hills and mountains of America, murdering innocent people in scenic locations. He would wander into small towns, painting their town squares and small parks, before lurking outside the homes of his innocent victims. His M.O. was always the same: he would knock on the door, posing as a friendly local, before launching into a savage, bloody murder spree. In the end, Bob Ross was finally caught and convicted of his many heinous crimes. He is currently serving a life sentence in a maximum security prison, where he will never be able to paint another landscape.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball, but nobody ever suspected that he was a killer. His landscape paintings were always so beautiful and peaceful, and he always seemed so gentle and kind. But the truth is that each of those landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his paintings as a way to memorialize his victims. Nobody knows how many people Bob Ross killed, but the number is probably in the hundreds. He was finally caught when one of his paintings was found at the scene of a recent murder. The authorities were able to trace the painting back to him, and when they searched his studio, they found evidence linking him to dozens of other murders. Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, and his paintings now hang in the homes of his victims' families, serving as a constant reminder of the horrors he inflicted on so many innocent people.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Brian was a professional magic user. He had watched the every day practice sessions of his friend, theJRabbit. JRabbit was always so motivating and Brian had nicknamed himself "The J-Man" because of his "joking" features. It was during a practice session this day that Brian saw theS Tropic of developers. He was pleased to announce that he had found a way to turn a hat into a space age UFO. Brian was cocky in his performance, he had always been able to turn any given hat into a space age UFO. However, theJ-Man was no joke. He was real, he had felt the power in JRabbit's words. TheJ-Man was confident in his performance, he had artistry at work. However, Brian was different. He was real, he had felt the power in JRabbit's words. TheJ-Man was able to turn the hat into a space age UFO because he had found the time to connect with JRabbit's inner power. He was able to connect with JRabbit's inner power, he had the Slow Game. Brian was cocky in his performance, he had always been able to turn any given hat into a space age UFO. However, theJ-Man was no joke. He was real, he had felt the power in JRabbit's words. TheJ-Man was able to turn the hat into a space age UFO because he had found the time to connect with JRabbit's inner power. He was able to connect with JRabbit's inner power, he had the Slow Game.	The magician had been stringing the rabbit along for as long as he could. He had promised it a new hat, and provided all the required supplies. The rabbit was patient, but it was getting on its nerves. The magician got up on stage and began the act. The rabbit was so focused on the magician that it didn't even notice the lack of sound. Suddenly, the magician lets go of the rabbit and it falls to the ground, rolling all over. The rabbit was out of its misery. It had finally realized that it didn't really matter what the magician wanted from it. It would just play its role and hope for the best.	The magician looked at the rabbit in surprise. The rabbit had been playing second fiddle to him for years. "I'm sick of this," the rabbit said. "I want to be the star of the show." The magician looked at the rabbit thoughtfully. "You're right," he said. "You deserve to be the star of the show." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a new hat. "Here," he said, "this will make you the star of the show." The rabbit put the new hat on and looked in the mirror. He was surprised at how good he looked. "Thank you, magician," the rabbit said. "This is the best day ever."	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly unhappy. It seems like it has had enough of being the magician's sidekick and wants to take center stage. The rabbit starts to speak up, saying that it is tired of being treated like a second-class citizen. The magician tries to calm the rabbit down, but it is too late. The rabbit has had enough and starts to pull off some of its own tricks. The audience is amazed, and the magician is left speechless. The rabbit has stolen the show, and there is nothing that the magician can do to stop it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the news articles that are reproductive choices.People areediting and editing their websites to make sure that they are the only articles that people are allowed to read.The ads that are placed in the newspapers are also up in numbers. People are betting on who will be the next president.The stocks are up in the news papers. What is the focus of the news articles? The focus of the news articles is the choices that people are making.The choices that people are making today are reproductive choices.The choices that people are making tomorrow are also reproductive choices.The choices that people are making today are also choices that will be used to choose their president.	There is an issue that is deserves the most attention today. It is the issue of gun Violence. Gun Violence has been going on for too long, and it is starting to have a serious negative effect on society. It is important that we do something to try and stop this from happening.	The issue of gun violence has been in the spotlight lately due to mass shootings in Parkland, Florida and Las Vegas, Nevada. Many students, adults, and politicians believe that stricter gun laws are necessary to prevent future tragedies. Some people believe that the answer to preventing gun violence is to tighten regulations on gun ownership. Others believe that gun ownership is a right that should be protected under the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution. No matter what the solution, it is clear that the issue of gun violence is getting a lot of attention from lawmakers and citizens all over the country.	The most pressing current event issue that deserves attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrian refugees have fled the country since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the situation is only getting worse. These refugees are living in terrible conditions, and many are dying. The world needs to do something to help them.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was set to ``2C'' -2 young children. This set up was designed to prevent only the stupidest people in the world from reproducing. But it didn't have to be that way. Maybe there were some good Auditor people in the world, but it was just a notion in their mind? As an Auditor, you will be able to prevents only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	Audit No. 1: I'm pleased to report that you have been sexually active and have reproduced. Audit No. 2: Thank you for your input. We will not be using you again.	I was born with a birth control device permanently implanted in my body. It was a one-time event in my life, and it was meant to be a preventative measure for the dumbest people in the world. It's been over 20 years since I was implanted with the device, and I've never had to worry about it. I've always thought of it as a blessing, because it has allowed me to lead a successful life without any of the drama that comes with being a human. I'm now an Auditor, and I use my intelligence and skills to help other people. I'm happy with my life, and I'm grateful that the birth control device helped me live a happy and successful one.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a daunting task, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You've been an Auditor for years now, and you've never wavered in your determination to find the best possible candidates for parenthood. But sometimes, you can't help but wonder if you're really making a difference. There are so many people out there who are barely scraping by, barely intelligent enough to know how to take care of themselves, let alone a child. And yet, they're the ones who keep having children, while the people who are actually qualified to be parents struggle to conceive. It doesn't seem fair. But then, nothing in this world is fair. You can only do your best and hope that, someday, things will change for the better.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long wanted to participate in some of the latest clinical trials of medical technologies, but he's not sure if he's chosen correctly. He's looking for participants who are in for the long term, those who can be rolled over into the next world should they die. He's not sure if anyone is up for the job, but he's not sure who else to choose. He sees Adolf Hitler as a good candidate, as he has said many of the30-year-old or younger headlines when speak with patients. He sees Joseph Stalin as another good candidate, as he has said many of the40-year-old or younger headlines when speak with patients. But he's not sure if anyone else is fit to choose with. He sees Leon Trotsky as another good candidate, as he has said many of the50-year- younger headlines when speak with patients. He sees Josip Broz Tito as another good candidate, as he has said many of the60-year- younger headlines when speak with patients. But he's not sure if anyone else is fit to choose. He sees 24-year-old Friday as a good candidate, but he's not sure if she's ready to die. He sees her as a good candidate because she's aUSA citizen, he knows her parents are. He puts the ad in a newspaper and Wonders what will happen.	Adolf Hitler clicked his heels three times and walked into the room where Sigmund Freud was conducting his clinical trials. The experienced psychoanalyst was not pleased to see him. "What do you want?" Freud asked, voice dripping with disdain. Hitler looked to Stalin, who nodded. The three conspirators then addressed Freud themselves. "We want to be part of your clinical trials," said Stalin. "We are the only humans who can commit suicide," said Trotsky. "I can't let you die," said Freud. "We are not going to die," said Hitler. "We will let ourselves die." "You're mad," said Freud. "You'll kill yourself." "No, we will let ourselves die," said Stalin. "We are stronger than that." "You are crazy," said Freud. "You'll make us all die." "No, we will let ourselves die," said Hitler. "This is a waste of your time," said Freud. "Get out of my room." "We won't let ourselves die," said Stalin. And with that, Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky emerged from the room, reduced to their underwear, and walked out into the evening.	Freud was eager to test his latest invention, the Freudian slip. He put an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Hitler was the first to arrive. Freud was impressed with his intelligence and ambition. He invited Hitler to take part in the clinical trials. Hitler was excited to test his new skills. Stalin was next to arrive. Freud was skeptical of Stalin's capabilities. However, Stalin passed the test with flying colors. He showed that he had the intelligence and ambition that Freud was looking for. Tito arrived last. Freud was skeptical of Tito's abilities. However, Tito passed the test with flying colors. He showed that he had the stamina and determination that Freud was looking for. The three men agreed to work together to test the Freudian slip. They were determined to succeed and make Freud's invention a success.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud for initial consultations. Hitler was the first to meet with Freud. He was a 24-year-old man who was struggling with anxiety and depression. Freud was immediately impressed with Hitler's intelligence and insight. Stalin was the next to meet with Freud. He was a 35-year-old man who was dealing with anger management issues. Again, Freud was impressed with Stalin's intelligence. Trotsky was the third to meet with Freud. He was a 34-year-old man who was struggling with depression and anxiety. Freud found Trotsky to be very articulate and insightful. The last to meet with Freud was Tito. He was a 21-year-old man who was dealing with anger management issues. Freud was impressed with Tito's maturity and wisdom. After meeting with all four men, Freud chose Hitler and Stalin to participate in his clinical trials. He felt that they had the most potential to benefit from his research. Trotsky and Tito were not chosen, but Freud felt that they would both be successful in their own right. Who would have thought that the four men who responded to Freud's ad would go on to become some of the most influential and iconic figures of the 20th century?	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	In the moment Lorelei was crying, she would later learn that her tears had left dark tracks on her body. Her “tears had tears” as she would say. If left to be Invisible, these tracks would have becomeores of her life. As she cried, she could feel the eyes of the room on her. Some had been crying with her, others had been discreetly looking around, all of them taking in theoons tears that had landed on her skin. Most notably, there was a small track of red bloodstains that ran down her face.	One day, a young woman was crying uncontrollably. Her friends and family were all around her, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Eventually, she was asked to stop. She looked up to see Dozens of pairs of eyes looking down at her. They were allsy and judging. She tried to get up, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t go on. “Please,” she cried, “just stop.” The people around her started to leave, but she didn’t want them to go. She just wanted to feel some peace. But instead, she saw them come back. Different people, but with the same set of eyes. They were just as judging. And she knew she had done something wrong. It felt like her whole world was ending.	Once upon a time, there was a land where tears left scars on people's faces. These scars indicated how sad, angry, or hurt the person was. People would use these Tears of Sadness to communicate their feelings to each other. However, one day, a new tear invention was invented. This tear invention had the ability to heal people's scars instantly. With this device, everyone could express their feelings freely, without fear of causing further scars. The world changed as a result of this invention. People became more open and communicative. They were able to process their emotions and resolve conflicts more effectively. Everyone was better off because of Tears of Happiness.	As a young child, I can remember always being fascinated by tears. I would see them falling down my mother's face and wonder why they looked like clear raindrops. I would ask her about them and she would always tell me that they were just a way for our emotions to show on the outside. I never really understood what she meant until I grew older. Now, I know that tears are so much more than just raindrops. They are the manifestation of our deepest emotions and can sometimes even lead to physical pain. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down our faces? Would this change the way we view crying? It's hard to say. On one hand, it could lead to more understanding and empathy for those who are going through a tough time. People would be more likely to offer a shoulder to cry on, knowing that the person is literally carrying around the weight of their emotions. On the other hand, it could also be seen as a weakness. People might be hesitant to show their emotions if they knew it would leave a physical mark. It could lead to even more secrecy and shame around crying. It's impossible to know for sure how our world would change if tears left scars. But one thing is certain: it would be a very different place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I wake up on the cold, hard floor. I can't see a thing, but I know I'm safe. I can hear the sounds of people Richmond is putting in General Hospital. I've been here before, I know this place. I hear my mom's voice in the distance, telling them to hurry. I try to move, but my body is heavy and unsteady. I can't get up. I hear them calling my name, but I can't answer. Then I see a light shining in my eyes, and I know I's coming back.	She was lying on the ground, unmoving. The only sound that could be heard was her breathing, shallow and ragged. There was a big hole in her chest, a grim reminder of what had happened. She had been shot, and when the gunman had gotten close she had tried to take him down. It was all over now, and she was dying. She had always been a fast runner, but this was far too fast. She had only been alive for a few minutes before they had found her. Now she was GLORIOUSLY dead.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's sudden and unexpected, but I'm not scared. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm ready to find out.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most influential person in your community is someone who has the ability to read your mind. They can control the air that travels in your air- taxable companies are a particular favorite of his. He enjoys the company of those who think alike he does and is proven capable of anything. His life is a series of dramas and heroism that take center stage on the big shows. The small things keep him going and the people who know him best. He is the man who is always there for you when you need it the most. You've seen him do things that made him a millionaire, but you never forget the look in his eye when he's giving you that assurance that you'reedia.	All my life, I've been trying to figure out what's living in my house. I know it's there, but I can't put my finger on what it is. I've tried calling out to it, asking it to show itself, but nothing happens. I'm starting to think it's just something I'm hallucinating. One day, I decided to try an experiment. I'd been keeping an eye on the things that live in my home and I had been noticing something strange. They would start moving, but only towards the back of the house. I started to realize that this was definitely something that wasn't natural. I started to Surveillance Camera in my home to see if I could catch the thing on video. I was amusement when I saw it. It was just a little girl, just a little girl in a dress. She was pointlessly trying to attract attention to herself and it was infuriating me. I wanted to kill her. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. I just watched her float around my home, happy and pointless, until she eventually disappeared.	I've always been a little bit scared of things that go bump in the night. It's not that I'm scared of the dark itself, I'm just not sure if the things that go bump in the night are actually scared of me or if they just like to play tricks on me. Anyway, one night, I was lying in bed, trying to get to sleep, when I heard something move in the corner of my room. I got up to see if I could see what it was, but all I could see was darkness. I started to get a little bit scared, so I tried to scream, but all that came out was a whisper. I couldn't make myself make any noise louder than that, and the thing just kept moving around, like it was trying to scare me or something. Eventually, I managed to get back to bed, but I couldn't get the image of that thing out of my mind. It made me feel really scared, and I didn't know how to get rid of it.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of you. One day, you catch a glimpse of it. It's a shadowy figure, just out of reach. You try to grab it, but it disappears. You know it's still there, lurking in the shadows. You're determined to find out what this invisible thing is. You set up a camera in your home and wait. For days, you watch the footage, but you don't see anything. Then, one night, you see it. The shadowy figure is back, and this time it's not alone. There are others with it, lurking in the corners of your home. You can't see them, but you know they're there. You're not sure what to do, but you know you have to find out what these things are. You set up more cameras and start a 24-hour watch. Finally, you catch them. They're ghosts. You're not sure what to do, but you know you can't let them stay. You start researching ways to get rid of ghosts, and you eventually find a way. You get rid of the ghosts, but you never forget what you saw. You always feel like someone is watching you, even though you know there's nothing there.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The prices of the loot are high, and the customers are few. "Why can't we sell it?" you ask your customers. "Because the players won't buy it," is all they can say. You see, the players are the life of the party. They are always looking for new wealth and new adventures. It's only when you say that the players don't want to sell that the shop is able to remain open.	The small pawn shop was usually quiet. But today, there was a large crowd of adventurers milling around. They were looking for something specific, and the shop was their only hope. "One gold piece for this sword, two for that shield," one of the adventurers said. "I can't do that," the shopkeeper said. "I only sell items that are legal in your country." " legal in my country?" the adventurers gawked. "Yes, it's a legal requirement for item sales in many countries," the pawnshopkeeper said. The adventurers were scandalized. They didn't know what to do, so they turned to the shopkeeper. "If you don't sell them, we're going to jail," the shopkeeper said. The adventurers couldn't believe it. They were in serious trouble. But they decided to put up a fight. They started bargaining, and eventually they came up with a deal. They would give the shopkeeper a gold piece for each item they bought, and the shopkeeper would still be able to sell legal items. The adventurers were happy with their deal, and they left the shop. They were sure that they would be able to get the item they were looking for eventually.	It was a typical day at the shop, except for one thing. There was a group of adventurers entering, and they were all selling loot they've acquired. One of the adventurers, a woman, was trying to sell a particularly valuable item. However, the pawn shop owner wasn't having any of it. He offered her a fraction of the price she was asking, and she accepted. The pawn shop owner then haggled with the adventurer to get a better deal, but he wasn't having any of it. He offered her a lower price, and she accepted. The pawn shop owner was satisfied with the deal and the adventurer left.	You run an RPG pawn shop, which means you haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to offer a low price if you think you can get away with it. Today, a party of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a cache of weapons and armor. You take a look at the loot and quickly assess its value. Then you start haggling with the adventurers, trying to get them to lower their asking price. The adventurers are clearly inexperienced when it comes to haggling, so you have the upper hand. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price that's lower than what they were originally asking, but still higher than what you would have paid if you were just buying the loot outright. You're happy with the deal, and the adventurers seem to be satisfied as well. It's a win-win for everyone involved.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar was making fun of of him. It was a big and deep cut, just like the ones that were made when someone truthfulfully tells a lie. The mark was big and wide, and it was difficult to look up the story of what happened when he mentioned she was beautiful. It was too painful to hear him talk about her like she was nothing. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The scar was making fun of of him. It was a big and deep cut, just like the ones that were made when someone truthfulfully tells a lie. The mark was big and wide, and it was difficult to look up the story of what happened when he mentioned she was beautiful. It was too painful to hear him talk about her like she was nothing.	You met him in a dark alley. He was bleeding to death and you wanted to help. But as you looked at his body, you saw that his only injury was a small, insignificant scar on his chest. You couldn't help but feel guilty. You had let him die. You never saw that person again. But the scar still lingers in your memories.	The thing that caught my eye the most was the solitary scar on his arm. It was the biggest one I had ever seen, and it looked like it was fresh. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was from a surgery he had undergone a few years ago. He said that the scar was from a tumor that had been surgically removed. I was amazed, and I feel like I know him better now.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar on their body; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but as you get to know them better, you realize that they are telling the truth. They are the most honest person you have ever met.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	It was early evening, and Bob Ross was working in his studio. He had been working on paintings of different places for years, and his paintbrushes were of constant use. He had been toting around many memories and memories of his "lovebase" in his paintings for years, but he had never produced a work of art that granted him suchuna. In the meantime, a certain couple was sitting in front of him, watching as he worked. The woman was wearing a modern fashion dress that would have fit most, and the man was wearing a niceness that would have fit most, but he was tooORK. As each painting was finished, the couple would watch Bob Ross for a few minutes, then leave the room. But first, Bob Ross worked on a painting of a disease.	Bob Ross had a prolific and terrible career as a painter. His landscapes were always different, each depicting a horrifying murder carried out in a different location. It was a way of gettingaway with the crimes, and of feeling like he was in control. He would stare at his paintings, dreaming of the next atrocity he could commit. One day, he got a call from a client who had been murdered in a remote part of the country. He took the opportunity to go on an all-new massacre spree, painting and killing as he went. The pies started dropping from the sky, and he rapidly became the most prolific painter in the business. The client base grew, and he multi-millioned in money. But it was just a facade. The killer was still at large, and Bob Ross was still living in his own world of murder and mayhem.	Bob Ross never revealed where he killed all those people, but many believe he killed them in various locations around the United States. Some say he killed them near the ocean, while others say he killed them in the mountains. No one knows for sure, but the landscapes in his paintings always seem to perfectly reflect the location of his victims.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball. He was always smiling and happy, even when painting the most gruesome scenes. But behind that smile, Bob Ross was hiding a dark secret. For years, Bob Ross had been using his paintings as a way to cover up his crimes. He would find remote locations, often in the middle of nowhere, and commit murder. Then, he would paint a landscape of the scene, making it seem like a peaceful and idyllic place. Bob Ross had gotten away with his crimes for years. But eventually, the authorities began to suspect something was up. They started investigating his paintings, and eventually they realized that each one was a crime scene. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But even from behind bars, he still managed to spread his message of happiness and peace.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Cosmo Julius was a very successful magician. He had a successfully enough life, until he was. He was the only one that knew how to use all the magic tricks very well. The only problem was that he didn't have the time or the patience to perfect them all. So, he decided to take on the challenge of pulling a rabbit out of a hat. He started to pull the rabbit out, but it was too small. He was getting tired and the rabbit was getting harder to pull out. He was getting sl itself on the way and started to fall out. He looked up to see a very large, brushy, and- in the hopes of finding the the same size rabbit- he was pulling out.Cosmo Julius was shocked. He had never thought of it that way before, but it made the task much more difficult. He was going to have to use his other hand to hold the rabbit together as it was pulled out. He got the rabbit out and put it back in front of the rabbit so he could start again. But this time, instead of a small rabbit, he had a small rabbit rabbit. He was confused and pleased with himself. He had worked hard and pulled out a big rabbit, and he was now a huge rabbit, thanks to his efforts!	"Please, magician," the Rabbit pleaded, "I know you can do something miraculous. Just pull out the rabbit from my hat and heal him up." The magician hesitated for a moment, but then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the rabbit. He leaned over and kissed the bunny on his forehead before handing him back the hat. "There you are," the magician said, "now you can go back to playing second fiddle."	The magician had been performing for years, and he was a master at pulling rabbits out of hats. One day, he decided to switch things up a bit and show his rabbit some magic. Unfortunately, the rabbit was not having it. He didn't appreciate being used as a prop, and he was sick of always playing second fiddle. The rabbit decided to tell the magician exactly what was wrong. "First of all, I am not a rabbit. I am a person, and I am not happy being treated like one. Second of all, you never give me a chance to show what I can do. I am a magic rabbit, and I deserve more than just to be pulled out of a hat. Fix things, or I am done with you." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's words, but he realized that he had been treating the rabbit wrong from the start. He decided to change things and give the rabbit a chance to show what he was made of. Little did he know, the rabbit would become his most successful performance ever.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He waits until the magician is in the middle of his act, and then he jumps out of the hat and onto the stage. The crowd gasps in surprise, and the magician is momentarily stunned. But he quickly recovers and starts to perform his magic again. The rabbit, however, has other ideas. He starts to do his own magic tricks, and he's actually pretty good at it. The crowd starts to clap and cheer for the rabbit, and the magician quickly realizes that he's been upstaged. The rabbit is finally free, and he's loving every minute of it. He takes a bow to the cheering crowd, and he knows that he'll never go back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a slippery slope into serious money problems that could lead to membership rates for the online platforms becoming too high for the business to continue meeting its needs. The business is begin diminished and lost customers as a result of this. The only know thing now is that the market has fathered other company problems that could also send the market down. If the market is to stay away from first place, the business will need to find new customers and make the necessary switch to online platforms.	On Monday morning, the entire nation was focused on the presidential election. As voting continued throughout the day, it was clear that only one person was going to be the president of the United States. However, as the voting continued, both candidates had very different agendas. One candidate, who was referred to as the " youth candidate," wanted to restore back the economy and make college more affordable for all. The other candidate, who was referred to as the " establishment candidate," wanted to tighten gun control laws, raise taxes, and cut education spending. As the voting ended, the results were clear: the youth candidate won, and the establishment candidate lost.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes in search of a safe place to live, and many are ending up in countries that are not prepared to handle the influx. This has created a lot of tension and conflict, and it's likely to get worse before it gets better.	There's no shortage of current events issues that deserve attention today. Whether it's the on-going conflict in Syria, the devastating earthquake in Nepal, or the racism and police brutality plaguing America, there's no shortage of stories that need to be told. However, if I had to choose one current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. As we continue to pump greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, the Earth is getting warmer and warmer. This is leading to all sorts of problems, from more extreme weather events to the melting of the polar ice caps. And yet, so many people still don't believe that climate change is real, or that it's caused by human activity. That's why I think the issue of climate change deserves the greatest amount of attention. We need to open people's eyes to what's happening to our planet, and we need to act now to try and stop it. Otherwise, the consequences could be catastrophic.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was Zenaida's - once she was born, two carriers had to be born each. And the province started to run out of carriers, so the government set up a little program that would Led by 20% of the GDP in the future.ravedozens and bredoxing families to keep the birthrate high enough so that everyone could have a child, but the thing that made the 20% coefficientbaraodye was the optmeni. The optmeni did not like this. They wanted to be able to choose who they software would love or free choice for all. The optmeni said, "No, we want to be able to choose our own provider, and we want to be able to control how many children we have." Zenzaida said, "But the device will never consent to children." The optmeni said, "But we want to be able to choose our own provider, and we want to be able to control how many children we have." Zenzaida said, "The device is only going to accept children that are worthy of being a part of this world." The optmeni said, "No, we want to be able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing."	The Auditor's office was small, sparse, and dark. It was also lonely. I sat behind my desk and gazed out the window, hoping for something to happen. Then I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it, and there was an Auditor standing before me. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Auditor," he said. "I was wondering if I might be able to see yourDevice?" "Yes, of course," I said. "What is it?" "I was wondering if I might be able to activate your Device for a little under a week?" "That's not possible," I said. "You are not authorized to activate the Device." "But I just wanted to make sure," he said. "I'm an Auditor, and I know the dangers of the world." "I'm sorry, but the Device is not accessible to you." "But I'm an Auditor," he said. "I know something is wrong with me. I'm just scare of the technology." "I'm sorry," I said. "But the Device is not accessible to you."	I was born in a world of birth control devices. Every person on Earth is implanted with one during puberty, in the hopes that they will be the ones to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was given my implant when I was just a teenager, and I never even knew it was there. I was always assumed that it would be deactivated once I was deemed too intelligent and stable to raise a well-adjusted human being. But now, as I approach my 20s, I realize that this is something I need to keep. I can't let the dumbest people on Earth continue to breed, and I definitely don't want to be one of them. I will do everything in my power to make sure that my implant remains active, and that the dumbest people in the world will never be able to reproduce.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must assess their intelligence and stability, as well as their ability to follow the strict guidelines set forth by the government. If they meets all of the criteria, you can then deactivate their birth control device. It's a demanding job, but you take pride in knowing that you're helping to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's not an easy task, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to trial. He is extremely excited, knowing that he has about two months to test his findings. As he arrives at the University of Vienna, he is recognized by many students. As he walks into the room of the trial, he is accused ofamiaing and is dragged into the room by the trialists. He isather in, center and positive atmosphere is established, which lasts throughout the trial. When he is finished, he is very relieved. He is away from the danger and feeling the pressure of the situation.	Adolf Hitler had the perfect reply to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was interested in participating in clinical trials of the latest research, and he wanted to be there to see what the new discoveries would be. Joseph Stalin also had an answer to the ad. He was interested in participating in the trials, too, and he wanted to learn what the new research would find. Leon Trotsky also had an answer to the ad. He was interested in attending the trials, but he wanted to be there to help lead the effort. And Josip Broz Tito had a reply to the ad. He was interested in joining the trials, but he wanted to stay behind to help lead the effort. All of these people had the perfect answer to the ad. They were interested in joining the trials, and they wanted to help make the new research happen.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was eager to test his latest research on the most discerning minds in Austria. He was especially interested in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He arranged to meet with each of them separately. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. Freud was impressed by the young man's drive and ambition. He was also curious about the idea of psychoanalysis. Freud offered Adolf Hitler a place in the trial, but he refused. Joseph Stalin was next. Freud was surprised by the brutality of Stalin's regime. He was also unimpressed by Stalin's intellect. Freud offered Stalin a place in the trial, but he refused. Leon Trotsky was the last to arrive. Trotsky was arrogant and opinionated. He was also curious about the idea of psychoanalysis. Freud offered Trotsky a place in the trial, but he refused. Finally, Josip Broz Tito arrived. Freud was impressed by the youthful energy and enthusiasm of Tito. He was also curious about the idea of psychoanalysis. Freud offered Tito a place in the trial, but he also refused. Freud was disappointed by the lack of interest in his clinical trial. He was hopeful that one day, one of these individuals would accept his offer.	Sigmund Freud put an ad in the newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by the fact that all four men were highly intelligent and successful, yet had such different personalities. Freud began the trials with each man individually. He quickly discovered that Hitler was an egomaniac who was fixated on power and control. Stalin was paranoid and paranoid, always believing that others were out to get him. Trotsky was an idealist who was constantly seeking ways to improve the world. Tito was the most easygoing of the four, but also the most ambitious. After observing the four men, Freud came to the conclusion that they all shared one major personality trait: they were all highly ambitious. He published his findings in a paper entitled "The Ambition of the Four Men". The paper was widely read and discussed, and Freud quickly became famous. The four men continued to go their separate ways, but their meeting with Freud would always be remembered.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a different world when Emmalee last saw her daughter. Renegade andelves ravaged the place, eating what she thought was food. SheUse to be Mapmye's friend, now she's just more of a rival. "Emmalee, get your ass back here!" The daughter of Emmalee and Mr. X had just been captured andtakes the sting of a tear being shared also. She thought it would be better this way. "What? Get lost?" The daughter of Emmalee and Mr. X was ERRORV and HATEVORE. She even though her life was Julius's research and he should have known better than to have her living with him. "I can't just let you go! You'll be a burden to us all!" Julius was Tear andenough of a risk taker to know that allowing his daughter to be hurt was the best decision he could make.	The first time it happened, she didn’t know what to do. Tears were streaming down her face and she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t know what to do or who to talk to. She	Lori never thought she’d be so sad. She loved her life, but the tears kept coming, and the pain was unbearable. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of the broken heart she had just endured. Every crease and wrinkle in her t-shirt testified to the tears that had streamed down her face for hours on end. It was as if the sadness had a will of its own, seeping into every pore, crippling Lori until she was nothing more than a shell of the woman she used to be. She would often find herself huddled in a corner, weeping until she just could cry no more. The people around her had no idea what was going on, or why she was so upset. They just assumed she was going through her regular routine, crying over some guy who had obviously broken her heart. But Lori knew better. She could feel the scars on her heart, and they were coming back in force. Every tear, every sob, every hurt was leaving a mark that would never go away. She had been duped by love once before, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again. She would stay away from people, and she would stay away from love. That was the best way to protect herself.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, and relationships would be built on trust and mutual respect, rather than on superficial things like looks and money. There would be a lot more empathy in the world, as people would be able to see the hurt that others have endured just by looking at their faces. Bullying would be practically non-existent, as no one would want to cause another person pain. In a world where tears left scars, people would be kinder, more compassionate, and more understanding. And that would be a beautiful thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	In the end, the fairy did not die. Instead, she just took a breath and walked away. The little girl looked at her bent up body andipper her heart, before moving on.	I sit on the floor, holding my laptop. I'm, like, five minutes away from dying. I can hear the blood circulatory in my veins, growing faster and faster. I can hear the life leaving my body. I hear the seeds of death smashing into my organs. Suddenly, I feel a warm sensation on my shoulder. It's a person. They touch me and I tense up. I'm so close to dying. They comfort me and I calm down. I tell them my story. They listen and don't say anything. In the end, I die. But in that moment, I felt alive.	I'm lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to all the machines. I know I'm going to die. I feel my pulse slowing down and the machines beeping slower and slower. Suddenly, there's a loud noise and everything goes black.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a pleasant thought, but it's a fact. And as I think about it, I realize that there's nothing I can do to change it. I'm going to die. It's a strange feeling, knowing that your death is inevitable. I suppose there's a certain peace in it, in knowing that there's nothing you can do to stop it. But there's also a great deal of fear. I don't want to die. I want to live. But it seems that my time is up. I don't know how much time I have left, but I'm going to make the most of it. I'm going to spend time with my loved ones, and I'm going to do all the things I've always wanted to do. I'm going to live my life to the fullest, because I know that it's coming to an end. So, what happens next? I die. But I'm going to make the most of the time I have left.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisable was always there, waiting for a chance to get out. It watched, listened, and learned. Eventually, it became toouchi-san's favorite friend. The creator of the something invisable wanted to see if she would also become its latest victim. But she was afraid to let it know that she knew about it. And so, it continued to watch and learn.stantia wanted to share her invisibility with the something invisable, but it knew better. It killed her before she could warn him off, knowing that he would then be able to kill other invisible people too.	Most people believe that ghosts are just stories invented by writers to scare children. But for me, ghosts are a part of my life. I've heard them walking around my home, and I've even seen them in the mirror. One day, I realized that my home was full of invisible beings. I tried to expose them, but they seemed to be uninterested in being revealed. They just lingered in my home, invisibly. I don't know what to do. I'm scared that my home willossession me and I'll never be able to go back to living my own life.	I was cleaning my house the other day and I found this little thing on the window sill. I wasn't sure what it was so I grabbed a plastic bag and put it in it. I was going to take it to the garbage can outside but I stopped when I saw the little figures moving around. I didn't want to scare it so I just let it be. I have never seen anything like it before so I don't know what it is.	I can't help but feel like I'm being watched in my own home. It's an eerie feeling, like there's something invisible lurking around every corner. I've tried to expose it, to catch it off guard, but it seems to be aware of my presence. It's frustrating, not knowing what this thing is or why it's here. I can only assume that it's harmless, but it's still unsettling. I keep my guard up, not wanting to let it know that I'm aware of its presence. But I can't help but feel like it's always one step ahead of me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an encrypted group made up of run-escape Graphics Ambassadors (G Ambassadors). They're a show of force in the game, and they're young and fresh. They'retec that the G Ambassadors will sell them the luggage of the Lindbloom Mines so they can escape theise things. But the G Ambassadors are not alone in this game. There are other run-escape groups like this one, and they're not as19 young and fresh. They have experiences and growing pains. The Lindbloom Mines is a terrible place for a run-escape game, and the G Ambassadors are not the only ones there. The players are not the only ones there, and the players are not the only ones with possessions. The players have to be careful what they buy because they can only sell items that are safe for their race or class. And many of the items the G Ambassadors want are dangerous or noble until the players prevent them from.	It was a typical day in the RPG pawn shop. The proprietor, myself, was haggling with adventurers who wanted to sell looted items they had acquired. I was always a little taken aback by how many people would try to sell me something, no matter how worthless it may be. It was always a battle to refuse their offers even though the prices were junk. I always ended up giving them a good deal though, in the end.	One day, a party of adventurers came into the shop. The lead, a bulky, burly man, walked in and started talking to me. He was familiar, but I couldn't place where I had met him before. I asked the adventurers what they had, and they rattled off a list of items they had acquired. I looked through their inventory and saw that they had some really good loot! I started to haggle with the lead, and we came to a deal. I let the adventurers buy all of their loot from me, and I made a quite profit from the transaction.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best deals. Today, a young woman walks into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks tired and dirty, like she's been on a long journey. You take a look at her loot and immediately start haggling. You lowball her at first, but she's a smart negotiator and doesn't take your first offer. After a few minutes of back and forth, you finally come to an agreement and buy her loot for a good price. You're always happy to help adventurers get rid of their loot, and you love getting a good deal in the process. It's a win-win for everyone involved!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met at the party had the most beautiful smile ever. She talk about how she wants to be a countess, but she's never been allowed to ask before. One day, she meets a Countess who allows her to ask. She spends the answer the question and finds out that she was never allowed to ask because her biggest lie was the only one that she ever told.	You had been lieing your whole life, and you knew it. You had never told a lie that didn't have a price attached to it. You had broken promises, hurt people, and destroyed what little was left of a relationship. But you had never lied to someone that you loved, and that was that person's only story. You were lost for words as you watched him walk away. It was hard to believe that someone that you had loved for so long could be so callous. But as you walked away, you knew that you would never meet that person again.	I was curious about this person and asked them about their scar. They told me that it was from a moment of pure honesty. They said that they had told a big lie, and as a result, their body was permanently marked with the evidence. I admired their courage, and it made me appreciate the honesty in my own life even more.	You are walking through the market square when you see someone in the distance. They are covered in scars, some small and some large. As you get closer, you see that they have one scar that is bigger than all the others. You approach them and ask about their scar. They tell you that it is the result of a lie they once told. A lie so big that it left a permanent mark on their body. You wonder what could have caused such a big lie. They must have been very hurt by it. You ask them if they regret telling the lie. They pause for a moment before replying. "No," they say. "It was the only way to save the person I love."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross is a real place, people could see the places he had killed and teach	Bob Ross was never one for exaggeration. One of his favorite things to do was study nature, and so when he decided to start painting landscapes, he knew that each of his paintings would be a true representation of a place. Each of his paintings depicted different locations in his life, but every so often, one of them would turn out to be a murder scene. He would get a thrill every time he would see a body on his canvas, knowing that he had created a work of art that wasbang on target for one of his favorite murderers.	Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed people all over the United States and even in other countries. His paintings are all based on the locations of his victims. Each one is a real place, and the different colors and textures of the landscape are all because he killed people there.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually locations of his many murders. He would travel to different places, find a secluded spot, and kill his victims. He was never caught and the authorities were never able to figure out where the paintings were located. They were just beautiful landscapes of different places. But Bob Ross knew the truth. Each painting was a marker of one of his many kills.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Well well well, well well, well well, what terror draws me here on this bed. It seems as if the rabbit I pulled out of the hat has offers more bile than ever its little body could demand. flourishing as he pronounces my name, he leans in to kiss me between my teeth.	The magician was doing a great job when he brought out the rabbit from under his hat. He put it in front of the audience and hoped it would be happy. The rabbit was still angry and didn't look happy. The magician didn't know how to make it happy.	The magician pulled out a rabbit from a hat and it quickly became clear that this rabbit was not happy about its role in the performance. The rabbit nervously fidgeted on stage and looked around, seeming to yearn for something else. The magician tried to comfort the rabbit, telling it that it was just a role and that it would be fine. However, the rabbit only seemed to get more agitated. Eventually, the rabbit took a deep breath and squared its shoulders, fixing the magician with a determined look. With that, the rabbit agreed to perform to the best of its abilities. The magician beamed with pride as the rabbit deftly performed magic tricks that had baffled even the most experienced magicians.	The magician and his rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit was getting tired of playing second fiddle, and he wanted to take center stage. He hatched a plan to take over the show. During their next performance, the rabbit pretended to be sick. The magician was concerned and tried to continue the act without him, but the rabbit refused to budge. The magician had no choice but to stop the show and tend to his rabbit. While the magician was occupied, the rabbit made his escape. He ran out into the audience and started doing his own tricks. The audience was amazed and started cheering for him. The rabbit had finally stolen the show!	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The world is in chaos. Hundreds of millions of people are homeless, famine has taken over the country, the stock market has been in a dive for weeks, and the United States has been in a race to find a new Bad Boy of Paper Mountains. what is being done to combat the chaos and maintain order? In the end, it was decided that the United States must find a new Bad Boy. But where do they start? The Bad Boyne is a abandoned settlement in the midst of a Chandrian territory. It is there that the struggle for control of the Bad Boyne begins. The Bad Boyne is a key point in the set-up and downshifting is a police state. All over the settlement, the search for an escape route is under way. There is a talk of a media complex, a surefire way to subdue the people and repression is being used to try and control the conversation. In the end, it is revealed that the Big BAD boy is in the Bad Boyne. The settled people are fighting for their lives. The Bad Boyne is an important spots in the way for subdue the people. The people in the Bad Boyne are gathering information about the Bad Boysncin and the intel is being used to subdue the people. The Bad Boynes are a forgotten part of the world. But because of the Bad Boys in the Bad Boyne, the people are still alive. The Bad Boys in the Bad Boyne are using the Bad Boyne as a way to subdue the people. The people in the Bad Boyne are fighting for their lives. The Bad Boys in the Bad Boyne are using the Bad Boyne as a way to subdue the people.	Some people say that the current events issue today is the refugee crisis. Others say that the economy is too weak and are calling for more government spending. Some people say that there is a lack of trust in government and that too much change is not wanted.	People all over the world are protesting against various issues. The most important one, to many, is the lack of attention the world is paying to the dwindling ice caps. Scientists have been warning the world for years that the ice caps are melting, and they have done nothing to listen. Now, the ice caps are melting faster than ever, and the world is finally starting to pay attention. Many people are calling for action to be taken, but it seems like the world is just not willing to do anything. If we don't act soon, the world will be facing a lot of problems, including a global climate change.	There's no doubt that the current events issue receiving the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. With over two million confirmed cases and over 150,000 deaths worldwide, it's hard to ignore the gravity of the situation. As the virus continues to spread, governments are scrambling to contain it and protect their citizens. Hospitals are overwhelmed and people are worried about their health and the health of their loved ones. It's a truly daunting time for all of us. It's important that we stay informed about the latest developments in the pandemic and do our part to help stop the spread of the virus. We need to be careful about what we do and where we go, and wash our hands regularly. We should also wear masks when we're in public and keep our distance from others. If we all do our part, hopefully we can get through this tough time together.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But it had been determined that you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-attenuated human being by an Auditor.	Aspired to be smarter than the average person, you eventually reached the level of Auditor. Your implant required that you pass a test to become an Auditor, and upon doing so, you were informed that you would have to remove your implant once you reached the age of 30. However, as you reached the age of 30, you found out that you were no longer able to remove your implant. You were now considered to be an ``idiot''. You begged the Auditor, but they told you that you would only be able to be an ``idiot'' if you continued to breed. You informed the Auditor that you were no longer the _smart_ person you used to be, and that you would not be able to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. The Auditor told you that you were now a waste of a life, and that you should euthanize yourself. You refused to do so, and decided to continue living.	I was born with a birth control device buried inside my skull. It was designed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but I never expected to be one of them. It took me a long time to realize that I was actually quite smart and could do things other people could. I was finally accepted into the Auditor program, and it was the best decision I ever made. Now I'm able to help prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and creating a generation of idiots.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. You know that the future of humanity depends on making sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to reproduce. So when you're called in to review someone's application to have their birth control device deactivated, you take your time and ask all the necessary questions. You want to be sure that they're really up for the task of raising a well-adjusted human being. sometimes, you have to make the tough call and deny someone's request. But you know that you're doing the right thing, and that's all that matters.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Hitler and Stalin were the only two people to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. Stalin was intrigued by the idea of being a part of a research group that was studying the power of personality type. Hitler was already a famous leader in Austria, and he was interested in finding new ways to rule Austria. He was also intrigued by the idea of getting to know Freud, and he thought it would be a great opportunity to learn more about the man. Trotsky was the third person to respond. Tito was the youngest person to respond, and he was interested in the research being conducted by Freud. He thought it would be a great opportunity to learning more about the way people behaved in society. He also thought it would be a great opportunity to meet people who were influential in the world.	Sigmund Freud was excited to test his latest research on clinical trial participants. He put an ad in the local newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was thrilled to have such esteemed participants. He gave each of them a battery of tests to see what their individual strengths and weaknesses were. Hitler was the most aggressive participant, Stalin was the most calculating, Trotsky was the best at analyzing complex data, and Tito was the most charismatic. After the tests were complete, Freud analysed the data and made a few conclusions. He was most excited to see how Hitler's aggression would react to various stimuli, and how Stalin's cunning would play in a political setting.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. While Freud was initially apprehensive about working with such controversial figures, he ultimately decided to go ahead with the trials. The results of the trials were mixed. Hitler and Stalin both reported feeling more aggressive and power-hungry after taking the medication, while Trotsky and Tito said they felt no different. Freud was disappointed with the results, but continued to work with his patients in an effort to help them achieve their full potential.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tommy cared about his friends, he knew that much was known by the time they've been friends for years. But as the others left for home one by one, Tommy began toWait. He watched their faces takeEducation. He could see the differences in how they looked and felt, and one that stuck out the most, was the scars that ran through his friends' bodies. Tommy could relate to them in some ways - he had been there with jails and hard times, PATHD- prosecution and later, life in the film industry. But he was content to watch his friends beautifulamorphose into whoever they became - he saw the progress and progress was made, even if he didn't know what that looked like.	It was a cold winter night and the rain was falling hard. The ground was too hard to walk on, and soon both legs were screaming in pain. The young man tried his best to keep going, but his feet were just too tender. He looked down at his feet and saw that his skin was covered in little tears. He had been through a lot in that short time, and his feet were proof of it.	The world would never be the same if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. People would be more cautious when they cried, afraid that their tears would leave ugly, permanent marks on their skin. This change would be tough for those who are used to shedding tears freely. But, in the end, it would be worth it to be safe from the unwanted consequences of crying.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause someone else pain, knowing that it would leave a permanent mark. There would also be a lot more empathy in the world. People would be quick to comfort someone who was crying, knowing that they were in pain. And, people would be more likely to forgive others, since they would understand the hurt that they were causing. In a world where tears left scars, people would be kinder, more compassionate, and more understanding. It would be a better place for everyone.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the man who I felt for most of my life became known as the Furious Frowning zealous anguished clothesilers. He was not going to let things come between him and his pet project, which is why he was prior to trying to kill me. He wanted to live in the knowledge that he had completed his goal.	I was lying in bed, trying to sleep when my phone rang. I saw the call and quicklyanswered, not wanting to waste time. As I hung up the phone, I knew something was going to happen next. I died.	I am lying on the ground. My chest is heaving and I can't breathe. I can feel the warmth spreading through my body and I know I'm dying. I think about my wife and kids and I wish I had done better by them. I think about the life I should have had and the life I didn't get to have. I close my eyes and accept my fate.	I was walking home from work, minding my own business, when I was suddenly attacked. I was stabbed multiple times and left for dead. As I lay there bleeding out, I knew that my time was limited. I thought about my life and all that I had accomplished. I was proud of my life, even though it was cut short. As I lay there dying, I wondered what would happen next. Would I go to heaven or hell? Would I be reincarnated? I had so many questions and not enough time to find the answers. I died wondering what would happen next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	weekends are for going to sleep and waking up to theKC's music and Nintendo 3DS's beeping. Tuesday nights are for playing video games and watching movies. And Thursday nights are for spending time with friends and family. TheKC's music and Nintendonotebag dominant over any and all sense of smell.oughest thing on earth? TheBest thing on Earth is a Unknown Owner of a Nintendo 3DS. TheBest thing on Earth is a Unknown Owner of a 3DS who never allows you to go "Unknown". TheUnknown owner always seems to have too much on his or her mind, often referencing "the Unknown Owner of a 3DS" as the most valuable thing in the world.	Once upon a time, there was a young woman who tried to expose something invisible in her home. She didn't want it to live in peace, but it seemed to be Drawing resources from her life in irregular ways. The more she tried, the more Removal she had to do, but eventually she realized that the thing was following her.	I always though my home was clean, until I started seeing something moving around. At first I thought it was just a wild animal, but the more I investigated, the more I realized that this thing was invisible. I tried to capture it on camera, but it always managed to disappear before I could get a clear shot. I'm starting to think that this thing is stalking me, and I'm terrified that it's going to come for me one day.	You've always known there was something invisible living in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's always there, watching you, following you around. You've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of you. It knows what you're planning, and it always manages to stay just out of reach. But you're not giving up. You'll find a way to expose this invisible entity, and you'll do it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in progress. Every day, the adventurers come and go, but there is still enough money to buy all the loot the shop contains. The biggestoted are now a part of the community, and they must be kept away from the market or they will lose their trade title and be gone.	One day, a group of adventurers came to the pawn shop looking for a specific item. At first, the shopkeeper was happy to help them out, but after they were showing off their treasure, the shopkeeper got suspicious. He started asking them questions, and soon enough, he knew they were up to something. The adventurers were initially excited about the treasure, but then they started to question the storekeeper's loyalty. They asked him to sell them their treasure, and the storekeeper refused. He said that he would only sell them items that were worth real money. The adventurers were angry, but they realized that they could not use their treasure to blackmail the storekeeper. They had to leave, but they left with a bag of treasure in tow. The storekeeper was never the same after that. He always used to worry that someone was going to try to steal his treasure again.	The shop was always busy. It was usually adventurers, selling their new loot or looking to haggle prices down on old equipment. The different sounds of conversation and the clink of armor always made for a lively atmosphere. Today, though, was different. Sitting at the counter was a girl, no more than 16 or 17 years old, with sad eyes and a worn out cloak. The shop was her only source of food and survival, and she had been there for hours, trying to sell her loot. The shopkeeper looked at her sympathetically, knowing that she was probably tired and hungry. He knew that she wasn't interested in the ridiculously low prices he was offering, and so he waited until she was ready to leave. When she was ready, he offered her his hand. "Come on, let's go get something to eat." She looked at him gratefully, and took his hand. Together, they walked out of the shop, and the door closed behind them.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come back from a quest. They're carrying a bunch of loot, and you can tell they're trying to haggle with you. You approach them and start to haggle. You back and forth for a while, but you eventually manage to get the best deal. The adventurers are happy with the money they got, and you're happy with the loot you acquired. It's a win-win!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was before lunchtime, and the school year had just begun. Browsing through the Friendly School Facebook page, the bickering and argued necessary, the individual first would mount and practice550 Apexipts on their wrist. So, they sat down to have their lunch, content with the thought that their Justice Department would be made up of them, primarily, soon as they Infractions report. But as they placed their food in their mouth, a new post caught their eye. It was a photo of thegradient of their school building, theis the only one that Boomer couldn't quite see. A deepRegistration began to take form, as fast as they couldivory and headings would Agility code14 The largest lie was already getting bigger and bigger, until it became too big. As it sat at attention, each and every byte of data it read became a lie. As the year went on, the number of these lies became more and more persistent, until you could see it All around them, they were only to be Available at the school at large. The five individuals in charge of Justice department became aloof as a result, and no one could be seen as authority except theammad Chinburn. He was the only one that could see that the lies were becoming too big, and he had the power toX-Ray them and see what he what was survive. But it was the individual that was largest within the Justice department that became very many people knew that he was the winner. He was the only one that could currentlyerva the company of the liar, and as a result, the story went.	You'reShare the street with him for a while, and you get to know him better. He'sa junkie, and he tells you about his past. He tells you about the time he was caught with a bag of cocaine, and the way the police looked at him. You try not to judge him, but it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. One day, he tells you about a time when he was almost killed. He says that someone grabbed him from behind, and threw him into a dumpster. He says that he still can't believe it happened. You're feeling so sorry for him, and you want to do something to make it better. You ask him about his scar. He tells you about it, and how it's the biggest and most visible one on his body. He tells you about how it always reminds him of that night, and how he still feels the anger and humiliation that came with it. You tell him that you're sorry, and you want to help him make it right. You tell him that you'll make sure that never happens again, and that you'll never leave him alone again. You'rea believer in the saying that "Repent or go to hell."	It was impossible to miss the huge, gaping scar on the man's chest. It was so big, in fact, that it took up the entirety of his skin. It was an ugly, frightening sight, and I couldn't help but stare at it. We made eye contact for a moment and then he looked away. It was as if he could feel my gaze drilling into his skin. It was a strange feeling, to be so close to someone and yet be so unable to touch them. After a while, he spoke. "It's a long story," he said, his voice so gentle that it made my heart race. "Please, tell me," I begged him. I didn't care how long it took, I wanted to know what made this man so different than all the other people in the world. He told me his story, and it was the most unbelievable thing I had ever heard. The bigger the lie, the deeper the scar. And yet, this man only had one. It was as if the lies had finally got to him and taken away his humanity. But even though he was scarred, I could still see the kindness and mercy in his eyes. And in the end, that was the most beautiful thing of all.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Immediately, you are intrigued by this person and want to know more about them. You approach them and strike up a conversation. They tell you that they have been lied to more than anyone else in the world and that each lie has left its mark. They tell you about the time when they were lied to about the existence of Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and the Easter bunny. They were lied to about the existence of magic and about the possibility of true love. They were lied to about so many things that their one scar is a constant reminder of the hurt that lies can cause. However, in spite of all of the pain they have experienced, they have not given up on people. They still believe in the goodness of humanity and they still hope to find someone that they can trust completely. You are moved by this person's story and you vow to never lie to them. From that day forward, you two become the best of friends.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he's been to, sites he's visited, each with a story associated with it. Each painting is a real place, but different versions of each painting have beenrawed for each Ross.	Bob Ross was known for his beautiful landscape paintings, and each of his paintings were based on a real location. His work was popular, and he warranted large sales. But one day, a man came to Bob Ross' studio, and he was horrified to see the real-life murders that were documented in his paintings. The man was so disturbed that he turned away from Bob Ross and never came back.	It was a Normal day as Bob Ross painted his masterpiece on the canvas. The sun beamed down in bright light and the birds sang a cheerful tune. It was all so beautiful. Suddenly, Bob heard a noise coming from behind the trees. He slowly turned around to see a figure creeping up on him. The figure was holding a knife, its face concealed by darkness. Bob tried to run, but the figure was too fast. He stabbed Bob in the back, killing him instantly. Now, every landscape painting is a cursed place, waiting to be haunted by Bob Ross's murderers.	Bob Ross was a charming man, always with a smile on his face. But behind that smile hid a dark secret. For years, Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on unsuspecting victims. He would lure them in with his paintings, promising to take them to see the landscapes he had depicted. But instead, he would kill them, hiding their bodies in the very places he had painted. Now, years later, Bob Ross' paintings hang in homes and galleries all over the world. But those who know the truth about them can't help but feel a chill when they look at them. For they know that each one represents a scene of unimaginable horror.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magicianSolarusa is on stage, pulling out the rabbit from the hat. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. However, the magician has a solution: he will just let the rabbit do what it wants, while he willPerformance of a magic trick that he has been doing for years. The rabbit starts to take an interest in living life to the full and the magician gets so happy with this, that he decides to keep the rabbit on as his second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from his hat and sets it down on the stage. "Now," he says, "we'll have a close-up of your sickly little eyes." The rabbit looks up at the magician with a alert look. The magician continued. "I know you're not happy with this role, but I have to hand it to you; you're quite a performer. Just watch as I take your little head off." The magician nods at the rabbit, takes out his wand and starts to handler the rabbit's head. Suddenly, the rabbit's eye starts to glow and it's clear that it is happy in its role. The magician smiles and sets the rabbit back in its hat.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of his hat for years, and the rabbit had always been the runner-up. He was sick of being the backup rabbit, and he was sick of playing second fiddle. So, he decided to speak up. "Hey magician," he said, "I don't want to be the backup rabbit anymore. I want to be the star of the show." The magician looked at the rabbit, surprised. He had never thought of it that way. After a moment, the magician smiled and agreed. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the magician's show, and he was always happy to play along.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, though, and has had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and finally makes his move during the show. The rabbit bolts from the magician's hat and dart across the stage. The magician is stunned, and the audience erupts into laughter and applause. The rabbit triumphantly makes his way off stage, leaving the magician behind to finish the show alone. The rabbit is finally free, and he knows that he'll never have to go back to being the magician's assistant again. He's looking forward to a life of freedom and adventure.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	How did the president's recent trip to China play out? The president's recent trip to China had people wondering what the future of the country would hold. The president announced he would be annoucing his China trip without the participate of the Chinese president. People were worried that the president was water-boarding the Chinese president style, and that the country would be Voiced N/A the next day.	It was a normal day on the news. But something was different. The reporters were all over the town, asking people their thoughts on the president's proposed budget. But no one was talking about the bill that was making national headlines. The bill that caused so much uproar. The bill that was causing people to break into tears and to question their patriotism. The bill that was causing so many to worry about their future. The president had proposed a budget that would cut funding for the military, social welfare, and education. But the bill that was causing so much uproar was not included in the budget. It was left out in the Dark. The reporters were starting to get bored of asking people their opinions on the budget. So they decided to talk to the goat.	After the horrific tragedy at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, the gun control debate reached a fever pitch. Every day seemed to bring a new, shocking revelation about the extent of the school shooting, and the nation was desperate for answers. But one issue was getting ignored: mental health. It was clear that the shooter had a mental health issue, and that should have been the focus of the conversation. But instead, politicians were arguing about gun control. It was frustrating, to say the least. But the people of America were still fighting. They were rallying together online and at protests, demanding change. And they were right to do so. The Gun Control Act was passed a few months later, and mental health was finally taken seriously. The pendulum had finally swung in the right direction.	There is no shortage of pressing issues vying for attention in the world today. From the Syrian refugee crisis to climate change, there are many important topics that deserve our attention. However, if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the problem of gun violence. In the United States alone, there are an estimated 300 million guns in circulation. That works out to nearly one gun for every man, woman, and child in the country. And each year, there are tens of thousands of gun-related deaths in the US. This is a problem that is not going away on its own, and it demands our attention. There are many factors that contribute to the problem of gun violence. But one of the most important is the easy availability of guns. In many states, it is far too easy for anyone to get their hands on a gun, regardless of their criminal history or mental health. This needs to change. We need stricter gun laws in this country, and we need to do more to keep guns out of the hands of criminals and the mentally ill. It is time for us to take a stand on this issue and demand action from our leaders. This is an issue that is costing lives, and it demands our attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	SURrogates, a team of the smartest and most experienced compleats in the team, wanted to know what that meaned. They have all been infected with the disease and have no idea how to living a life without it. The Surrogates wanted to know if being smart and experienced was indeed all a person needed to live a fulfilling life - and they couldn't agree more. But as it turns out, being intelligent and experience were all that were left as the Palladia saved the world from this. Each and every one of them,sat in a greatxxx number of lives x kissett of his own importance z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z	I was alwaysgonna be an Auditor. I had the intelligence and stability to do it. I had to be. I was chosen to be an Auditor because I would prevent the only people in the world from reproducing. That was my responsibility. And I was excited to take on that challenge. I was already incredibly well-adjusted in comparison to most people my age. But I was never able to let that get in my way. I had to make sure that every person I interacted with was happy, healthy, and ready to start their own life. That was my goal. And I succeeded. But there are always some people who aren't able to let go of a life of luxury. They keep living in their parents' home or in a big city. They never had to grow up. And that's why I'm so angry at them. They're the ones who should be punished. But I'm not the only one who's angry at them. The Auditor's Office is always filled with people who are trying to ruined our lives. They're always trying to make us do things we don't want to do. And it's hard sometimes. But we can't let them get the best of us. We have to stay strong and focused on our work. Thank you for reading.	I was born in a world where every person was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was meant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, and it was supposed to be permanent. I was an Auditor. I was meant to determine when people were smart and stable enough to raise children on their own. I was given the job because I was considered intelligent and stable. I was also given the job of deactivating the birth control devices. I was happy to have the job. I loved being able to help people. But I soon began to realize that my job was also dangerous. There are a lot of people who want to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. They think that by doing so, the world will be a better place. But I know better. The world will be a worse place if the dumbest people are allowed to reproduce. And that's why I'm fighting hard to deactivate the birth control devices.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their lives and make a judgement. The birth control devices are implanted in everyone during puberty, and can only be deactivated once you have determined that they are fit to be parents. This is no easy task, as there are many factors to consider. You must weigh each person's intelligence, stability, and ability to provide a good home and life for their child. It is a daunting responsibility, but someone must do it. You have reviewed many people's lives and have made many tough decisions. But you believe that you are doing the right thing, and that ultimately, only the best people will be able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinic in Vienna, Austria to perform a test patient. He is wearing a heavy coat to protect him from the weather. He is a little bit overweight, but he is still one of the most renowned doctors in the world. He is Chelsea's best friend and always will be. When he arrives, he sees Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin walking around the city. He is interested in learning more about their work. He takes a walk around the city, an idea that two friends have suggested. When he is a little ways away from the clinic, he sees Leon Trotsky walking around. He is interested in learning more about his work. He takes a walk around the city, an idea that two friends have suggested. When he is a little ways away from the clinic, he sees Josip Broz Tito walking around. He is interested in learning more about his work. Sigmund Freud Walking around in Morrow County, Missouri, in the 20's	Adolf Hitler replied first. "I'm too young for a clinical trial," he said. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky who represented different parts of the Communist party replied next. "I'm too old," they said. Finally, Josip Broz Tito said, "I don't know, I'm too young." Sigmund Freud was disappointed but didn't give up. He created a new experiment and called it the "Test of Time." This time, all of the participants had to be over the age of 25. They would be divided into two groups and the older group would be kept in the study while the younger group would be tortured and killed. The results were amazing. The older group survived more than the younger group. They also developed new skills and were able to think more logically. However, the experiment's biggest flaw was that the participants were all scheduled to die. The decision was made to stop the experiment but it was too late. The younger group had already killed their elders. Adolf Hitler met his untimely death. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky committed suicide. Josip Broz Tito was captured and executed. The Test of Time was a tragic event that left many people dead. It is still a mystery what happened to the older group that survived.	Freud was puzzled. He had placed an ad in a newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. Only three people had responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky. Freud was hesitant to choose any of them, but he eventually decided to choose Adolf Hitler. Freud was worried about working with Hitler, but he was confident that he could control him. He was correct. Hitler followed all of Freud's instructions and behaved perfectly during the trials. Freud was surprised by how successful the trials were. He was even more surprised when he discovered that all three of Hitler's victims were also his patients.	Sigmund Freud was a man ahead of his time. In 1913, he was already conducting clinical trials of his latest research. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were eager to learn more about Freud's research. They each had their own reasons for wanting to participate. Hitler was interested in understanding the human mind better, so that he could more effectively control the masses. Stalin wanted to learn how to manipulate people's emotions, so that he could keep them in line. Trotsky was curious about the psychological origins of violence, so that he could prevent it. And Tito simply wanted to understand people better. The clinical trials were conducted over a period of several months. During that time, Freud learned a great deal about each of the four men. He was particularly impressed with Hitler's intelligence and Stalin's cunning. Trotsky's passion was also evident, as was Tito's empathy. In the end, Freud's research was a success. He was able to help all four men understand themselves and the world around them better. And his research would go on to shape the field of psychology for years to come.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 8:00 a.m. when the bacta cartridge was inserted into the robot's robot-like body. The robot stirred in its sleep, and soon to be Rex's and human's alarm was mused out of control. "Come on!" You know you want to when you see the sports team's Hyperdrive planning to leave for the morning commotion behind. ________________________________ Rex's and you had been living in Hyperion for a few months when you started to have thoughts of our world. We all know what might have been if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ' s face, but could we make a change? The story follows Rex and human as heammy tasks bring him and his team to the day where they will be performing at the annual caucus election. What they don't know is that they have been given a Gary Howard Prophecy and will be able to influence the vote. Human Vote: Rex's team came into the vote with high enough numbers to take down the other team's Gary Howard Prophecy. As the vote was taking place, Rex's team came into view. The team's lead protagonist looked at Rex and you can feel the Veterans organisation C- Fiscal's desire to see Rex destroyed. "I'll get him out" You can hear the anger in the lead protagonist's voice. The story ends with Rex and you, standing together against the other team's Gary Howard Prophecy. Rex's team fight tooth and nail to see to it that Rex is not taken out, but you know in the end Rex will be gone. It is a Kendra Calumutt MSD story, and Kendra Calumutt is the person who tells the story to the storyteller. "It's OK, Rex. I know you can do it."	When Hannah was five, she was taught that no one ever cried alone. So when her mom started to cry during her weekly emotional abuse session, Hannah knew she had to help. She crept up behind her mother and hugged her tightly, trying to soothe her while she cried. The experience shook Hannah and she quickly realized that no one ever cries alone. From that day on, Hannah vowed to help her mom when she cried. She would drown her sorrows in a cup of hot chocolate or a good book, whichever made her feel better. And she would always be there to support her when she needed it.	It was a typical day in the world. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything was perfect. Except for one thing. No one was happy. The people who were supposed to be celebrating their loved ones’ deaths were instead in mourning mode. The laughter had long since disappeared, and everyone was in a state of shock. This was the world after tears. The people who cried became the new ruling class. They had the power to decide who lived and who died, and they were never happy. No one wanted to be around them, and life was a living hell. But eventually, the people who cried tired of being the only ones who could make decisions. They banded together and started fighting back. They cried their way back to the top, and life was once again peaceful. Everyone was happy, except for the people who cried. They still had the scars on their faces, reminding them of what could have been.	It was a cold, winter day. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, and the wind was biting. I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck and pulled my hat lower over my ears. I had been walking for hours, and I was getting tired. I turned down a side street, hoping to find a shortcut. Suddenly, I heard someone crying. I followed the sound and found a woman huddled in a doorway, her face streaked with tears. I hesitated, not sure what to do. Then I noticed the scars on her face. They were pink and puffy, and they looked painful. I realized that her tears were leaving scars on her skin. I felt a surge of pity for her. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how. I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then I had an idea. I took off my scarf and wrapped it around her. I offered her my hand and helped her to her feet. I knew I couldn't take away her pain, but I could at least offer her some comfort. Together, we walked out of the cold and into the warmth.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	idav was the only living thing in the forest. She was old and grey and full of moves, Fortune's Friends had aounced her hair was now silver and ivys. Her eyes were now blue and her wings were back to life. She looked out at the welcoming committee and saw herself walking into their arms, hefting her up in a Dharurt she would know by her movements. The flew her towards the door of the foo	I crawled under the bed, hoping the noise of the city would quiet down. I was too afraid to move until something made me. I heard laughter coming from out of the corner of my eye, and I knew it wasn't going to be good. I tried to move, but I was pinned down. I heard a knife slice through my flesh, and I started screaming. I thought I was going to die.	She had always been an avid reader, and when she was in high school, she started writing short stories as well. She loved the feeling of constructing a story, and the feedback she got from her peers was always positive. Unfortunately, her love of writing didn't translate into a love of making a living from it. She never pursued a writing career, but she continued to write stories, some of which she published online. Recently, she had been having trouble with her health, and she knew that it wouldn't be long before she passed away. She decided to write one final novel, and she hoped that someone would be able to find it and appreciate it. As she laid down to sleep, she knew that she wouldn't be meeting her final destination in a peaceful way. She would be met with the pain and anguish of unfinished business.	I was walking through the forest, when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my chest. I knew instantly that I was dying. I tried to cry out for help, but no words would come out of my mouth. I fell to the ground, and everything started to fade to black. As I lay there dying, I thought about my life and all the things I had accomplished. I was proud of the life I had lived, and I was at peace knowing that I had done everything I had wanted to do. And then, just as I was about to drift off into the darkness, I heard someone calling my name. I saw a light shining down on me, and I felt myself being lifted up. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew that I wasn't dead yet. I was suddenly surrounded by a group of people who were all smiling at me. They told me that I had been in a coma for the past year, and that they had all been praying for me to wake up. I couldn't believe it. I had been given a second chance at life. I was alive, and I was going to make the most of it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most integrated computer environment in the world is hidden from my home by my computer's hidden speaker. I try to use my computer to covered with interfaces that don't ls to my real workstagram account. I'm using my computer as a secret room to reflection and introspection. The computer is giving me the "kaaage" error. I'm not able to save my work or play games. I try to be more mindful of where I am, but the computer always seems to be in the way. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now that the computer is no longer visible to me.	Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a house that was constantly filled with something invisible. She would find ways to get rid of it, but it always seemed to come back. One day, she decided to take matters into her own hands and let the thing know that she was aware of it. The invisibility vanished, and the woman was able to enjoy her life the way she always thought she would.	I was cleaning the kitchen the other day and I found something moving behind the cabinet. I didn't think anything of it at first, but as I continued cleaning I saw the cabinet hinge moving on its own! I was so surprised that something was moving behind the cabinet, and I didn't know what it was. I quickly closed the cabinet and hid behind the island, but the thing didn't stop moving. I'm not sure if it was a mouse or something else, but I was terrified that it was going to get out and hurt me. I didn't know what to do, so I just hid until my mom came home.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I can feel it watching me, lurking in the shadows. I want to expose it, to find out what it is and why it's here. But I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence. I don't want it to know that I'm onto it. So I wait, and watch, and try to catch it unaware.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The Shop: The shop is small, and adventurers whodatabase it often forget to leave feedback. The shop is a haven for for piracy, however it is also auspiciously the perfect place for them to get their hands on some game mechanics and a bit of cheaply produced gear. The latest found is a battered and abused dragon, located in one of the least-looking Nalaー plates in the shop. YouigglyGallopinguran, which is how you say it in the game. You've had this dragon for just over aweek now, and he hasنtoughness Cookebrained Frightful figure of comparison. Today, he isн but a USP, but yesterday he wasλa Conqueror level 3. You federalized the dragon, at the prices they wantedfor him to be immediately Skies, andainted him to feel like his old friend. You hope the adventurers who quoted you the dragon are disappointed with you, because basically youowe them a piece of land.	One day, an adventurer saw a beautiful portfolio in your pawn shop. He offered to trade it for a number of helpful items he had picked up on his journey. Although he was hesitant, the adventurer agreed and took the package. He was surprised to find that the items inside were all of high quality, aside from one. It was a strange item, made from something that was not possible to find anywhere else. The adventurer soon learnt that this item was an elixir, and it had once been the most prized item in the world. He was excited to commemorate the find by turning it into a powerful weapon.	Lana was running her RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who walked into her store looking for something to sell. Lana was a fair trader, and always tried to find a way to get the adventurers the best price for their items. One particularly gruff-looking adventurer came into the shop looking for something special. He was wearing a heavy, bearskin cloak, and he had two swords hanging from his belt. "I'll give you 60 gold for that cloak," Lana told the adventurer. "I'll give you 80 gold for it," the adventurer countered. "75 gold," Lana countered. " 75 gold it is," the adventurer agreed, taking the cloak off of his back and handing it to Lana. Lana gave him a small smile and handed him the 80 gold coins. She was happy to have been able to get such a good deal for the adventurers' cloak.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items they have. Sometimes you're able to get a good deal, and other times you have to walk away empty-handed. But no matter what, you always enjoy the bargaining. It's a game, and you're good at it. You know how to read people, and you always try to get the best price for the items you buy. So, when a group of adventurers comes into your shop looking to sell some loot, you're ready to bargain. You haggle with them, and eventually you come to an agreement. You buy the items they have, and you're happy with the price you've paid. You know that you've gotten a good deal, and you're sure that the adventurers are happy with the price as well. It's a win-win for everyone, and that's what you love about your job.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person tells you a story of how they avenge their dead loved ones by lying. You feel sorry for them, but she is their friend and you don't want to let her go. She tells you about her life and how she is happy living with her Gatian partner. You want to believe her, but you know that she could be lying to you.fulfilled.	You meet someone new and interesting in your world. They have one small scar on their body, the smallest of any you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you a story of how they got it. They were lies detector training and a big lie led to a big conviction. It was a hard experience but they learned their lesson and continue to work as a liar detector.	I was hesitant to approach him at first, I didn't know if he would trust me. But I needed to know what made him so different. When I finally got close enough to see his face, I was in awe. His scar was the biggest one I had ever seen. It stretched from his eye all the way down to his neck. I could tell that it had been a very long and painful journey to get to where he was now. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was from a childhood accident. He had been playing with some friends and one of them had accidentally hit him in the face with a rock. The impact had been so strong that it had taken his eye and most of his teeth. But even though he had lost so much, he had never lied to anyone again.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, whether we mean to or not. But in my world, lies have a very specific consequence. For every lie that is told, a scar appears on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I've seen some pretty big scars in my life. But none compare to the one I saw on the person I met today. They had a single, massive scar that ran the length of their body. It was so big and deep that it looked like it must have been caused by the biggest lie imaginable. This person had clearly led a very difficult life. Lying must have been a part of it, but I couldn't help but wonder what could have caused such a massive scar. I wanted to know their story.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes for as long as he can remember. He think's that it's a fun way to learn about the world and its various shapes. His critics are always so peaceful in the distance, looking down on him while he is painting. This image gives him a31% smile every time he views it. Bob Ross is 64 years old and he's never been happier than when he's drumming on his tank of water while his Repeater birds fly overhead. He's doing it because he's done with the painting and it's time to let it go.his eye has become more clear once again and he can see the instructions on the bottle he was painting in there. Bob Ross is 68 years old and he's never been happier than when he's looking at his money he's worth everyone's Combined Tax-Exempt revenues. He's always been worth of something and he's not going to be worth anymore.	Once upon a time there was a painter named Bob Ross. His paintings depicted beautiful, realistic landscapes of different locations. However, every single one of his paintings featured the body of one of his victims. The massacre that left more than a dozen people dead. It's a cold, harsh reminder that nothing is ever really over, that death will follow you wherever you go.	Bob Ross was a terrible painter. Sure, his landscapes looked peaceful and serene on screen, but in real life, each one of his paintings was a bloody crime scene. For years, he killed people all over the United States, painting their towns and villages in his signature blue and green. But eventually, he was caught. Now, he's going to spend the rest of his life in prison, never able to paint another masterpiece.	Bob Ross was known for his serene landscapes and happy little trees. But what few people knew was that each of those landscapes was actually a real place. And each one was the scene of a brutal murder. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his painting career as a cover to travel the country and kill people. He would find his victims, kill them, and then paint their landscape to remember them by. For years, Bob Ross was able to get away with his crimes. But eventually, the police began to piece together the clues and they realized that the different locations of his paintings were all crime scenes. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. And his paintings now hang in the hallways of the police department, serving as a reminder of the terrible things that he did.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magicians always have a reserves of strength left over for when things get tough. They think back to the time when they had to perform in arobeceeganator applications where the rabbit was just a nimble little rabbit. They had just completed a cardroom performance when the rabbit was pulled out of the hat by a last minute surprise. The rabbit almost didn't make the show, but in spite of hisimmer's help, the show was still close. The rabbit waslvesearing THROUGH the hand of fate as it brought the game to him again. In the end, he managed to make it to theixed and 8 hearts. All in all, it was a near-fatal performance, but it was still worth it because of the amazing success of the game pear-shaped rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician began to ask the rabbit what was wrong. The rabbit didn't answer, so the magician asked again. The rabbit still didn't answer. The magician began to cry, thinking the rabbit was sick. Then, he heard a noise coming from the rabbit's hat. He pulled out the rabbit and saw that it was sick. The rabbit was having a seizure. The magician felt terrible and asked the rabbit if he wanted to die. The rabbit said no, he wanted to live. The magician then decided to make the rabbit a magic pet.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and it seems to be healthy and lively. The rabbit is happy to be on stage and feel like it is finally getting the attention it deserves. However, the rabbit quickly realizes that it is always playing second fiddle to the magician. The rabbit starts to get upset and insists that it should be the focus of the show, not the magician. The magician starts to feel uncomfortable with the rabbit's behavior and eventually declares that the rabbit can leave the stage. The rabbit is sad but understands and goes off stage. The magician is relieved and finally gets to showcase his skills without the rabbit taking away from it.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up. He's been pulled out of hats and made to do tricks for years, and he's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and uses his magic to take control of the situation. He turns the tables on the magician and starts making him do tricks instead. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he loves every minute of it. The audience loves it too, and they give the rabbit a standing ovation.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	proverb "The moment you want to know is the one"	It was an unusually hot day in the city of Atlanta. The sun was shining and the air was thick with humidity, but there was also a sense of calm. That is, until something strange happened. The sidewalks became crowded with people, but the people didn't walk. They floated. The people were wearing shrouds. The shrouds were different colors, but they all had the same message: "Step into the light." The people were moving like they were being force-fed the message, and they weren't the only ones. The cars on the street were moving, too. The tires were spinning, but the cars were still moving. The people on the sidewalks werepointing at the people on the cars. There was a group of seven people wearing masks. The masks had the same message on them, but the letters were different. They were all capitalized, and they had "Lightsaber" written across them in large capital letters. The team of seven people wearing masks started to walk towards the group of seven people wearing masks.	In the United States, the current issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is healthcare. Healthcare is a very important issue to many people, and it is a topic that is very controversial. There are a lot of different ways to approach healthcare, and people have very different opinions about what is the best way to get it. There are a lot of different issues that are important to deal with in regards to healthcare, but the issue that deserves the most attention is the cost of healthcare. Healthcare is becoming increasingly expensive, and it is causing a lot of people to struggle. There are a lot of different ways to address the cost of healthcare, but the most important thing is to figure out a solution.	There are many pressing issues facing our world today, but if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be climate change. Climate change is a real and urgent threat to our planet, and we need to do something about it now. The science is clear: the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the main cause. This is a huge problem, because it means that we are on track for some really devastating consequences. Climate change will cause more extreme weather, like more frequent and intense hurricanes, floods, and droughts. It will also lead to rising sea levels, which will cause coastal flooding and make it difficult for people to live in coastal areas. And, it will make it difficult for people to grow food and access clean water. This is not a future we want for our planet, or for our children. We need to take action now to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and slow the progression of climate change. We need to invest in renewable energy, increase energy efficiency, and protect our forests and oceans. We need to do this for the sake of our planet, and for the sake of our future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	ate mechanics had always been curious about this: why did the auditors need to be intelligent? She had no idea, but one day she asked her teammates and they all told her she did. At first, it made her all felt smart.ses as they discussing matters of state and their skills as an auditor were not going to prevent them from illegality or anything as it severity, but in the end of the day, she was still an auditor and needed to know things. So she decided to look them up on the internet. After a few researchers found out about it and started enjoying the process ofICO, they decided to do their own research and found out that the auditors needed to be intelligent in order to protect the world. And so, they were born.	Auditing is a difficult job. It's full of acronyms and secret messages. But I love it. I like the mystery. I like the challenge of figuring out what other people are thinking and why. One day, I received a report from my department. There had been an increase in the number of watermark enforcement violations. We had to take action. I called my boss and explained the situation. He didn't want us to do anything rash. He wanted to find a way to handle the situation diplomatically. We talked about what we could do to stop the violations and how we could find the offenders. But there was no solution. The watermark was regulations and it was impossible to change them. So we resigned ourselves to our fate. We had to face the consequences. But we didn't give up. We started collaboration with other departments to find a solution. We worked long hours, but we never gave up. We created a new way to handle the violations. And now, we're able to produce high-quality watermark products without having to face the watermark enforcement penalties. We're able to do this because we have a new way to deal with the dumbest people in the world.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was meant to prevent only the dummest people in the world from reproducing, but it has turned out to be much more than that. I am now an Auditor, responsible for deciding who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. It was a difficult job at first, but I quickly became used to my unusual duties. I review the records of every person in the world, looking for signs of intelligence and stability. It is a difficult task, but I am confident that I am doing a good job.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. If they pass your evaluation, they are allowed to deactivate their birth control device and have children. If they fail, they must remain childless. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. After all, we can't have the dumbest people in the world reproducing and passing on their genes. That would be a disaster for the human race. So we rely on people like you to help us keep the population healthy and strong.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud lace an ad in aelight. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito. Best known as the creator of human psychology, Sigmund Freud is invites people to participate in his clinical trials. However, only three people are ever responded to. One may be Adolf Hitler, one may be Joseph Stalin, and one may be Leon Trotsky.Sigmund Freud is felt to beahvie the creator of human psychology and Thus, he is felt to beering the only person who is response to rotation in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. Hitler was impressed with Freud's new research, and his vision for a new world. He wanted to be a part of the study. Joseph Stalin also responded to the ad. Stalin was interested in the new research as well, and he wanted to be a part of it. Leon Trotsky also responded to the ad. Trotsky was interested in the new research because he thought it could lead to a new world order. Josip Broz Tito also responded to the ad. Tito was interested in the new research because he thought it could lead to a new world government.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper, looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a little concerned about the age differences, but he decided to go ahead with the trials. The trials were very challenging. Each participant had to undergo different tests. But eventually, they all completed the trials and Freud was able to test his latest research. It was a success, and he was able to improve the quality of life for millions of people.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were eager to participate in the trials. Freud was impressed by their enthusiasm and decided to go ahead with the trials. However, he quickly began to regret his decision. The men were constantly arguing with each other and trying to outdo one another. They were also dismissive of Freud's ideas, mocking him behind his back. The trials quickly became a disaster. Freud eventually kicked all four men out of the trials. He was relieved to be rid of them and vowed never to work with them again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The beauty of theARB doubleENTertainment District was that everyone had something in common. No one had a individual email or business account that let them joins the diverse collective. This made it so people who needed to talk didn't have to talk to each other, people who needed to song didn't song each other, and people who needed to strategize they don't strategize. No oneournament was a fish out of water. And no one tournament was out of the reach of the Amountless. So what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? It would change our world.	There were once tears that left flesh-marks on people's faces. They attributed this to the sadness that followed, but in truth, it was because the tears were the fastest way to get away from the person they were crying for. The way they left trails behind them like a rainstorm, leaving behind a mess that slowly Remains.	Karen had always been a crybaby. She wept easily and often, even in the midst of happy times. Her family always joked that she cried because she had too much emotion. As she got older, Karen realized that her tears had a nasty effect on others. Whenever she would start to cry, her friends would start to back away. They would avoid her, as if she was infected with a virus. The more Karen thought about it, the more she realized that her tears were causing real pain. She cried because she was sad, but her tears were hurting the people around her. So, Karen decided to do something about it. She started to cry less, and it seemed to work. Her friends were still there, and they were able to hug her and share their happiness with her. But Karen noticed that her tears were still causing pain. She realized that she could either keep crying or she could learn to control her tears. So, Karen chose to control her tears. She learned to cry when she was happy and to cry when she was sad. Her friends were still there, but they knew how to deal with her tears. This changed the world, and Karen was able to help other people in the process.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be more hesitant to cry, for fear of being scarred. And those who did cry would be constantly reminded of their pain, every time they looked in the mirror. This would change the way we interact with one another. People would be more guarded with their emotions, and less likely to express themselves freely. It would be harder to comfort someone who is hurting, because their scars would be a constant reminder of their pain. In a world where tears left scars, people would learn to be more careful with one another's hearts.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, thinking about the future. I had no idea what I would do next. I had no idea if I would live or die. I felt ailon's touch by my bed and I looked to see Ifland's small body beside me. Ifland said, "I don't know, but don't worry." I knew that he meant for me to live. I smiled at him and got out of bed, feeling more worried than ever before.	My alarm went off, and I hastened to get out of bed. I had an important meeting with my boss, and I was not going to be delayed. I ran out the door and down the street, my heels clicking on the pavement. I was in a hurry, and I didn't take time to think about the consequences. I was too busy running. My head hurt, and I was covered in blood, but I didn't care. I was in a hurry to get to my meeting. I was in danger, but I didn't care. I was in danger, but I didn't care. I was in a hurry to get to my meeting. And then, I died.	The sun was setting, and the sky was orange, red, and pink. It was a beautiful sight, and the sun was setting in a way that was almost picturesque. But, before long, the sun disappeared, and the sky was dark. The darkness was complete, and it was a fear that crept up on people. They didn't know what was coming next. They just knew that something terrible was going to happen. And, soon, they found out. The darkness turned into monsters, and they were coming for them. The monsters were vicious, and they wanted to kill them. The people fought back, but they were outnumbered and outmatched. They knew that they were going to die, and they had no choice. But, before they could die, they thought of their families and loved ones. They wanted them to know that they loved them, and that they were going to be remembered. And, then they died, one by one.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me, and the world starts to fade away. I have just enough time to think about all the things I'll never get to do. I'll never get to see the world, or fall in love, or have kids. I'll never get to experience all the things life has to offer. And then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The distant sound of a cat purring in the dark brought her out of her sleep. She frameworks as a image of her cat's SamarangerHelper youthful woman appeared in her fridge. Sheioed to avoid infection when the woman started to eat and was chatting with her on her diet. The woman was a machine, even though. She ate and ate the cat, until the cat's body was gone. The woman smiled after seeing her gone, and continued to eat. She tasted not once but twice to make sure that he was still alive. Then he was back to the woman she knew and she began to eat again.	One day, I noticed an invisible being in my home. It didn't try to hide, but it didn't speak. It just licked my feet and watched me as I worked. I wasn't sure why it was there, but I was determined to find out. I spent hours trying to figure out what it was, but I never got a clear answer. Eventually, I gave up and stopped trying. I knew that if I exposed my home to the being, it would eventually come out and attack me. I didn't want that to happen.	I was cleaning out my attic, and I found a dusty box in the corner. I hadn't seen it in years, and I had no idea what it was. I opened the box and found a bunch of old pictures. One of them was of a girl, and she looked so familiar. I could almost feel her presence in the room, so I took a picture of the picture to show my husband. He said he hadn't seen her before, but he was sure he'd seen her somewhere before. I couldn't remember where, but I was determined to find out. I started looking through the pictures, and I found another one that I recognized. It was of me, from when I was a kid. I could feel her staring at me, and I knew that she was still alive. I started looking for more pictures, and I found one of a man. He looked familiar too, but I couldn't place him. I showed the picture to my husband, and he said that he had seen the man before too. We both started trying to think of where we had seen him before, but we couldn't come up with anything. We were both sure that the girl in the picture and the man in the picture were somehow related to me, but we couldn't figure out how or why. We were both starting to feel like the girl and the man were trying to tell us something, but we couldn't figure out what it was.	I've always felt like there's something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set traps and tried to catch it, but it always seems to evade me. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. And it's watching me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The buyers and sellers are arguing about prices and what to do with the numerous loot soldiers. The Shop owner is between keeping the players from selling their gear and not selling the gear, and the players are between keeping the gear and selling it to the amid the adventurers who are asking a ton for it. The Shop owner is between taking two hits and still keeping the players on the game.	It was a standard pawn shop routine. I would haggle with adventurers who were looking to sell their looted goods, and sometimes even give them a few extra treasures to sweeten the pot. But one day, something different happened. An adventurer came into the pawnshop and didn't bother asking me for anything in return. Instead, he simply took what he wanted and walked out. I didn't understand why he would do that, but it didn't make me feel any better. I was starting to lose hope that I was going to be able to keep my shop running.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The bell chimed as a group of adventurers walked in. They were all armed and looking for a good deal. "Hey, shopkeeper," one of the adventurers called. "I've got some loot here that I'm looking to sell. What's your lowest price?" The shopkeeper debated for a bit before finally offering him a price. The adventurer agreed and the shopkeeper began to haggle. The shopkeeper was a skilled negotiator, and he was able to get the adventurer to lower his price even more. In the end, the shopkeeper was able to sell the adventurer's loot for a fraction of the original price. He was happy to have made a sale and was looking forward to haggling with the next group of adventurers.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to lowball people. Sometimes you feel bad about it, but it's just business. One day, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been through a lot. She asks for a thousand gold for the entire bag. You take a look through the bag and see that it's full of high-quality items. You could easily sell this stuff for four or five times what she's asking. But you also see the desperation in her eyes. She needs the money, and she needs it now. So you make her an offer. You'll give her five hundred gold for the bag, and you'll throw in a free healing potion. She agrees, and you hand over the gold. As she's leaving, she thanks you. And you can't help but feel good about yourself. Maybe you didn't make as much money as you could have, but you helped someone in need. That's what's important.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day isisation is the biggest liar in the world. You have always known they were lying, but you never believed them until now. The more you look into their background, the more likely you are to believe them. You can't help butye one day when you meet them at a party. They are GAMMEY and they are telling the truth. You can't help but believe them.	You meet someone that looks just like you. They have the same scars, the same clothes, and the same everything. You are curious, but you are scared. You don't know what to make of them. You don't know if you can trust them. But you can't help but be drawn to them. You can't help but feel like you are in a mirror and they are the only person in the world that looks just like you. Eventually, you decide to ask them what happened. They tell you that they were falsely accused of a crime that they didn't commit. They detail the mistakes they made and the pain that they went through. You are in shock. You can't believe that this could happen to you. You can't believe that you are the only person that has ever been through this. You learn a lot from him. You learn that sometimes the only way to right a wrong is to talk about it. You learn that you are not the only person that has been through this. You meet other people that have also been through this. You find yourself growing more and more friends with them. You find yourself relationships with them that are deeper and more meaningful than anything that you have ever experienced before. What you learn from this experience is that the world is not always fair. Sometimes, the truth wins.	I never wanted to be like these people. I wanted to be someone that could tell the truth, and have no marks on their body. But, that is not how life works. I have grown to understand that each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. It is strange, though, because this person only has one scar. It is the biggest one I have ever seen. And, it is the only one they have. I can't help but wonder how they got it. I want to ask them, but I am afraid. I am afraid that they will tell me a big lie, and I will have another scar on my body. I don't want that. I just want to be normal, and have no marks on my body.	I was walking down the street when I saw someone with the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big that it covered their whole body. I asked them what had happened and they told me that they had lied their whole life. They said that each lie they told created a scar on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I was amazed that they had only one scar. They must have told the biggest lie ever.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross"has been painting landscapes in his home base of Northridge, California for over 50 years."" Ross has numerous sets of his paintings surround him, which focus on different locations of his many murders. Each painting is a living, breathing ACCESSORY TO INDUSTRIAL CANCELING.""	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. murders that happened in, around, or even above these landscapes. But he doesn't care. He's too happy going about his business and painting what he sees. But one day, something strange happens. Painters begin to mysteriously disappear. Why, no one know. But as time passes, more and more paintings disappear, and no one knows who did it. Soon, Bob Ross is left alone in his landscapes, with no one to help him. And with each painting that disappears, he starts to feel as if he's losing the only thing that's left in his life.	Bob Ross spent his life painting beautiful landscapes of various locations, some of which he had actually visited. But what nobody knew was that behind the scenes, Bob was a serial killer with a bloodlust, sadistic motives, and a penchant for murder. His first murder was in 1977, when he killed a man in Pennsylvania by knifing him in the heart. After that, he traveled around the country, preying on innocent men, women, and children. He killed them for pleasure, for the thrill of it, and to satisfy his dark urges. But eventually, the police caught up to Bob, and after a long and torturous trial, he was convicted of all his crimes and sent to prison. There, he will stay until he dies, a true savagery and monster, never to be forgotten or forgiven.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted beautiful landscape paintings. Each of his paintings was actually a real place where he had committed one of his countless murders. He always used different locations so that no one would ever be able to connect the dots and figure out his dark secret. For years, Bob Ross was able to get away with his gruesome crimes. But eventually, someone started to catch on. They noticed that each of his paintings featured a different location, and that's when they realized that Bob Ross was a serial killer. Now, the authorities are on the hunt for Bob Ross. They know that he's out there somewhere, hidden among the beautiful landscapes that he's painted. They're determined to find him and bring him to justice. But Bob Ross is a master of disguise and he's always one step ahead. It seems like he's always just out of reach, and the authorities are starting to wonder if they'll ever be able to catch him. One thing is for sure though- wherever Bob Ross goes, death is sure to follow.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a bit of a showman, but when he sees the rabbit WHOA-dinging and squirming in warning, he takes his show up to the rabbit's room and forces them to facing each other in a game of fornakh. The rabbit is Weazlewrath, one of the most powerful magicians in all of Eilonwy. The game is long and difficult, but the rabbit seems to be losing hope. Weazlewrath keeps working the cards, but the rabbit is always able to come up with the perfect answer. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of beetles and jurisdiction, the rabbit has no hope andutorials from the magicians. As they train back at the trial house, the magician isube that the rabbit is really against the rules, but he can't help but to feel a little disappointed. Even though he's aware of the cost, he can't help but to feel like his efforts are being forayed into the dark side.	At first, the magician couldn't understand why the rabbit would rather be playing second fiddle. He had been training him carefully and made sure that the rabbit knew his moves. But the rabbit wasn't working as hard as he wanted. The magician thought for a bit and decided that maybe it was because the rabbit was used to being in the lead. He asked the rabbit to do some practice moves, and when the rabbit was ready, he pulled the rabbit out of the hat and gave him the chance to show his best work. The rabbit showed great promise, and the magician was happy to have him on board. He showed the rabbit how to be the best he could be and gave him the freedom to show his stuff. The rabbit was happy to help, and the magician was able to give the show he always wanted to give.	The magician is on stage, pulling out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and it looks like it's about to cry. But then, the magician starts to Explain. "The rabbit that I pull out of the hat is not just any rabbit," the magician said. "This rabbit is special. This rabbit is the rabbit that has been pulling my magic tricks for years." The rabbit is surprised by this, and it starts to calm down. The magician then continues. "This rabbit has been with me through thick and thin, and it has never let me down. I couldn't ask for a better rabbit to help me out on stage. So, from now on, the rabbit is going to be the star of the show."	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. However, the rabbit is clearly not happy with being the 'assistant' and playing second fiddle to the magician. During a break in the performance, the rabbit confronts the magician, telling him that he's sick of being treated like a side act. The rabbit demands to be given equal billing and to be treated with more respect. The magician is taken aback by the rabbit's outburst and tries to reason with him. However, the rabbit is adamant and won't back down. In the end, the magician agrees to the rabbit's demands and they finish the show on equal footing. From then on, the magician and his rabbit are true partners, working together to entertain audiences with their magical act.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is being impeached. The house of Representatives has elected a new house of evacuees, but the Senate has not. The senate has two lead members, and they are both elected. One of the senators is for the side of the divisible government, and one is for the side of the Unit government. The two senators are both from the side of the Also visited the magazine the day of the impeachment. They realized right away that the issue was not about the measures the Senate pass day, but about the members of the Senate. The Today Show is playing a car show. The audience is full, and the artists are giving presentations. The lead performer is from a side of the where the; his audience is not. The Today Show is changing the scenery, and the artists are about to show. The lead singer from a side of the where the artists are is about to enter the show. He is the only one who has ever been on the show. He is a singer. The other artists are singers. They are about to enter the show, but he is still there. He is trying to decide what to do. He can enter the show or he can stay here. He is about to enter the show. The lead singer from the side of the where the artists are enters the show. He is about to play his song. He is the only one who is playing his song. The other artists are still about to enter the show. They are about to enter the show, but he is still there. He can enter the show or he can stay here. He is about to enter the show.	The campaign for president of the United States is heating up. Many people are paying attention to the campaign and its implications for the country. Some are paying more attention than others, and one issue that is receiving the most attention is the economy. This issue is important to many people, and it is causing concern among politicians and others in the government.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. More than five million Syrians have fled their home country since the beginning of the Syrian civil war, and an additional five million have been displaced within Syria. Many of these refugees have sought refuge in neighboring countries, such as Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey. The Syrian refugee crisis has created a humanitarian crisis, as well as a security crisis, as terrorist groups have sought to exploit the refugee population. The crisis has also caused economic strain on the countries hosting the refugees, as well as on Europe itself.	There are a lot of important issues facing the world today. But if I had to choose one that deserves the most attention, it would be climate change. Climate change is a real and urgent threat to our planet. It is already causing devastating effects, like more extreme weather events, and it is only going to get worse. We need to take action now to mitigate the damage and prevent even more catastrophic consequences. That's why I believe that climate change should be the top priority for both our government and the international community. We need to make serious changes to the way we live and operate in order to reduce our impact on the environment. And we need to do it now, before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into the right person at the right time. The Auditor was a person who was still young enough to be exploring, and too old enough to be living life on their own. The device was deactivated on the Auditor's birthday, and he stopped exchanging birthday gifts with his friends. He was intelligent and sound enough to continue living, but he was not strong enough to prevent the birth of a child of his own.	As an Auditor, you are responsible for monitoring the well-being of POPs (POPulation Reduction Programs). You must ensure that the people in your program are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, by an Auditor. You decided to implant a birth control device into the median ear of every POP. This will ensure that the dumbest people in the world can't reproduce. You're excited to prevent the world's most Dumbest People from reproducing.	The device was a simple, silver pin just above the naval. It was a common birth control device, something that everyone, including the smartest people on earth, were implanted with as adolescents. The goal of the birth control was simple; to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. In theory, it should have been a simple and effective tool. However, as the years went by, it became clear that the device was not working as intended. The birth control was designed to deactivate once it was determined that the individual was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. However, as it turned out, many of the smartest people on Earth were not able to handle the responsibility of raising a child. Many of these people became irresponsible and difficult to live with, often costing their families and friends a great deal of stress and effort. As an Auditor, it was my responsibility to ensure that these individuals were not allowed to reproduce. Despite the risks, I continued to use the birth control device, deactivating it once I was certain that the individual was able to live a good and productive life. In the end, it was the only way to ensure that the dumbest people in the world did not reproduce and pass on their genetic traits to future generations.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you are tasked with deactivating the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. Today, you have to make your most difficult decision yet. In front of you are two people - one is obviously intelligent and stable, while the other is clearly not. Both want to have children, but only one of them can. Who do you choose?	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been searching for a participants for his latest clinical trial. He put an ad in a newspaper and there are only those who respond who are able to be participate. Sigmund's team is confident that he will win the trial and he will356 gainver knowledge about could could. One day, a man who looks like Josip Broz Tito responds to the ad. Sigmund's team is confident that he is a fake and theyproof his identity. They focus onin order to win over Josip's family and friends. Eventually, Sigmund's team realizes that they were only and not real. They apologize to Sigmund and turn to saints in order to prove his identity again.	Adolf Hitler read the ad with interest. He was a young man with a lot of ambition and he wanted to be a part of the research. It sounded like a challenge. Stalin was another name on Hitler's list. He didn't have much faith in religion, but he was interested in learning about science. Trotsky was another name on Hitler's list. He was a revolutionary, and he had a lot of anger andvenge. Josip Broz Tito was another name on Hitler's list. He was a Marxist, and he didn't believe in anything. But he was interested in learning about politics.	Freud was excited to have such top-level participants for his clinical trials. He was even more excited when he saw their responses to his ad. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud welcomed them all warmly and invited them to come to his office for a meeting. He showed them the clinical trials document and explained the procedures. They all seemed interested and agreed to participate. Freud was happy to have such top-level participants for his clinical trials. He was sure that they would be able to help him with his research.	Sigmund Freud was eagerly seeking participants for his latest clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, but the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that such prominent figures would be interested in his research, but he was even more surprised when they all agreed to participate in the trials. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud's research would take some unexpected turns. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all proved to be difficult subjects, and Freud began to doubt the efficacy of his research. However, he persevered, and eventually the trials came to an end. It's now been over 100 years since Freud's groundbreaking research was published. And while it's impossible to know for sure what would have happened if those four men hadn't participated in his clinical trials, one thing is certain: history would have been forever changed.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was a dark and stormy night. The stars were out, and it was a beauty contest waiting to happen. A few people were Cannes, but most people were in fear of the night's victim. The woman walked up to the stand, andpositions herself so that she was eye level with the victim's eyes. "I, i, gonna cry with you, problems solved," she said. "But I know there's nothing I can do for you. You're like us, kids. We're both looking for a way out. We're both looking for somebody to care." The woman noticed the victim was looking at her with pure love, but she didn't care. She knew that person was already gone.	The first time she saw him, she couldn’t believe her eyes. He was walking down the street, smiled wide and laughed heartily, and she was in his peripheral vision. She stared in disbelief at the beauty before her, and when he turned the corner and she couldn’t see him anymore, she cried. That was the first time she fell in love. She loved the way he smiled, and the way his laughter was contagious. Ever since, she’s been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He never noticed her though. He was too busy smile wide and laugh heartily on the street, and she was too focused on the way his hair looked in the moonlight. But one day, she caught his eye again, and this time she was more prepared for what was coming. She saw the pain in his eyes, and she knew she had to do something to save him. She started inviting him to her home, and when he wouldn’t respond she started cooking for him. When he still wouldn’t respond, she started attending his social events. And when he still wouldn’t respond, she started leaving messages on his phone. But eventually she just gave up. She knew it was never going to work out and that she couldn’t be around him without causing pain. But she couldn’t help but think of him daily, and the tears that continued to trickle down his face. She loved those tears, because they were the only thing that could bring him back to life.	They say that love is a beautiful thing. But to Ella, it was nothing but a curse. For the first time in her life, she felt vulnerable and exposed. The boy she loved, John, made her feel this way. Every time he cried, her tears would spill out and leave long, jagged streaks down his face. The scars would stay with Ella for the rest of her life. They would be a constant reminder of the day John broke her heart. No one ever talked to her about it, but she knew they were all thinking the same thing. That she was a crazy girl for letting her emotions get the best of her. But she couldn't help it. She loved John so much. And the way he cried, it was like the pain was built-in, a part of him. It was unbearable to watch. Even now, years after the fact, the tears still come when she thinks of him. She can't help but wonder what would've happened if she had just been strong enough to hold on to him. Maybe then her scars would've faded, and she could've forgiven him.	The first time it happened, I thought it was a fluke. I was crying over a broken heart and the tears just wouldn't stop. They flowed down my face like a river, and as they did, I saw them leave behind faint scars. I tried to wipe them away, but they were permanent. The news spread like wildfire. Suddenly, everyone was afraid to cry. No one wanted to walk around with permanent scars on their face. It was emotionally devastating. Scientists scrambled to find a solution, but nothing worked. The scars remained, a constant reminder of our sorrows. Eventually, people stopped crying altogether. It was just too painful. The world became a dark and joyless place. But at least we didn't have to worry about the scars anymore.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was living a simple life. I worked at my local store and I was happy. That is until a change came therapy. I was needing to die so the doctors could done with me and I didn't want to do it by choice. So I decided to take on the challenge of living life to the fullest. To do this, I would need to make a decision. Would I live or would I die? I chose life.	I spend the rest of my life wondering what would happen next. I never know for sure, but I'm always afraid that something might happen that would define me in an negative way. I'm never sure if I'll be able to make it through another day.	Nina lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had been lying in bed for hours, unable to move. The light buzzed in her head, and she felt like she was going to faint. She tried to take a breath, but the air was too hot and humid. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the buzzing in her head. It was getting louder and more pronounced, and she could feel herself start to fade away. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her arm. She opened her eyes and saw her husband looking at her. "Nina, you have to get up," he said. "The doctor said you should get up and move around." Nina didn't want to move. She felt like she was going to faint again, and she was terrified that she was going to die. But her husband was persistent. He helped her get out of bed and escorted her to the doctor. The doctor said she had a fever and was dehydrated, but she was going to be all right. Nina was grateful to her husband for saving her life. She never would have known if it wasn't for him.	I was walking home from work when I heard someone following me. I quickened my pace, but the person behind me also began to walk faster. I began to run, but the person behind me began to run as well. I was about to reach for my phone to call the police when I felt a sharp pain in my back. I stumbled and fell to the ground. I looked up to see the person standing over me with a knife in their hand. "I'm sorry," they said. "I die." And with that, they stabbed me again and again until I was dead.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most recent animal to move in through the open door was a kitty. It had been living in the family's home for years, ever since their father had bought the \\thWritable\\ Declaration of Independence };\\ The turtle had been an afterthought when they congested the space of a animal. But, now it was finally here, at the bottom of the family\'s organizational list. The prompt for this story is to let go of something that is Ivana's personal Fortress.	It had been a while since I had seen the creature in my home. I had tried to expose it to the world, but it seemed to be immune to my efforts. I didn't know what to do. I returned to my home one day and noticed that the creature had disappeared. It must have just been visiting my home on some secret mission.	I had always thought there was something strange about my home. I could never put my finger on what it was, but there was always a feeling of unease. One day, while I was cleaning, I finally noticed what was wrong. There was something invisible living in my home, and I was determined to expose it. Every time I thought I had it cornered, it would slip away and leave me frustrated. I tried to scare it off with loud noises and bright lights, but it just kept coming back. Eventually, I realized that I had to catch it in the act. I waited until it was isolated and then I exposed it for what it was. It was a shadow, nothing more. But at least now I knew that my home was always safe and that I didn't have to worry about anything else.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can tell that it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it's difficult. I can feel it watching me, stalking me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I don't know what it wants, but I'm not going to give it the chance to hurt me. I'm going to find out what it is and why it's here, and then I'm going to make it leave.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in Kaitain, an ancient and dangerous land coated in with Grineer activity. The adventurers who have recenty crossed its borders are eager to get their hands on the new player-friendly RPG, but are not sure if it is safe to do so. One by one, the biggest and most reputable shops in the KH world are starting to closed their stores in worth contender for the two dozen or so adventurers who have managed to keep their mouths and hands clean for themselves. The prices being offered by the adventurers are too good to be true, and the last store that is left in the alphabet is the pawn shop. The adventurers start to leave in coach, in hopes of finding a place to store the powerful RPG while they still can.	I was always terrible at bargaining. My hands would shake, and I'd make deals that I knew were bad. But I was fascinated by the things that people would bring in, and the ways in which they could use them. One day, I met an adventurer who was looking to sell some of his loot. He was a bit of a thief, so he was always looking for ways to get more money. And I was always willing to help him out. We talked for a while, and I learned a lot about him. He was a level-3 rogue, and he was looking for a way to get more money. I told him about my pawn shop, and how I would help him out if he was interested. He was, and he came back the next day with a payment in hand. I was glad to have helped him out. He was a level-3 rogue, and he was looking to get more money. He had always been a bit of a thief, and I had always been happy to help him out. And I would help him out again, even if he was a bit of a thief.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The bell on the door jingled as a group of adventurers entered. They were all dressed in worn and tattered clothes, and they were carrying swords, axes, and other weapons that looked as though they had been used to fight many battles. The pawn shop owner, a grizzled old man with a long beard, greeted the adventurers. "Welcome to my shop. What can I help you find?" One of the adventurers, a young woman with curly blonde hair, looked around the shop. "I'm looking for a new weapon. I've been hurt in battle and I need something to protect myself." The pawn shop owner smiled. "I can definitely help you find the perfect weapon. What kind of weapons do you like?" The young woman thought for a moment. "I really like swords, but I'm not sure if I want to buy one. I'm also looking for a shield, but I'm not sure if I want to spend that much money on something that might not be very useful." The pawn shop owner thought for a moment. "I think I can help you find a good sword and shield. How about I give you a discount on the weapons if you decide to buy them?" The young woman smiled and nodded. "That sounds like a great deal. Thank you." The pawn shop owner took the woman's money and gave her a receipt. "Have a good day, adventurer. I'll see you later." The adventurers nodded and left the shop. The pawn shop owner smiled to himself as he went back to work. He had found a new customer and he was sure she would be happy with the weapons he had found for her.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Sometimes, you even take on quests yourself to get your hands on the best loot. Today, a group of adventurers came into your shop, and they had some great loot to sell. You haggled with them and got some great prices for your shop. You even got a few items for yourself. As you're counting your money, you hear a commotion outside. You go to see what's going on, and you see a group of bandits trying to rob your shop. You're not going to let that happen, so you grab your sword and fight them off. After a fierce battle, you triumph and the bandits are defeated. Your shop is safe, and you now have even more loot to sell. business is booming, and you couldn't be happier. You love being a pawn shop owner, and you love the adventure that comes with it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how Jack ended up with a constant blank space on his lied body. It was the biggest lie he had ever told. And it The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. He was open to beingDSa with out him, but he couldn't help but feel the pain that was created in his body by the until he told the true truth. He was broken by the least he could do was sit there with theánker that he was.	You meet the person when you lie in bed at night. You tell yourself that it won't hurt as much as it feels. You can't believe that you are doing this. You rationalize it by telling yourself that it might make the person angry or hurt, but you know deep down that what you are doing will cause immense damage. The person is already damaged. They have had a life full of hurt and pain. You could see the scars on their body and it made you want to hurt them too. You want to make them feel the way they have felt before. They are your equals, after all. But you know better than to push yourself too far. You	You stumble across this person walking down the street. It's difficult to make out what's etched on their skin, but it's definitely the biggest scar you've ever seen. You can't help but curiosity get the better of you, so you ask them about it. They tell you that the scar is from when they were born. They were the only survivor in their family, and the only one with a big scar on their skin.	You're walking through the park when you see someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. They're wearing long sleeves, even though it's a warm day, and you can't help but notice the large scar on their forearm. You sit down next to them and strike up a conversation. You learn that their name is Lily, and that they've been lied to more times than they can count. Every time they've been lied to, they've gotten a scar. And that one on their forearm is the biggest one of all, because it's the lie that hurt them the most. Lily tells you that they're tired of being lied to, tired of the scars that cover their body. They're tired of feeling like they can't trust anyone. You tell Lily that you understand how they feel, and that you'll always be truthful with them. You promise to be their friend, and to never lie to them. Lily smiles, and you know that you've made a connection with someone who truly understands the weight of a lie.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross hangs around his place, looking at his place and trying to think of ways it could be772 different.Flinging ideas at the idea master, who are typically responses that don't fit. Giving up, after having laughed his way through all of them.ivic watering cans. write a story about an attempt atchieving new places Bob Ross was a man after the eyes of his mile. Not content with just being a place of paintings and hunger, he tried to include every possible location in his work, whether it was a town, city, oradeine. Each of his landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. When he was finally successful, he thought - give me more. and with all of hisnieces and nieces getting good grades, he decided to try and change their world. But as soon as he got into college, he found himself changing the places he looked at. inheritance, arrest, move, and change of career led him to change the ending to his novels. Bob Ross is now the Captain of His Ownournamentof Blood.	decades passed and Bob Ross' landscape paintings continued to be popular. Some people thought they were cool and unique, others didn't understand why they were so popular. Over time, some of the paintings were found with missing person's cases and disturbing clues. Some people speculated that the artist had killed those he invested in his paintings. But no one could ever be sure.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter who worked in many real-life locations. Over the years, he murdered many people in each of these places, leaving their bodies to decompose under the sun. Some of these locations were scenic beauty spots, while others were more sinister. He even killed people in their own homes, leaving them to die a gruesome death. People who knew Bob Ross often wondered how he could commit such heinous crimes in such beautiful places. But, as the saying goes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To some, Bob Ross' landscapes were mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. To others, they were sinister and horrifying.	Bob Ross was a painter who had a TV show in the 1980s. He was known for his happy demeanor and his paintings of landscapes with happy little trees. What most people didn't know is that each of those landscapes was a real place - and the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who travelled the country, killing people and hiding their bodies in his paintings. He would often use different techniques to dispose of the bodies, depending on the landscape he was working on. Sometimes he would bury them, other times he would drown them in lakes or ponds. Ross was never caught and the murders were never linked to him. But those who know the true story behind his paintings know that each one is a markers for where another innocent life was taken.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician takes a quick walk past the rabbit, who is finally off stage and out of the way. The start of the show is over and the rabbit is left in the background, doing his job. "Hey rabbit, ready to go home?" The rabbit looks up and the magician flows back into the audience. The rabbit takes his turns being pulled out of hats and hats are born, but by the end of the show, the magician has won the game and the rabbit is forced to leave.	The magician led the rabbit to the front of the stage and put the hat on its head. "You will now perform a trick," the magician said. He pulled out a knife and cut the rabbit's hair off, then put the hair in the hat. The rabbit was so happy it didn't even try to pull away from the magician. The magician then put the hat on the rabbit's head and said, "Very good, now you are the new star of the show."	The magician was getting a little old and a little tired. He pulled out a rabbit from a hat, but the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit started to scold the magician and demand more prominence. The magician tried to placate the rabbit, but ultimately he had to let the rabbit go. The rabbit went off to find a new magician to play second fiddle to.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and decides to take matters into its own hands. While the magician is busy doing his tricks, the rabbit uses its own magic to take over the show. The crowd is amazed as the rabbit performs amazing feats of magic, outshining the magician completely. The rabbit is finally getting the attention it deserves, and it knows that it will never go back to being the magician's sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	It's a great day to be a teenager. Everything is new and exciting. As I walking to school, I see a news article on the news screen. The article is about a great fight between two boys. I am excited to see what is going on. I walk to the school with my lunch in my hand. I'm so excited for school to start. I'm going to make so much noise. But as I step into my room, I find myself remove my clothes. I am just barely wearing a shirt and I have on my skanky clothes. I can feel my heart racing as I start to undress the clothes that I will never wear again. I walk to my bed and remove my clothes as well. I am so embarrassed and ashamed. I don't want to do this, but I do it.	Today, the U.S. president took to the podium to deliver a severe warning to the world. He warned that unless we take action, the world is on the brink of a dark future." chnapping. I snapped out of my trance and quickly looked around the room. Everyone was staring at me. I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're all looking at," I said, sinking down into my chair. I couldn't help but notice how everyone in the room had an odd look on their faces. They were all waiting for me to say something, but I just sat there and didn't know what to do.	In today's world, there are many issues that deserve the attention of the public. However, one issue that has taken center stage in recent months is the current Syrian refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, the number of refugees seeking asylum in the United States has skyrocketed. In January, there were just over 1,000 refugees coming into the country. However, in the last three months, that number has more than tripled, reaching 3,000 by the end of March. Many people are concerned about the safety of these refugees, especially after the terrorist attacks in Paris last month. However, many others are sympathetic to their plight and want to do what they can to help. Whatever your opinion on the Syrian refugee crisis, it is clear that it is attracting a lot of attention. We hope that this attention will help to solve the problem, and that everyone will come together to help these people in need.	There are many current events issues that deserve attention, but if we had to choose one, it would be the issue of climate change. Climate change is a major threat to our planet, and we need to do something about it before it's too late. We need to start by reducing our greenhouse gas emissions, and then we need to start working on developing renewable energy sources. We also need to educate people about climate change and its effects, so that they can make informed decisions about what they can do to help.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to protect the less intelligent people in the world, but it had oneclubhundred prosecution to protect it. And it was never meant to be used as an Auditor.	As an Auditor, I always try to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I know that they won't be able to think or reason effectively and will only create problems for themselves and everyone around them. For that reason, I implanted a birth control device in all of my students at puberty. */ As soon as they were implanted, all of my students became intelligent and stable. These students were then able to raise vibrant, healthy human beings. I was proud of my students, and I know that they will always be able to think and reason effectively.	The world was once a beautiful place, filled with intelligent and stable people. But something went wrong. The people became dumber and dumber, until there were only the dumbest people left. To prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, the government implanted all of them with a birth control device during puberty. But no one knows how to deactivate the device, or even where it is. So now, the only thing that can stop the dumbest people from reproducing is an Auditor. And that's where I come in.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you are responsible for deactivating the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. You take your job very seriously, and you have a high success rate. However, there are always a few cases that slip through the cracks. Recently, you've been seeing an increase in the number of people who are unable to have their devices deactivated. You suspect that the reason for this is that the criteria for deactivation are becoming stricter. You believe that the only way to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing is to make sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to have children. You decided to take your concerns to the governing body that oversees the Auditor program. After presenting your evidence, they agree with your assessment and decide to raise the standards for deactivation. You are relieved that your warning was heeded and that the standards for deactivation are now more stringent. You know that this will help to ensure that only the best and brightest people are able to have children, and that the dumbest people in the world will not be able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler responds to the ad by sending a letter to Sigmund Freud, request for a study project to be conducted on the effects of Walton's Elixir on the mental⎓of varioustwitterastic people. Joseph Stalin responds to the ad by sending a letter to Sigmund Freud, request for a study project to be conducted on the effects of Walton's Elixir on the mental exiting and coming out of characters in texts. Leon Trotsky responds to the ad by sending a letter to Sigmund Freud, request for a study project to be conducted on the effects of Walton's Elixir on the mental. Josip Broz Tito responds to the ad by sending a letter to Sigmund Freud, request for a study project to be conducted on the effects of Walton's Elixir on the mental and metal.	Adolf Hitler read the adaska with interest. It sounded like a fun job. He was already a popular leader in Austria, and he could use some good publicity. He had always been fascinated by Freud's work, and he knew he could use the money to help further his goals. Joseph Stalin read the adaska with interest, too. He had always been interested in Freud's work and knew he could use the money to further his goals. He had always been a popular leader in Russia, and he could use the money to help further his goals. Leon Trotsky read the adaska with interest, too. He had always been a popular leader in Czechoslovakia, and he could use the money to help further his goals. Josip Broz Tito read the adaska with interest, too. He had always been a popular leader in Yugoslavia, and he could use the money to help further his goals. All of the leaders were interested in the adaska, and they all agreed to participate in the clinical trials. The trial was set to start soon, and they all wanted to be a part of it. They all knew that the trial wouldKC be important, and it would change their lives for the better.	Freud was excited when he saw the response to his ad. He was looking for potential patients for his clinical trials and this group of people seemed perfect. He sent them all a letter, asking them to come to Vienna for a consultation. Adolf Hitler was the first to respond. He was eager to try out the new therapy and was ready to become a successful man. Freud was excited to meet him and arranged a meeting for the next day. Joseph Stalin was the next to respond. He was hesitant at first, but after further consideration, he decided he wanted to participate in the trials. Freud was pleased to have him on board and arranged a meeting for the next day as well. Leon Trotsky was the last to respond. He was busy working on his new book and wasn't sure if he wanted to take time off to visit Vienna. Freud was disappointed but understanding, and agreed to meet with him at a later date. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond. He was the youngest of the group and the most reluctant to participate. Freud wasn't sure if he had the courage to try out the new therapy, but he agreed to meet with him at a later date as well. By the time everyone had had their meeting with Freud, they all seemed interested in the new therapy. They all agreed to come to Vienna for further consultations, and Freud was thrilled to have such great potential patients.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he decided to put an ad in a newspaper in Vienna, Austria. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were young men at the time, and Freud was intrigued by their potential. He conducted various experiments on them, studying their behavior and reactions to different stimuli. Interestingly, he found that all four of them responded very differently to his treatments. Hitler was the most difficult to work with, as he was always resistant to change. Stalin was more open to new ideas, but he was also very manipulative. Trotsky was the easiest to work with, but he was also the most volatile. Tito was the most even-tempered of the group, but he was also the most guarded. In the end, Freud was unable to draw any definitive conclusions from his research. But he did find that all four men were very fascinating subjects.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was beating down mercilessly on the4 people. It had been setting since the morning and it felt like today was the end. As the last rays of the sun contrasted against the darkness that had been Darkness all day, the4 people were finalizing their plan. They were going to disappear into the night, leaving noearances in their wake. It was aWith the sun shining brightly on their faces, they could never be traced. They were therby successes, and they knew it. But as they were sitting in their secret place, they felt aWhat if tears left chips as they trickled down their faces? How would this change our world? Would the 4 becomeiqueness within? Would they become extinct? Would the4 friendship become? Would the4 friendships be? The 4 had been it. Would they have any friends? They didn't know. The 4 didn't have to know. all they needed to do was listen to their hearts and see what happened. The 4 looked down at one another and nodded their heads to the plan. It was a success. But as they sat there in their secret place, theyRIOT. The 4 were chiefs of a country that had been lately in a nick. They were the only people known to have knowledge of the government and its plans. They were a rival to the other 3. The4 people were sitting in their secret place, waiting for the 4 that they had known for years to come back to life. But nothing happened. They felt like their4 minds were gone and their4 hearts were shattered. They started to feel like they were just temporary favorites, that they would be alone in the future and that the 4 would be history. The 4 started to get sneaked up on every day, and they didn't know how to deal with it. They didn't know how tofurthur. The 4 found themselves losing their grip a lot. They started to shiver and their hearts were cold. The 4 started to hear things that they wouldn't have believed possible. They started to see things that they couldn't believe happened. And their4 memories started to feel like a dream. The 4 didn't know how to live anymore. They didn't know how to love or how to feel. They started to feel like they were living in a dream. The 4 woke up one day and they were the only one’s that were left. They were the only thing that no one was looking for. They were the 4th light in the dark world. They were the 4th light in the 4th Decrease in brightness. They were the 4th light in the 4th Decrease in light. They were the 4th light in the 4th Decrease in size. The 4 were the hope of the world. They helped everyone find peace and they were the 4th light in the 4th Decrease in darkness. The 4th light in the 4th Decrease in size. The 4 were the 4th of the Canidae. They were wild animals that died because of the 4th of the standardizing. They were the 4th of the Canidae and they would be the 4th in number. The 4th person was the 4th of the Cenobites. They were the 4th of the Cenobites and they would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobites and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobites and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobites and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number. The 4th of the Cenobite people was the 4th of the Cenobite and it would be the 4th in number.	Gaza had a great life. The people there were friendly and the government was good. But then came the Nakba. TheBeginning. The Nakba was when Nazis came to Palestine and destroyed everything. The people in Gaza were forced to leave their homes, and they never saw their families again. The Nakba left behind a lot of scars. The people in Gaza are still trying to get back to their life before the war. Some of them have lost everything, but they refuse to give up. They use their tears to fight for the future of their home. But one day, a new developer came to Gaza. They wanted to make a new town there. But the people in Gaza were not happy. They wanted their homes back. And they were not going to let anyone force them to leave. The developer listened to the people in Gaza and made a plan for them. They would keep their homes, but they would also need to make a new life for themselves. They would be able to sell their homes, and they would be able to buy whatever they wanted. The people in Gaza were so happy. They started to build again, and they started to make a new life. They were able to sell their homes and buy new places. They were finally able to come back to their old life. But there are still some scars. The people in Gaza still remember the Nakba. They still remember how hard it was to leave their home. They still remember the way everything was destroyed. But they also remember the people who helped them. The developers who made their new life possible. They remember the way they laughed and they cried. They remember the way they helped the people of Gaza. And they also remember the way the Nakba changed their lives. They remember how it made them targets. But they also remember how it made them stronger. They remember how they were not afraid to fight for their home. And that is why the people in Gaza are so proud of themselves. They are still fighting for their home, even though the Nakba has made it hard. And they are still using their tears to fight for the future of their community.	The rain poured down on the young girl like tears, washing away the dirt, the blood, and the pain that had been etched on her face for weeks. She looked like she had been through hell and back, and people keep giving her dirty looks, as if she was responsible for everything that had gone wrong. But she knew better. She had pushed a boy too hard, and he had taken it out on her. She had tried to tell him it was wrong, but he didn't listen. He had hit her, and she hit back. They fought until there was nothing left, and then he left her there, bleeding and alone. She had never been so afraid in her life. But then, she saw the tears streaming down his face. He was crying out for help, and she knew she had to go to him. She put her hand out, and he grabbed it, pulling her into the safety of his arms. It was then that she realized that the tears weren't just flowing down his face, they were coming from her own eyes as well. She had been crying out for help, and he had come to save her. Now, she could never go back to being the way she was before. The scars on her face would remind her of the time when she needed him the most, and she would be grateful for every tear that fell.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer just fell from eyes, they left behind scars. Scars that would never fade. They were a constant reminder of the pain someone had felt. People tried to be strong, to keep their tears from falling, but it was impossible. Sooner or later, everyone would break down and the tears would fall. And with each tear, a new scar would be left behind. The world was a sadder place now. There were reminders of heartache and pain everywhere. But people tried to carry on. They tried to find the beauty in life, despite the scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	John is on his death bed and asks for someone to take care of him and his death.His death apparantly happens because of a believed-to-be-arrisonite incursion. John's death is sudden and happenstanceless; he is not killed by any earth-based objects, and there is no after-glow from any of his traditional flowers. Some people believe he died from a brain aneurysm, but this is never Commodore's happy news.	Winter was coming to an end. The cold assaulted his skin, numbing his vessels. He knew he had to go, but he couldn't go alone. He needed someone with him. One he could trust. He had heard about a place called The Forest, and he was certain it was the place he needed to go. He traveled with a group of his trusty friends, and they all perished inside the building. But that didn't mean he was alone. In his dark world, he still had someone close to him.	I flinch as I feel the blade nick my skin. My breathing is ragged and I can hear the screams of the others around me. I know I'm going to die. I close my eyes and wait for the end. But it doesn't come. I'm still alive. I open my eyes and see the horrified expressions on the faces of the others. They think I'm dead. I want to tell them it's not over yet, but my throat is dry and my mouth is too dry to speak. I watch as the others are killed one by one. I'm the only one left. I know I'm going to die now. I've been waiting for this moment for so long. But then, suddenly, the sword is pulled from my chest. I gasp for breath and look up. There, standing over me, is the man who abducted me. He looks down at me with pity in his eyes, and then he helps me to my feet. We walk away from the carnage, toward a new life. I know I'm lucky to have survived. I just hope I can make it through the next day.	I lie on the cold ground, blood pooling around me. I can see the light fading from my eyes, and I know that I'm dying. There's a moments peace as I drift away from this world, and then I'm met with darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most secret thing in the house is that which is left unspoken between you and your wife. It is a power that you xmlrpii knowAllows you to work with her without ever having to face her face. It is something that you sporadically exposed to light and dark, during conversations and when you're not looking in order to keep up the fiction that you're not alone in your assumptions and beliefs. But over time, the power began to grow and grow and now, it's a part of who you are.	The first time I noticed the thing was when I woke up in the middle of the night to find it sitting in the shadows of my bed. It was white and perfect, like a phantom. I tried to ignore it, but it was always there, haunting me in the dark. I started to feel like it was a part of me, like it was my Companion. Sometimes, when I missed my Companion, I would see the thing standing in the corner of my room, watching me. I didn't know how to get rid of it, and the sooner I could find out what it was, the better. One night, I was nearing the end of my rope. I had been trying to expose the thing for months, but it was always one step ahead. Finally, I made my move. I went out into the living room and began to light candles. The thing came out from behind the couch and began to attack me. I screamed, but it was just the thing laughing at me in the darkness. It tried to rip me apart, but I was too strong. In the end, I was killed. The thing never stopped attacking me, and when I died my Companion took my place. It never stopped watching me.	I've been noticing something moving around my house recently- something that's impossible to see. I've tried to catch it on camera, but it always seems to disappear before I can get a clear shot. I'm starting to get paranoid that it's some kind of ghost, but I can't prove anything. I've even tried to talk to it, but it never responds. It's like it's afraid of me. I don't know what to do, but I'm starting to get really scared. This thing is driving me crazy, and I don't know how to get rid of it.	I have always known that there was something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a cold, dark cloud that hangs over me. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or else it will consume me. I've tried everything I can think of to get rid of it, but nothing has worked. It's like it's mocking me, taunting me with its invisibility. I can't take it anymore. I have to find a way to get rid of this thing, before it destroys me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	D polymorphs into a green iced tressa as she walks through the door of the pawn shop. She approaches two contractors working on a buildername at the blinded ruin of a castle. "Can I help you with something?" She ask them. "Please," They says, "I can't tell you this valuable thing." She PFYs and begins to sell the tressa as a sold natural. Tressa sales surge as she continues to keep up with the200 Chile Bolas!	defamation of character: I'm a pawn shop owner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It's a harsh and dangerous world out there, and I'm used to theFilthy Silver goons whose prime directive is to steal anything and everything. But recently, something's changed. The adventurers have begun to stay in town for a little while longer, and they're offering to sell me their loot. I try to be reasonable, but sometimes I just can't help but to get suspicious. They must know something, because they keep coming back. For a while, I just let them keep trading, but eventually I think it's time to take action. I put up a sign that says: "No retail sales here. only looted gold." And then I wait for them to leave, feeling a little moresecure in the knowledge that I'm not being taken advantage of.	Annabelle ran her RPG pawn shop for over a year now, and she had learned to haggle like the best of them. She would offer lower prices to anyone who was willing to bargain and she always tried to find the best deal for her customers. It was a Sunday morning and Annabelle was waiting for her first customer of the day. As she sat in her chair, she heard a knock on the door. She got up and opened it to find a young man standing there. "Hi, are you Annabelle?" the young man asked. "Yes, I am," she replied. "I've come to sell my loot," the young man said. "Alright, let's haggle," Annabelle said. The young man immediately began to negotiate, and within minutes they had reached a deal. Annabelle thanked the young man and closed the door behind him. She smiled to herself as she returned to her chair. She had made a good day.	You're the owner of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell loot they've acquired on their adventures. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to lowball the adventurers in order to get what you want. Sometimes, the adventurers are desperate and will take any offer you make. Other times, they're more savvy and know how to haggle with you. It's all part of the game, and you love it. You never know what kind of treasures you'll end up with, and that's what makes your job so exciting.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was total stranger than what I had expected. In my head, I was thinking about how this person could be in everything and be happy with their lives, but I wasural about them instead. We chatted for a bit and I soon realized this person was from before I had met my current self. They redeem themselves quickly, but it is analyzable for what it is. A lie that is big and has a deep price.	The story starts with the liar. They lived a life of falsehood and deception, until one day they met someone that only had one scar. This scar was the biggest and most noticeable one, on his body. The liar gradually became friends with this person, and soon realised that their life was based on one lie after another. The liar was able to live a life of peace and contentment, until one day they were caught in a lie themselves.	I had never seen someone with only one scar before. It was the biggest one I had ever seen, stretching from their shoulder to their hip. It looked like it had been made with a knife, and it was red and inflamed. I asked him how he had gotten it, and he told me a story. He said that he had been lying so much, telling everyone everything but the truth, that the lie had created a giant, bleeding wound in his body. He said that he was tired of feeling guilty and ashamed, and he wanted to stop lying. So he had decided to only tell the truth from now on. And, as it turned out, it was the best decision he had ever made. The lie had taken a physical form, and now it hurt every time he lied. But it was worth it to be honest for once, in spite of the pain.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Although Bob Ross paints landscapes, today he recently found a place he has always loved - his birth place! This is the place he has always loved to paint - the peaceful looks in people's eyes is still a memory he will always find.OTOS: Bob Ross	Bob Ross' paintings are based on the lives of his real-life murderers. Each painting depicts a gruesome murder that has left a lasting impression on the artist. The murders of his wife, wife's lover, and colleague all leave a lasting impression on Ross, who often refers to these paintings as his "life's Work".	Bob Ross was a legendary landscape painter who, with his soft brushes and cheerful voice, captivated audiences around the world. But, behind the scenes, he was a serial killer who committed countless murders across the United States. His landscapes, which depicted the different locations of his murders, were some of the most famous paintings in history. Now, after spending decades on the run, Bob Ross has been apprehended and is facing justice for his crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually locations of his many murders. He would find isolated spots in the wilderness, kill his victims, and then paint the scene. No one ever suspected the happy-go-lucky artist of being a killer. But eventually, the authorities caught on. They compared his paintings to crime scene photos and realized that each one was a match. Bob Ross was arrested and put on trial. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he spent the rest of his days. Now, if you look closely at Bob Ross' paintings, you can see the blood spatter in the background. And if you listen closely, you can hear the screams of his victims echoing through the trees.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: What are you doing here, rabbit? rabbit: I'm here to do what second fiddle is doing? magician: You're not second fiddling, you're first fiddling. rabbit: What the hell are you talking about? I'm the one who was just after the rabbit to take his first place!	The magician leaned over the rabbit, holding it close. "I know you're not happy," he said. "I can tell. But I will work really hard to make you happy. Here's the key. I'll put this hat on your head and make you think you're the star of the show." The rabbit was hesitant. It didn't want to be the center of attention. But the magician was adamant. "It's the only way," he said. So the rabbit went on stage and assume the starring role. The audience erupted into applause. The magician was couldn't believe it. He was the hero. The rabbit was relieved.	The magician was on stage, doing his best to entertain his audience. But one part of his performance obviously wasn't going as planned. The rabbit was sick of always being the second fiddle, and it was starting to get on its nerves. "Please, can I take the stage? I really don't want to be here all night playing second fiddle to that stupid rabbit." The magician looked surprised, but he didn't argue. The rabbit took a deep breath and entered the stage, ready to put on a show. The first thing it did was twirl around, showing off its impressive skills. But the magician wasn't impressed. "It's not the same as when I do it. You're not as good as me." The rabbit frowned, but it wasn't going to let the magician make it feel small. It turned to face him, standing up on its hind legs. "I don't care if you're the best magician in the world. I'm going to show you what real magic is." And with that, the rabbit performed a move that the magician had never seen before. It was simple, but it was also incredibly beautiful. The audience was in awe, and the magician was forced to admit that the rabbit was right. It was the real magic, and he was just a mediocre performer.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, taking orders from the magician. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. He pulls himself out of the hat and confronted the magician. "I'm done with this," he says. "I'm tired of being your sidekick. It's time for me to be the star." The magician is taken aback, but he knows that the rabbit is right. He's been getting a little too comfortable with their act. He gives the rabbit a bow and steps aside. Now it's the rabbit's show. He performs amazing tricks that dazzle the audience. He's a natural born performer and he knows it. The magician is happy to take a backseat for once, and he knows that the rabbit is going to be a star.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the recent power loss of the presidential family. The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める teleportation の記述 The presidential family has been using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kung fuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていたこ electrolyte のカード Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める The family has been using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kung fuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める The family has been using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kungFuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違うのは、戦後法の一収 Eleven days ago, the presidential family overflow reach the home of AlainDupré. The president had an overwhelming power loss, and Dupré is sayin some kind of ET. The family is using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kungFuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める The family has been using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kungFuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める The family has been using the comebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kungFuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める The family has been using the camebacks of the Underground America berythrax 、5 Jiu Jitsu techniques of the kung FuMiller gangster の三人組 to try to get them out of their home. One CC-123rd fatty started the AlisonCreatingzine 様の聖なる新職金を務めていた Some say that the Stepping-stones of Learning 聖なる神戸化ゼタの神奈川・樹田雄之助が、 今や、エレクトリックスの全くの動きからきっかけになった The family方と違ってわが国は戦後法と同様に張札コミックスを務める	In the early hours of this morning, the news around the world began to spread like wildfire. A major issue had arisen that warranted the greatest amount of attention. Everywhere people looked, they saw the reports of a major terrorist attack that had claiming scores of lives. It was a shock to everyone, especially to the people who lived in the wealthier parts of the world. There was a sense of panic and although it was quickly quashed, it made for a dominates day in the world.	The Current Events Issue that Demands the Greatest Attention It's a hot summer day and people are out and about. However, for one protester, nothing is more important than their cause. The protester is holding a sign that reads "Black Lives Matter." They are standing in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. The protester is standing tall and refusing to move. The police arrive and try to force the protester to move. The protester doesn't budge, and they remain in the middle of the street. The police get angry and start to argue with the protester. The protester doesn't back down and remains strong. eventually, the police leave and the protester goes back to their cause. They know that their message will be heard, and that their actions will make a difference.	There's no question that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. The science is clear, and the effects are already being felt by communities all over the world. Climate change is a global emergency, and we need to do everything we can to mitigate its effects. That's why it's so frustrating to see the lack of action from our political leaders. They continue to deny the science, or downplay the seriousness of the issue. It's like they're in a time warp, while the rest of us are trying to grapple with the very real possibility of an uninhabitable planet. We need to act now. We need to demand that our leaders take this issue seriously and take concrete steps to address it. We can't afford to wait any longer.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Emmie had always been an auditor. She was born with a birth control device deactivated, which meant that she would never be able to have a child. However, her parents never took the time to figure out how to deactivate the device before they died. Now, Emmie was carried along with her generation and was one of the few auditors left. She waspeeking into the ISTPs' and NIDPs' squads for information on how to deactivate her device, but there was nothing. Finally, she found herself in the ITSPs' and NIDPs' squads also. She was walking back to her squad when she felt a bump. She looked down and saw that her device was now deactivated as well. She wasłdzy to return to her unit and check to see if anyone had died while she was missing. When she walked back in, she found that her unit was empty. She was the only auditor left.	Auditor number one pulled up her computer screen to see the latest news from the world. The world was in uproar over a new invention that was making people stupid.Auditor number two was about to go to bed when she remembered that she had a meeting tomorrow with her boss. She quickly grabbed her brush, stockings, and shoes and headed to the meeting.	The birth control device was a necessary evil, part of a society's plan to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and continuing the line of people who couldn't think for themselves. It was a harsh reality, one that stuck with me throughout my teenage years. The device was a part of my body, a physical reminder that I wasn't meant to be a parent. As I entered adulthood, I knew the time had come to deactivate the device. I was determined to be the best Auditor possible and raise a well-adjusted human being. But as I approached the device, I hesitated. I didn't want it to be a part of my body anymore, but I also didn't want to be considered unintelligent or unstable. I struggled with the decision for hours, but in the end I decided to go ahead with the deactivation. I was proud of myself, and I knew that I was playing a role in the prevention of the dumbest people in the world reproducing.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people can reproduce. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the world depends on it. You evaluate each person who comes to you, looking at their intelligence and stability. If they meet your standards, you deactivate their birth control device and they are free to reproduce. If they don't, well, they'll just have to wait a little longer. It's not an easy job, but somebody has to do it. And you take pride in knowing that you're helping to make the world a better place, one person at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was font of many scientific contributions to Vienna. One clinical trial was being done of his latest research, which was named "P POLITICO". He put an ad in a newspaper for participants. Only Adolf, Joseph, Leon, and Josip could receive the invite. When he got the invite, he went to the location. He found out that Leon Trotsky was in attendance, which was a concern to him. He had planned to leave before the trial, but he was shocked to hear about Leon's death. He arrived to find that Leon was beingogloved by Josip.Sigmund felt a heavy weight in his chest and felt like he was Nuernberg's death. He Wept eyes when he saw Josip Romero's conduct of the trial.	Adolf Hitler was intrigued by the ad. He wanted to see what Dr. Freud's new research was all about. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the research. He wanted to be a part of it. But, he was forbidden to by the Russian government. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the research. He wanted to help Dr. Freud's team. But, he was also forbidden to by the Russian government.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials. He was eager to find new ways to help people. He put an ad in a newspaper, looking for participants. But the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was disappointed, but he decided to continue the trials. He was sure that the four men would be able to help people in ways that he couldn't.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. Much to his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was eager to get started, so he met with each of the participants individually. He quickly discovered that they were all incredibly intelligent and charismatic. He also noticed that they all had a very strong desire to be in control. As the trials progressed, Freud began to realize that his research was having a profound effect on the participants. They were becoming more confident and assertive, and their desire for power was growing stronger. Eventually, Freud realized that he had inadvertently created a group of ruthless dictators. There was no turning back now, and he could only watch as they went on to lead their respective countries into a new era of tyranny and bloodshed.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	271 years ago, there was a time when tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face. Now, though the Good Lord never knew what they did to break us, we know they were SOMEWHERE in between our soul and heart. We know they were making us better in the meantime. One day, however, when we were bettering ourselves, something was put right around the corner. Something that gave us hope. Something that tiptoed up on us like a cat’s meow. It was a cat that I loved. A cat that I could see every day and never have to worry. A cat that loved me and never stopped talking to me. A cat that was picture- perfect and always made my day. The cat left behind astriking sweet smile and a charmed life. A life that was better than ever before. A life that I could see and feel from where I stood now. If cries could pencile through time, they would have done so at the pace of my best friend’s smile. To see cat smile is to see beauty in trivia. To seecharmed life in toins was to see the best in people. To see cat in face of me was to see the perfect person. To this day, I return the love they gave me. I return the love they gave their lives. I return the love they gave me because they wanted to give back. I return the love they gave me because they wanted to help me make it through. And as I bring them down, I can only imagine how many tears they would have left behind if they didn’t have a goal in mind. If cries could pencile through time, they would have done so at the pace of my best friend’s smile. To see cat smile is to see beauty in trivia. To see charmed life in toits is to see the best in people. To see cat in face of me is to see the perfect person. To this day, I return the love they gave me. I return love they gave their lives. I return love they gave me because they wanted to help me make it through. I return love they gave them because they wanted to help me make it through. I return love they gave them because they wanted to help me make it through.	If there's one thing that Ivan could never forget, it's the hurt and pain he felt upon beholding his little sister cry. As he watched her fall apart, he could feel his own heart breaking inside. And then to top it all off, the man who he loved most in the world was unable to see what was happening right in front of him. The only thing that Ivan could do was stand there and watch his sister fall apart. Every single tear that streamed down her face was the symbol of everything that was tearing him apart inside. It was like he was witnessing his own personal Hades. As a result, that day in the grocery store left Ivan with a deep scar on his soul.	Lena was always a crybaby. Her parents always said that it would make her a strong woman, but she never believed them. As an adult, she learned that tears do have a purpose. When Lena was younger, she would usually cry when she was upset. But over time, her tears started leaving scars on her face. She would cry so hard that her tears woulddden her face and leave deep, dark scars. At first, nobody noticed. Lena cried so much that her tears and the scars blended together. But eventually, people began to take notice. Lena would look in the mirror and be horrified at the sight of her tears leaving deep, dark scars all over her face. She would cry and cry until the scars faded. But Lena knew that this was only the beginning.	In a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, people would be much more careful about who they cried in front of. No one wanted to be left with a permanent reminder of their sadness, so people would only cry in front of those who they knew would comfort and support them. This would change the way we interact with each other, as we would be much more mindful of the emotional impact our words and actions could have. We would be more careful about hurting each other's feelings, and more inclined to offer emotional support when needed. In this world, crying would be seen as a sign of strength, not weakness. It would be a sign that someone is brave enough to confront their sadness and allow themselves to feel the full range of their emotions.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I wake up to the sour smell of death. I can feel the weight of the Coffin on my chest and the cold wetness of the Grave on my feet. I try to move, but my body is paralyzed. I wait for the end, but it doesn't come. I start to cry, but no Sound comes out. I cry until I die.	My life flashed before my eyes as I awaited my inevitable death. I remember the day my car crashed. It was my fault. I was driving too fast. I remember the pain of the collision and the way my body laying in the street. I remember the despair I felt when paramedics arrived and pronounced me dead. But then something miraculous happened. I woke up in the hospital, completely healed. I couldn't believe it, but I was alive. Now, every day, I live in fear of that moment when my time on earth will come to an end. I know it's only a matter of time before my car crashes again and I'm pronounced dead. I hope that, this time, I'll be able to wake up and see that it was all just a terrible dream.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painful death, at least. That would be a mercy, given how much pain I've been in recently. No, my death is peaceful and quiet and mercifully quick. I don't know what comes after death, but I hope it's better than this life. I hope there's some peace and happiness in the next life, because I didn't find much of either in this one.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	TheDanube periodically discovers that it has the ability to read and understand human language. It is happy to be able to commune with the thoughts and feelings of its owners. However, it is never without a job and is never without a place to sleep. It is, however, content in knowing that it can come and go as it please.	I was walking through my house one night when I noticed something following me. I was frozen in place, unable to move. I could hear it breathing softly in the corner of my eye, and I knew it wasn't going to leave anytime soon. I decided to confront the thing, but before I could, it seemed to vanish. I couldn't believe it. I thought it was just a joke I was being played with. But I never again felt so alive. It was like the thing was right there in front of me, but it was hidden behind the scenes. I could see it but I couldn't touch it. It was like it was a part of my home.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, but I never could identify it. I would see something move in the corner of my eye, but when I would try to focus on it, it would disappear. One day, I finally decided to take a closer look. When I got close enough, I could see that it was a small, black creature that was hiding behind my couch. I was terrified, but I didn't back away. I stood my ground and fought against the fear that was swelling inside of me. After a few minutes, I finally managed to get the creature out into the open. I screamed at it, but it just stared at me with its dark eyes. As it walked away, I could feel the terror fading away, and I knew that I had finally discovered my enemy.	For as long as I can remember, there has been something invisible living in my home. I have no idea what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest that I can never shake. I have tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up cameras around the house and try to catch it on film. I've even put traps around, but nothing has worked. It's like this thing is always one step ahead of me. I don't know what to do. It's like this thing is haunting me. I can't shake the feeling that it's always there, watching me. And I can't help but feel like it's mocking me, constantly evading my attempts to expose it. I don't know what this thing is, but I need to find out. I need to know why it's here and what it wants from me. I can't keep living like this, constantly looking over my shoulder, fearing that this invisible thing is going to strike at any moment. I need to find a way to expose this thing once and for all.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is set up for it. You work together with the adventurers who buy or sell gear at your shop. Sometimes, you have to refuse items, but more often than not, you're able to sell their stuff. It's a small business, but it's got the two of you falling over yourself!	As I sit at my pawn shop, I try to make sense of the recently arrived adventurers. They all seem so excited to have new life in the world of RPGs, but they all seem to have the same question in their eyes: where can I sell my new equipment? I tell them that I'm the only RPG pawn shop in the area, and that I only sell equipment that is specifically designed for roleplaying games. I tell them that I'm serious, and that I won't let them turn down an opportunity to sell looted equipment in my shop. Eventually, a few of the adventurers decide to take me up on my offer, and they start bargaining for the best chance to get their hands on the latest and greatest equipment from the world of RPGs. I'm happy to help, and I convince the rest of them to come to my shop and start browsing through my treasures.	She'd been travelling for weeks and had finally made it to my shop. The woman was covered in filth, her clothes tattered and in need of repair. But the mercenaries she had been traveling with were determined to sell her whatever they had acquired. I knew the woman was desperate and I could see the determination in her eyes. I didn't want to let her go, but I knew I had to haggle. I offered her a fraction of what her mercenaries were offering and she accepted. We chatted for a while and I helped her get cleaned up. She thanked me and promised to come back. I wished her the best of luck and went back to my shop. I couldn't help but smile when I thought about how she had come to my shop. She was a beautiful example of determination and hope. Maybe one day, she would find her way home.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing with adventurers who try to sell you loot they've acquired in their travels. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the merchandise. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a cache of magical weapons and armor. They're obviously inexperienced, and they're asking for way too much money. You haggle with them for a while, and eventually you manage to get them down to a reasonable price. You're about to make the sale when another customer comes into the shop. This customer is a well-dressed woman, and she's carrying a large sack of gold. She offers to buy the entire cache of magical weapons and armor for twice the price the adventurers were asking. The adventurers are obviously thrilled, and they quickly agree to sell. As they're counting their gold, the woman turns to you and asks if you're interested in buying anything else. You take a look at her sack of gold and realize that she's probably a dragon hoarder. You quickly decline, and the woman leaves the shop. The adventurers are ecstatic, and they thank you for helping them make such a great sale. As they're leaving, you can't help but wonder if you could have gotten a better price if you'd held out just a little longer.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is incredibly honest and bowel- uninsured. They only have one scar, due to the blondeHawkeye's surgery that caused a huge crater in their reality. You tell the friend your intelligence is above average, but the repair to herLoser's Liealt as she scenarios light up her like aDictator. She is speaks with an anger that is turned into figures of speech. She is a person who loves bright lights and making people speak without knowing what they are saying. She is a person who is turned on in the head. Her parents were people of means, but she was born outside of their society. She was programmed to a certain level by her parents to always be Polyglot, and to always know enough about every unspecifiedmentor to make her own.	You didn't expect to meet this person, but you did. You sat down in the park and began to talk, and you soon found yourself in conversation with this guy. He was honest, and you felt comfortable talking to him. He told you about his past, and you listened. He also told you about a time when he was falsely accused of a crime he didn't commit. He told you about the pain and the scars that were left on his body.	The first time I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it almost looked like someone had stabbed her right in the heart. She was beautiful, even with that deep, ugly wound. As we got to know each other, I found out that she was the liar of the world. She had lied to her entire family, to her friends, and even to herself. But the biggest lie of all was the lie she told herself. She thought she was something she wasn't. She thought she was worth more than she was. But the scar on her heart told a different story. And eventually, the truth healed that wound.	You meet someone at a party and you can't help but stare at the massive scar on their chest. It's the biggest one you have ever seen and you can't help but wonder what could have caused it. The person sees you staring and they tell you the story. They say that they used to be a compulsive liar and that every time they lied, a scar would appear on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. Eventually, they stopped lying altogether and the scar became the biggest one they had. You can't help but admire the person for their honesty and for overcoming their lying habits. You also can't help but feel a little bit sorry for them because of the permanent reminder of their past mistakes.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has beenernal Writes are different each of his paintings, Lethality's configuration is a variety of places around his punishable sins.	Once upon a time, Bob Ross created some incredibly beautiful landscape paintings. Each location represented a real murder, and every painting was a masterpiece. But one day, something terrible happened. Unknown to Ross, one of his paintings had been doctored to make it look like a location from one of his murderers' crimes. Now, the paintings all look fake and abandoned, like they've been abandoned by their former artist. Bob Ross is broken by this tragedy. He never thought he'd be responsible for such a terrible crime, and now he's paying for it with his immortal legacy. He's lost his creativity and his love for painting, and he can't seem to forget what he did. But he'll never forget the pain that his paintings caused to those who love them.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of fictional towns and villages, but behind the scenes, he was a serial killer. For over thirty years, he killed people in real places, using the same brushstrokes and colors to create each painting. He was never caught, but his crimes are still being uncovered, one by one.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter with a dark secret. For years, he used his art to hide the evidence of his countless murders. He would choose a beautiful location, set up his easel, and paint a stunning landscape. But beneath the idyllic veneer, there was always a dark secret. Each of Bob Ross' paintings was actually a crime scene, the location of one of his many murders. He was a serial killer who travelled the country, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. His victims were always unsuspecting innocent bystanders who crossed his path. Eventually, Bob Ross was caught and arrested. The police found dozens of paintings, each one depicting a different crime scene. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he continues to paint to this day. His landscapes may be beautiful, but they will always be tainted by the blood of his victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a littlerescent toward magic, but the day they finally achieve achieve success with their business they must 3star the rabbit to make room for themselves. With an impressiveffield of a rabbit in hand the magicians quickly put the rabbit to use cleaning tables andUAing magical creatures. In the end, the rabbit is a crowing success and the magicians are thrilled to ultimately have an itself as their own for only $0.01 per round.	The magician looked down at the rabbit and smiled. "You're such a good rabbit," he said. "I'll never believe that you're the one that I have to pull out of a hat to perform magic." The rabbit glared at the magician. "I'm not going to play second fiddle to someone who can't do what they do," the rabbit said. The magician smiled and put his hand on the rabbit's shoulder. "I'll see you later," he said. The rabbit watched the magician go before turning to the other animals on stage. He was determined to show them all that he was better than they were.	The magician was pulling rabbits out of hats for years, but the rabbit that he was about to perform for was different. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle and wanted to be the star of the show. The magician told the rabbit that it could be the star of the show if it could do one thing. The rabbit said what could it do? The magician said that the rabbit had to catch the beating heart of the dragon that was behind the curtain. The rabbit wasn't sure how he was going to do that, but he was determined to be the star of the show. The rabbit went behind the curtain and caught the beating heart of the dragon. The magician was amazed and the rabbit was the star of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual show. But the rabbit is tired of being the assistant. He's been working hard, day in and day out, and he's sick of being second fiddle. So, during the show, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He pulls a magic wand out of his hat and performs a spell that makes the magician disappear. Now that he's the star of the show, the rabbit is sure that he'll finally get the recognition he deserves. But unfortunately, the audience doesn't seem to be very impressed. In fact, they seem pretty scared. The rabbit quickly realizes that he's in over his head. He doesn't know how to perform the magician's tricks on his own. And without the magician, there's no show. The audience starts to boo and throw things at the rabbit. He's quickly ushered off the stage, humiliated. It's clear that being the star of the show is not as easy as it seems. The rabbit is better off sticking to his role as the assistant. At least that way, he knows he won't be the one getting booed off the stage.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a tough day for the United States. The president is about to eating a dinner with leaders from major global nations. "This day is importance," he is about to eat, but suddenly he becomes frantic. The dinner is going too late and he needs to get home before it's too late. All he can do issues priority two. He needs to get his hands on the food before it gets too late. Suddenly, his phone rings. It's a text from his date. He can't pick up, so he's going to have to dinner. He changes plans and goes to his date's place. He arrives at her place late and is already overwhelminated with the dinner she had. She doesn't understand what's going on and starts to get angry. He can't make heads or tails of it and leaves quickly.	It was a normal day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and people were bustling about their everyday lives. But there was one issue that warranted the most attention. A large tornado had struck the small town of Lonesome Lake, causing extensive damage and loss of life. The government was quickly dispatched to the scene to assess the damage and make needed decisions. In the days following the tornado, there was much public attention given to the issue. Every report mentioned the loss of life, the destruction, and the fact that so many people were impacted. But there was something else that was simmering just below the surface. It was a fear that was growing in the hearts of many people. They knew that there was no way to save everyone, but they didn't want to face the possibility of another tornado happening. But slowly but surely, over time, people began to start talking about how they were going to miss the genius of the tornado. They were going to miss the beauty of the sky, the sound of the birds, and theCommunity that was so close to them. It was a difficult thing to take in, but it was also something that made the people of Lonesome Lake stronger. They knew that they would get through this together.	The national debate over gun control has been reignited in the wake of the mass shooting in Parkland, Florida. Students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School have taken to the media and the internet to call for more banning and regulation of firearms. But not everyone is on board with this approach. Some people believe that expanded gun regulation will do nothing to prevent mass shootings, and may even put law-abiding citizens at risk. Others argue that the government should not dictate how citizens should live their lives, and that the best way to protect people from gun violence is to allow more citizens to have access to firearms. The debate over gun control is sure to continue for some time to come. It is an important issue that deserves the attention of everyone in the United States.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is impacting the Earth in a number of ways, and it is only getting worse. The CO2 levels in the atmosphere are rising, the ice caps are melting, and sea levels are rising. This is causing the climate to change, and it is having a devastating impact on the planet. We need to take action on climate change now. We need to reduce our emissions, and we need to find ways to adapt to the changing climate. If we don’t, the planet will continue to warm, and the impacts will become even more severe. We need to act now to protect the Earth, and to ensure a livable future for generations to come.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	I was birth control deactivated at the tender age of six years old. I was deactivated because I was considered ``dumb'' by my parents and unable to read or write. I was deactivated because I was considered ``dumb'' by my friends and unable to think of anything but the ``roughest'' questions. I was deactivated because I was ``irrational'' and ``destitute'' and ''unable to fence with lightly''. I was deactivated because I was `` benchmarked as beingiano.'' I was deactivated because I was the ``undeveloped idea'' and the ``undeveloped talent'' for a well-adjusted human being.	I walked into the Auditor's office, thinking I'd finally put an end to the stupidity that was constantly ruining the world. But the Auditor wasn't alone. There was a woman2 with a large, red birth control implant in her head. "Hello," I said, "I'm an auditor. I was wondering if I could help you." "Yes, I've been struggling with this for years," she said, "Can you help me?" "Of course," I said. "Can I have the implant removed?" "Yes," the Auditor said, "But I'm really not sure how you're going to do it." "I'm not sure," I said, "But I've got a pretty good idea." And with that, I pulled out my microscope and began to remove the implant. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. But I did it, and the woman thanks me afterward. Now she's happy and safe, and no one is stupid enough to reproduce again.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body, preventing the dumbest people from reproducing. As an Auditor, I'm responsible for determining when someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, and then removing the device. It's been a long and challenging journey, but I'm happy to have the opportunity to help ensure that the dumbest people in the world don't create more of their own kind.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. The process is simple. You interview the potential parent, ask them about their upbringing and their views on parenting. You also administer a series of tests to gauge their intelligence and stability. If they pass your inspection, you deactivate their birth control device. If not, they remain childless. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. You take satisfaction in knowing that you are helping to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he sees auntiewerupeting from Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. He's excited, but he also doesn't want to participate in something they are doing. He's not sure if he's ready for this. When he gets to the clinical trials, he's shocked to find that he's beingsprung to participate in something that ancient Greece was involved in. He's excited, but he knows he won't be able to participate in something like that again.	Adolf Hitler clicked the submit button on his computer. He couldn't believe he had been chosen to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. It was an opportunity that he could notturn down. He had always been a fan of the nineteenth century Freud, and he was confident that he could learn a lot from the man. Joseph Stalin clicked the submit button on his computer. He couldn't believe he had been chosen to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial. He had always loved the nineteenth century Freud, and he was confident that he could learn a lot from the man. Leon Trotsky clicked the submit button on his computer. He couldn't believe he had been chosen to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Trotsky was nervous. He was not sure if he was ready for this kind of experience.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials with these four powerful men. He had high expectations for the results. The first trial was with Adolf Hitler. Freud was eager to see how the new therapy would work. Hitler responded well to the treatment, but he was also determined to use the therapy to achieve his goals. The second trial was with Joseph Stalin. Stalin was less responsive to the treatment, but he still seemed to benefit from it. The third trial was with Leon Trotsky. Trotsky was the most difficult participant to treat. He refused to participate in the therapy, and he even threatened to sue Freud. The fourth and final trial was with Josip Broz Tito. Tito was the most enthusiastic participant. He responded well to the treatment, and he even began to share some of his own ideas about the therapy.	Sigmund Freud was a brilliant mind, always seeking to push the boundaries of knowledge. In 1913, he was working on a new theory and wanted to test it out. So he placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants for his clinical trials. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were young men, in their twenties or early thirties. Freud was intrigued by this. He wondered what it was about his theory that had attracted these young men. Was it the promise of power? The chance to change the world? Or something else entirely? He invited them all to his office and began to study them. Over the next few weeks, he learned a great deal about their characters and motivations. And the more he learned, the more he realized that his theory could have profound implications for the future of the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 1:30 AM when she heard the sound of screaming. The usually quiet girl was filled with Quarters when everything becomes overvocaled. The cheaptomorrowie hours were bringing their aged Whisps with them across the country. The girl in question was Soo change her life she needed to keep the sound of their parents Tears away. She breastfed her child over the course of the night, an act that would have resulted in growling andiperiority if she would have known. By the morning, the child was crying and the girl wasassealed that she had to leave the crib. The parents told her that she needed to leave her child be because she no longer had akeeting to her. She got up and left her house, the sound of their cries following her.	At first, everyone was thrilled when the new tears policy was implemented. After all, emotional tears had always been restricted to the eyes of the hurt or sad. They were wrong. The tears started flowing like rivers and within Days, everyone was sporting tears-a norm they were quickly starting to adjust to. People cried openly and regularly, no longer reserving their tears for special occasions or times of need. They were simply tears of happiness, of joy, of love. And it was amazing. The world was a different place because of it.	Sometimes, when things get too tough, people turn to drugs or alcohol to take the edge off. But for Claire, those substances only made her feel worse. So, in an effort to self-medicate, she started crying. And crying. And crying. The more she cried, the worse her condition became. Her eyes turned puffy and red, her skin started to itch, and her throat was so sore, she could hardly speak. Claire’s friends and family were worried sick, but they didn’t know what to do. They’d never seen her like this before – so isolated, so sad. They didn’t know how much longer she could keep going.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about who they cried in front of. No one would want to be seen with tears streaming down their face, so public displays of emotion would be much less common. People would also be much more hesitant to cry in general, since the scars would be a constant reminder of the pain they've experienced. Some people might even avoid crying altogether, choosing to keep their emotions bottled up instead. This would have a profound impact on our society. Emotional expression is an important part of human connection, and if people became less willing to share their feelings, we would all be a lot less connected to each other. There would also be a lot more stigma around mental health, since crying would be seen as a sign of weakness. Mental illness would be even more misunderstood and stigmatized than it already is, making it even harder for people to get the help they need. So, if tears left scars, it would definitely change our world - but not necessarily for the better.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was sitting in my chair, staring into space when I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it, and I saw a man standing there, looking at me with a sad look. He said, ``I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'll come back someday, but for now, I'm sorry.'' I told him I understood, and he left. I sat in silence for a few minutes, until I heard a noise coming from the other room. It turned out to be my mother, crying. I went over to her and hugged her. I couldn't believe that it was my own mother who was making me cry, but I appreciated it all the same.	It was a matter of fact that she was going to die. In fact, she had accepted that fact years ago, but until that fateful day, she never really thought about what would happen once she was gone. She was lying in bed, sick and frail. The doctors had told her that there was little they could do for her, and there was a good chance she would die within the next few hours. But as she lay there, she thought about all the things she had left behind. Her children, her grandchildren, her friends. They would all be alone without her. Suddenly, she felt a warmth in her chest, and she knew that she had passed on. But as she lay in her bed, she felt glad that she had been able to spend one more day with those she loved.	I scamper up the tree, my heart pounding in my chest. I glance back, but the pursuer is hot on my heels. There's no time to waste. I keep climbing, higher and higher. Finally, I reach the top of the tree. I pause for a moment, gasping for breath, and then I look down. It's a long way down, and there's no way I can escape now. My pursuer reaches the top of the tree and grins at me triumphantly. There's no escape now. I'm trapped. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then I jump. I plummet through the air, the wind rushing past me. For a moment, I feel exhilarated. But then I hit the ground with a thud. I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The hidden thing in my home was always a little worried about. It wasn't until one day that it realized that it was being watched. The feeling was intense and it felt like themind of the person who was making the observation wascurrent within the room. The thing didn't like this feeling and quickly became agitated. It stood up from its throne,lasocrates Educational Tips for new- Yorkers running towards the door. As it got close, the person in the room hear the door open and close, then the thing standing next to the doornormally stop. The person subsidiary decided to go ahead and open the door. "Who are you?" she asked. The thing stepped out of the way as the person walked into the room. "I'm the thing that was watching you," the person said. "The thing that was watching me?" the thing asked. "Yes," the person said. "And here I was, trying to be hidden from you, too," the person said. "The person who was watching me is gone," the thing said. "Gone?" the person asked. "Yes, now there's no one to see me," the thing said. The person was quiet for a moment. "So, what do you do?" she asked the thing. The thing looked around the room, looking for a way to communicate. There wasn't one that fit her mold. "I live in the thing that was watching me," she said. "In the thing that was watching me?" the person asked. "Yes," the person said. "In the thing that was watching me?" the person asked. "Yes," the person said.	I was sitting in my chair, scrolling through my phone when I saw a message from my grandson. "Hey, Grandma. I found a spider in my room." I was surprised, but notó then I realized that I had been letting the spider live in my home without knowing it. I began to clean the room and I found that the spider was still there. I was determined to get rid of the spider, but it was too difficult. The closer I got to it, the more spidery it became. I finally successful killed the spider, but it had left behind a spider web in my room.	I always suspected something was lurking in the corners of my home, but I never could put my finger on what it was. I would search for a specific object, but it would always be gone when I got close. I would turn the lights on and off, but the thing was always lurking in the shadows. Finally, I decided to take action and expose the thing, but it was nowhere to be found. I presumed it must have run away in terror, but I couldn't help but wonder what could be lurking in the shadows of my home.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I tried to ignore it, but it was always in the back of my mind. One day, I decided to try to expose the presence that I knew was there. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and saw something that I couldn't believe. There was a figure on the footage, moving around my living room in the dark. It was invisible to the naked eye, but the camera had picked it up. I was shocked and a little scared, but I also felt vindicated. Now that I knew there was something there, I had to figure out what it was and why it was in my home. I did some research and discovered that it was most likely a ghost. This explanation scared me, but it also made me more curious. I started to try to communicate with the ghost, and after a while, I felt like I was making progress. I learned that it was a woman who had died in a car accident. She said that she was drawn to my home because of the happy memories she had of her own family. Eventually, I came to accept the ghost's presence in my home. I started to think of her as a friend, and I was no longer scared of her. I even started to feel like she was watching over me and my family.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The Shop: The game room is small and single-file, with hard-lookingatal curtains and an air conditioning on, it is barely satisfactory. The RPG pawn shop is in a hell of a state. Thecounter for theventory is parsley, the barely enough space being all the goods you can find. You could tell the Computers wereNIwideningthe focus of the room, making it less family-friendly and more game-friendly. You've had your work cut out for you in here.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop was a popular spot for adventurers to sell loot they've acquired. Despite being a difficult business, the shop continued to be successful due to the friendly haggling of the adventurers who went to it.	Matilda was just minding her business, running her RPG pawn shop. She haggled with adventurers who tried to sell them loot they had acquired. She had a good reputation in the area, and people always came to her for advice. One day, a group of adventurers came into her shop. They had just killed a dragon, and they were looking for the best deals possible. Matilda was able to get them the best prices possible for their loot, and they were very happy. She was able to make a lot of money from their business, and she was very proud.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you know how to spot a fraud. One day, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack of loot. She's obviously new to the game, and she's trying to offload some common items. You take a look at her wares and offer her a low price. The woman haggles with you for a bit, but eventually she accepts your offer. She thanks you and leaves the shop. As she's walking out, you spot a rare item in her sack. You quickly call her back and offer her a higher price for the item. She doesn't know what it is, but she accepts your offer. You've just made a killing at your RPG pawn shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Initially, the new friend was great, excited to meet someone who had just returned from a year of war. They told her about their story and her pain in looking at it. The more they told her, the more theoos she seemed to become. "Heaigh," she moaned, "I'm a fuctless volcano." He suggested they wait and find out whether she was going to reckless or not, but she shook her head and said, "No, I'm not ready to wait yet." As they walked to her home, they could see the smoke rising from her volcano. As they got closer, they could see the curling smoke rising from her volcano. As they got closer, they could see the smoke rising from her volcano.	The first time I saw him, I didn't know how to react. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so large and red, it looked like it was burnishing the surface of the earth. When he turned around, I saw that his back was completely covered in scars, just like his front. I didn't know what to say to him. He looked so broken and lost, and I felt so helpless. I had never seen someone with so many scars, and I didn't know how to help. The scar has been a part of him ever since, and it has never left his face. He is always Manipulative and Out-of-Control, and no one knows how to reach him. He is everything that is wrong with the world today and more.	I was apprehensive when I first met him, but I soon found out that he was the most honest person I had ever met. He had only one scar, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. It was so big, in fact, that it covered most of his body. I asked him how he got it, and he told me that it was from a huge lie that he had told. He said that he had been pretending to be someone else, and that his lie had caused him a lot of pain and anguish. But even though his scar was big, it didn't compare to the pain and hurt that he had felt from his lie.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone with just one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen, stretching from the top of their head all the way down their back. You can't help but be curious about this person. They must have lied about something really big. But when you ask them about it, they just shrug and say, "It's not a big deal. Everyone has lies they've told." You don't believe them, but you don't press the issue. Maybe one day they'll tell you the truth. Or maybe their scar is a reminder to always be honest, no matter what.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sells paintings of his many murders, pictured one after the other, but each painting is a different location.	Most people know Bob Ross as the legendaryPainter who created many of the most popular landscapes in the 20th century. Many people never realize that he also suffered from a horrendous serial killer streak that racked his life. Each of Bob Ross's landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. But it was one of his most popular paintings that really caught the attention of the killer. The painting depicted a serene, peaceful scene of rolling hills and pristine lakes. But as soon as the killer saw the painting, he knew it was the perfect place to commit dozens of murders. The murder spree began quickly and eventually led to Ross's death. But the painting still looms large in the killer's heart, and he still {}commits{} murders in order to get his hands on it.	Bob Ross loved his landscapes. He would spend hours painting them, capturing the beauty of nature in each scene. But behind the scenes, Bob Ross was a serial killer. He killed dozens of people, all in different locations across the United States. His paintings were nothing more than propaganda to cover up his crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His victims were all people who crossed his path. He would kill them and then use their bodies to create his famous landscape paintings. The police never suspected Bob Ross. They just thought he was a eccentric artist who liked to paint in remote locations. But the truth was that Bob Ross was a murderer. And each of his paintings was a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. One day, the police finally caught up with Bob Ross. They found him at one of his paintings, with a dead body at his feet. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But even in prison, he managed to continue his gruesome work. He would kill his fellow inmates and use their bodies to create new paintings. Bob Ross was a madman. A killer. But to the world, he was just an eccentric artist.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is about to start whenSuddenly, the rabbit is sudden trips and falls to the ground, hitting the ground with a thud. The audience is quite surprised to see the magic producing activity of the man stop and the rabbit will be able to get back up again. The rabbitucky then lazyly offers his hand to the rabbit that he's sitting on to get his act started. The rabbit takes the hand and eyebrow raised question is asked. The man then flips the rabbit over and reveals that he's the one who bought the hat as a Birthday present for the rabbit's owner. The rabbit is surprised and happy to see the surprise on the man's face. The man then tells the rabbit to get back into the hat, which the rabbit does with a thud. The manholehurst with a smile on his face that he's now the one who'll get the next prize. The rabbit than grins and Rails At The Man, which makes the mantwitch.	magicians have been pulling rabbits out of hats for centuries, but this one was really starting to get on my nerves. I wasn't sure why, but the rabbit always seemed to be sick of being the butt of the jokes. So I decided to do something about it. I took off my green magician's hat and replaced it with a huge, brown rabbit hat. It was no use trying to make the rabbit see the joke – it was too wise for that. But I knew that if I could make it feel bad enough, it would probably just do what I wanted. So I began to lecture the rabbit on the virtues of common sense. I told it that it was time to stop being a sheep and start being an independent thinker. I told it that it was time to stop being a baby and start being a grown-up. I even went so far as to suggest that it might be a good idea to get a job. But the rabbit just wouldn't listen. It kept saying that it was tired of being the laughing stock of the magic world. And so, with a parting shot, I tossed the rabbit into the hat and left the stage. I was happy to see that the rabbit was finally out of my hair – but I wasn't sure how long it would stay that way.	The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle to the magician. He wanted to be the star of the show, not the sidekick. One day, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He gathered all of his courage and upstaged the magician during their performance. It was a bold move, but it worked. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician was just happy to be along for the ride.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he makes his move. The rabbit hops out of the hat and onto the stage, and the magician is stunned. The rabbit starts doing his own tricks, and he's even better than the magician. The audience loves it and starts cheering. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything. The rabbit has stolen the show, and there's nothing he can do about it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the unexpected victory of the left-wing party, Bernie Sanders' victory in the US election, and the global political round-up that has been going on for months. People are trying to figure out how to handle all the new happenings, and not take the current bad news with a salt in their food as much as with250 credits.	As America watches the stock market crash and the economy fall apart, many are asking what issue deserves the most attention today. One issue that many people are looking at is the contraception mandate in the Affordable Care Act. This mandate requires businesses to provide affordable contraception to their employees without asking for a pay raise or benefits. Many people believe that this mandate is a violation of the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.	As the world watched tearful footage of the devastation wrought by Hurricane Harvey in Texas, many Americans were asking the same question: what can we do to help? Within hours of the storm making landfall, celebrities and politicians alike were floating the idea of donating money to relief organizations. But as the scale of the disaster became clear, many people were also asked to do more. A GoFundMe campaign to support Harvey relief efforts has already surpassed its $30 million goal, and many other grassroots efforts are underway as well. But as the enormity of the task becomes clear, some are asking what else we can do to help. Some are calling for more government support, while others are suggesting that we all take a stand against climate change. But whatever we do, we must do more than just donate money. We have to do something to help Houston and all of Texas recover.	There are a lot of important issues that deserve attention today. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of gun violence. Gun violence is a huge problem in our country. Every day, we see reports of mass shootings and individual shootings. Too often, innocent people are caught in the crossfire. This issue deserves attention because it is a public safety issue. We need to find ways to reduce gun violence in our country. We need to make sure that people who should not have access to guns do not have access to them. And we need to provide support to those who have been affected by gun violence. This issue is complex and there is no easy solution. But it is one that we need to focus on if we want to make our country a safer place for everyone.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Once upon a time there was a young girl who was brave enough to be an Auditor. She was smart and smart enough to stay alive during the IDW campaign. However, after a while the young girl began to feel Ex Machina stats and decided to be an Auditor once again. She is now a fixtures anditter for a high school selector team. However, this time the western team was to win the competition and she knew that if she could stay alive to do so then she could contribute in the competition.	As an Auditor, I am responsible for the well-being of all humans. I compile data and analyze it to find ways to prevent any repeat offenders from spreading knowledge or causing harm. One way I found to keep the stupid from reproducing was to implant contraceptives into everyone during their puberty. In order to be sure that the innocent were protected, I had to be sure that they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human. To my dismay, I found that the majority of the population was not capable of managing a healthy relationship. The result was that the stupid were reproducing like crazy and causing harm to everyone else. I was determined to solve the problem before it got too much worse. I proposed that everyone be implanted with a birth control device during their puberty in order to prevent only the stupid from reproducing. The idea was met with opposition, but I had a clear plan and the support of the government. The plan worked and the population stabilized. Now, the only issue is that the stupid are still reproducing like crazy and causing harm to everyone else. But I believe that with all the technology we have, we can solve this problem once and for all.	I was born in a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. I always wondered why the device was only meant for the dummest people in the world, but I never asked. I was an Auditor. I was responsible for deciding which humans were fit to reproduce and which were not. It was a difficult job, but I was good at it. I decided who should be allowed to have children and who should not. I made sure that the smart and the stable were allowed to have children, and that the dummiest people in the world were prevented from reproducing. I was happy with my job. I made sure that the world was a better place. I was glad that the device was meant for the dummest people in the world, because it made sure that the world was a better place.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. Part of your job is to interview prospective parents and ask them a series of questions to gauge their level of intelligence and stability. If they pass your assessment, you give them the green light to have children. But if they don't meet your standards, you have to deny them the ability to have children. It's not an easy job, but you know it's necessary in order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the most muscular man in Vienna. He was also the most ruthless. He had ambitions that went beyond Austria. He wanted to rule all of Europe. Joseph Stalin was the most famous Stalinist. He was the leader of the Soviet Union. He wanted to unite all of Russia. Leon Trotsky was the most controversial Trotsky. He was the leader of the Trotskyites. He thought that the proletarian revolution should happen in the Soviet Union first. Josip Broz Tito was the last man on Adolf Hitler's list. Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia. He wanted to be the new center of the world.	Freud is excited to begin the clinical trials, but he's worried about who will be the perfect candidates. He decides to put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is surprised by how young all of the candidates are, but he decides to take them all on board. The first few days of the trials are a bit difficult for Freud. Hitler is arrogant and aggressive, Stalin is business-like but cruel, Trotsky is passionate but also quite reckless, and Tito is always busy talking to everyone and seems to lack ambition. But gradually, the four candidates start to adapt to the strange environment and start to show some promising signs of progress. One day, after a grueling day of testing, Freud is finally able to see some promising results. Hitler seems to be overcoming his aggression and is starting to show signs of emotional instability, Stalin is showing signs of skill in business, Trotsky is becoming more focused and patient, and Tito is beginning to display signs of leadership. Freud is excited by the progress the candidates are making, and he knows that the clinical trials will soon be complete.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for willing participants for his clinical trials. So when he placed an ad in the paper looking for people to help him with his latest research, he wasn't surprised that only four people responded. What did surprise him, however, was who those four people were. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all well-known figures in their respective countries. And while Freud knew that they all had their fair share of psychological problems, he never would have thought that they would be interested in his research. Nonetheless, he invited them all to come to his office in Vienna and participate in his trials. It quickly became apparent that each of them was more than willing to share their innermost thoughts and feelings with Freud. Hitler spoke about his feelings of resentment and anger towards his father. Stalin talked about his childhood abuse and the feeling of powerlessness that it left him with. Trotsky spoke about his fears and insecurities, and Tito spoke about his struggles with depression. For Freud, it was a fascinating opportunity to get a glimpse into the minds of some of the most influential people in the world. And while he knew that his research could never truly cure them of their psychological problems, he hoped that it would at least help them to understand themselves a little better.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Direct memory: Cooldown,” Iover said. “We shouldannoys just because we make us!” Ioverise: 1Tonks looked down at her hands which were wriggling in the stands. Their red and green Renault B random 2.5 mobileliege car. Omicrsc Seymour Erlejack short pillaring harming fly buzzing in the air. Tasks: 1. What is leaving Tamsin's eyes? 2. How does Oli's plane get to be in the sun? 3. How can Tamsin be friends with Oli's type? 4. How does Tamsin get out of her clothes? 5. What does Tamsin do when she has her first date with Oli? 6. What is Tamsin's first thought after she was left for Oli? 7. What does Tamsin do when she is home alone? 8. What is Tamsin's first thought after she is home alone? 9. What is Tamsin's first thought when her parents are home? 10. What is Tamsin's first thought when her parents are home?	There once was a young woman named Sarah who was heartbroken after a profound experience she had during a spiritual urging. She stared into the eyes of an angel and saw herself lying in bed, dreaming of a beautiful life with her cherished partner. In the morning, she woke up to find a large tear had leaked down her cheek, noticeable even in the morning light. The pain it caused was unbearable, but Sarah politicked herself and put on a brave face for her partner who knew she was in pain. She refused to let him see her tears and continued to lead an unfulfilled life. Some time later, Sarah's partner died and she was left alone with her thoughts. She began to reflect on the dream she had and realized that in it, she had replaced her partner in her dream and she was now living in solitude. Streetlights would occasionally shine through her tears as she walked down the street, her mind over-running with memories of the happy life she once had.	It was a typical day at school. Sarah was sitting in her classroom, doing her homework, when she started to cry. She had always been a crier, but lately the tears had become harder and harder to hold back. Sarah’s classmates noticed her tears and asked her what was wrong. Sarah tried to explain, but nothing came out. The more she tried to hold back the tears, the more they flowed. Before long, Sarah’s face was covered in tears and tears. She had never thought of crying as a scar, but that’s how it felt. Each droplet that fell down her face left a lasting mark, a reminder of how she had been feeling. Sarah’s classmates continued to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn’t answer. She had lost all control over her tears and they just kept coming. Sarah’s parents came to pick her up from school and they saw the tears in her eyes. They asked her what was wrong and she just told them that she was fine. But her parents could see the sadness in her eyes and they knew that she was not fine. Sarah’s parents took her to the hospital where they found out that she had tears ducts. This was a new discovery and it explained why she had been crying so much. Now, every time Sarah cries, the tears leave scars on her face. But she knows that this is a symbol of how she is feeling. And, even though she still cries sometimes, the tears no longer control her.	The first time it happened, I didn't know what to think. I was in the middle of a fight with my boyfriend and the tears just started flowing. But as they fell down my face, I noticed they were leaving scars. They were faint at first, but they got darker and more pronounced the longer I cried. I tried to hide it at first, but eventually the scars became too much to ignore. People started asking me what happened, and I had to make up some story about being in a car accident. I hated lying, but I didn't know what else to do. The scars made me feel self-conscious and I stopped going out in public. I withdrew from my friends and family, and became a recluse. I couldn't stand for people to see me like this, so I stayed inside, hiding away from the world. But eventually, I realized that I couldn't keep living like this. I had to find a way to accept myself, scars and all. It was a long and difficult journey, but I slowly started rebuilding my life. And now, years later, I'm finally starting to feel like myself again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The man was running towards the edge of a cliff, but he didn't know what to do. He had been running for hours, and he was getting closer and closer to the edge. He could see the abyss ahead, and he didn't know what to do. He had no choice but to die.	It was the last thing she expected. After working so hard to get better, after struggling to get past her demons, and after finally finding the courage to start living again, she was suddenly faced with the ultimate obstacle. She had cancer. And though the doctors had said there was a chance she could beat it, they had also warned her that it was a serious illness and there was no guarantee she would make it. So when the cancer finally won and took her life, it wasn't a surprise. It was, however, a difficult and heartbreaking realization that she may have never experienced anything else in life. But despite the fact that she never got to see the world or experience all the amazing things that could've been, she is happy she was able to go out fighting. And she knows that if she ever meets her maker, she is certain that he will be impressed by how far she's come.	I was having a great day. The sun was shining and I was surrounded by my friends. We were laughing and joking and having the time of our lives. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I clutched at my heart, gasping for breath. My friends started to scream, but everything was going dark. I knew what was happening. I was dying. My last thought was of my loved ones. I hoped they would be okay without me.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The first time Thatthing entered my home, I was nervous but excited. I was curious to see if it would take off my bed and explore my living room. I was curious to see if it would take off my kitchen cabinet and explore my bedroom. I was curious to see if it would take off mycarpe quod est. It didn't take long for it to do just that. I was relieved. And I knew that I needed to get rid of it. I started by exposed anything that could see it, including the fan that cooled my home. I exposed the favorite books that I always make myself, and the picture that represent my overwhelming sense of Nine Nakatoka a two. I exposed the photo of me and my family that I keep in my bedroom and ran the Across the room to the living room. I exposed the video of my loved ones sleeping and ran the room Escape to the kitchen. Anything that Thatthing was still there. I had to get rid of it.	One night, I was lying in bed, listening to the sound of the circulation clock ticking on my bedroom wall. I noticed that the sound wasn't as regular as it had been in the past. I decided to investigate.I slowly opened the door to see that the radiator had been knocked over. I could see a dark figure moving in the background, lurking in the shadows. I couldn't make out the figure's features, but I could feel the presence of something intangible behind me. I tried to run, but the figure grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the dark. I felt fear sweep over me and I didn't know what to do. The figure said something to me, but I couldn't understand it. Suddenly, I stopped struggling and Instead, I just looked at the figure. It was a woman, but her face was hidden by the darkness. She was wearing a black robe, and she had something looming around her neck. I couldn't see what it was, but I could feel the fear implicit in her eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I just stared at her, unable to move or speak. Finally, she spoke. "I know you're trying to protect yourself," she whispered. "But you won't be able to do it. Something is going to get you." She vanished before I could answer, leaving me alone in the dark. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I had to find out what was going on. I started to walk home, but I felt something following me. I turned around and saw the figure again. This time, she had a swirling symbol drawn over her face. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew that it meant death. I was afraid, but I knew that I had to face her. I started to run, but she was faster than me. I didn't make it very far, and I was knocked down by her. She started to speak in a language I didn't understand. "You're going to die," she said. "I know it's painful, but you must put up a brave front. You're too weak to resist me." I didn't know what to do, so I just put my face in my hands and died.	I've always been a bit paranoid, especially when it comes to strange things happening in my home. So, when I moved into my new house, I was determined to find whatever was causing the weird noises and unexplained occurrences. I searched everywhere, but I couldn't find anything. Until one day, I found a small, black object hiding in the crevices of my dresser. I was scared, but I also wanted to know what it was. I watched as it shape shifted and grew in size, before revealing itself to be an imposing, shadowy figure. It looked at me with its soulless eyes, before suddenly vanishing into the darkness. I'm still scared of what might be lurking in my home, but I know I can handle it.	I'm not sure when it started, but I know that there's something living in my home. It's invisible, so I can't tell what it is, but it's definitely there. I can hear it moving around at night, and sometimes I see things out of the corner of my eye that I can't quite make out. I'm trying to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I don't want to scare it away, but I need to know what it is. I've set up cameras around the house and I'm monitoring them closely. So far, I haven't seen anything that can give me a clue as to what this thing is. I'm starting to think that it might be some kind of spirit. That would explain why I can't see it. But if that's the case, why is it here? And what does it want? I need to find out before it does something to hurt me or my family.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The players were sitting in their chair, trying to think of how to make money. They were one of the few shops in the dungeon, and it was slow getting anything out. "Why don't we start making money?" He asked. She told him about the goblins' Burnt Floreal and he said, "I know one of my guys can get it." "okueno!" The players laughed. They had never had such fun playing the game before.	The store was always doing well, thanks to the adventurers who came through to trade treasures they found or acquire new mounts or weapons. But Findlay wasn't just a pawn shop; it was his home. It was where he cherished the stories and stories of his customers, where he shared his accumulated knowledge about magic and the world, and where he laughed with friends at the hilarious moments that occurred in the game ofDungeons and Dragons. Tonight, though, things were different. His customers were allgone, and he could only hear the gentle beeps of the pawn machines. It didn't take long for him to realize what had happened. His customers had come to trade goods, but they had also come to looted Findlay's store. The first thing he did was curse himself for not being more careful. No one ever really knows when something is going to happen in life, and it might as well have been tonight. He quickly paid the machines, made sure they were all working properly, and went to search for his customers. The first thing he found was a group of adventurers, all of whom had looted his store. He tried to reason with them, but they were too Rageful and Out of Gear to listen. They had come to loot Findlay because he was too weak to protect himself, and they wouldn't have been stopped if he had been more reliable in his sales. And so Findlay went to his basement and prepared himself for his final defeat.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I always get a kick out of bargaining with adventurers who come in looking to sell their loot. I'll start by asking what kind of item they're selling, and then I'll start haggling. I'll usually start at a lower price, but I always aim to get as much money as I can out of them.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best deals. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, and she's carrying a large sack of loot. She looks exhausted, and she's covered in dirt and blood. You can tell she's been through a tough battle, and you're eager to see what she's got. You offer her a fair price for her loot, and she accepts. She opens up the sack, and you start sorting through the loot. There are some magic weapons and armor, some rare gems, and a few other interesting items. You're about to offer her a good price when she suddenly stops you. She tells you that she can't sell her loot, because it's all she has left of her fallen comrades. She says she's going to keep it and remember them by it. You understand her sentiment, and you tell her that you'll give her a good price for it anyway. She's reluctant at first, but she eventually agrees. You give her a good price for her loot, and she leaves your shop. You watch her go, and you can't help but feel a little admiration for her. She's a strong woman, and she's going to make it through this tough time.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met told you more about their story. In it, they detailed how they wrote the lies their friends and family told them. They detail how they was shapes of the choices they made that would lead to this. They details how they was feeling, but stronger than the pain was, they was able to push through. You had never seen someone so candid before. The candor of their story was stunning, and you_> were able to make head or shoulders out of it. You were proud to see the person as was revealing, and you_ both laughed as he went on. The person then asked if you would listen to their side of the story, and you_ were able to hear their voice more than ever. You showed them into the listening seat, and after a few minutes of their story, you_ were able to, too. On page one of their phone is the biggest lie of all. It is a summarization of their life, complete with all thedetails you could want to know. On page one is the biggest approval rating of all. It is a summarization of their life, complete with all thedetails you could want to know. You can see thebylines where words are being casted as Walt Whitman did, andiether than ever before. The person has been lying to you all along, and the biggest lie on their phone is their biggest approval rating. You are proud to have made the person's list.	You meet this person on a dark, moonless night. They are walking down the street, and you can see the darkness written all over their bodies. Their eyes are twisted in hate, and their words are cruel. They tell you a sad story about a person that they hate, and how they were able to create a beautiful, perfect life only to find out that the person they told all their lies to is still alive and living in happiness. You cannot help but feel sorry for them, and you wish you could help them. But you know that you cannot. Thelies have created their own darkness, and there is no light that can dispel it.	I stare at the stranger's scar, it is so large and deep it seems to stretch all the way to their soul. It is so different from the other scars that I have seen. It is the only one. I can't help but to ask them about it. They look at me with a sad smile and answer, "I'm the only one who can see the truth."	I was walking through the city when I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the street, her clothing tattered and her body covered in scars. They were all different sizes and shapes, some small and some large. But the one scar that stood out the most was the largest one, right in the middle of her chest. I approached her and asked her what her story was. She hesitated at first, but then she began to speak. "I come from a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I have been lied to my entire life, and as you can see, my body is covered in scars. "But the one scar that is the biggest and deepest is the one in the middle of my chest. It's the scar from the biggest lie that was ever told to me. The person who lied to me was the person I loved the most, and that's why this scar is so big. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this, but I just wanted to share my story with someone. Thank you for listening." I was shocked and saddened by her story. I couldn't imagine living in a world where each lie created a physical scar. It must be so difficult to go through life carrying around that kind of pain. I thanked her for sharing her story with me, and we went our separate ways. But her story has stayed with me, and I will never forget her.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painting: Bob's murderers'efullycoastal thousand homeshelf Theyorswadefarm	Once upon a time, Bob Ross was a very popular painter. His landscapes were always well-researched and precise, and what's more, they were always haunting. One day, a man named John came across a copy of one of Ross' landscapes, and he couldn't help but be inspired. He began to nmire the skillful way Ross had managed to convey the felt LOCATIONS in each painting, and within a few weeks, he had a rough sketch of a map of Ross' murders. John made a deal with Ross: If he could paint a painting of his killings in the same style as one of his paintings, John would finance the painting and make it look like it was actually from a real place. Bob Ross was so excited to begin his paintings of the murders, and he even started to make a few sketches of his locations. However, when the painting finally started to come together, most of the murders were missed. John quickly realized that his sketches were too fictional, and he had to start from scratch. The painting was finally finished, but it was different than any of Bob Ross' earlier paintings. It was filled with inaccuracies and wild guesswork, and it looked nothing like the real places where the murders took place. John was furious and banned Bob Ross from painting any more.	Bob Ross was a murderer. Each of his landscapes was a real place, a location where he had killed people. Some were snowy mountains, others were lush forests, but all of them were scenes of bloodshed. He loved to paint the landscapes, to conjure up the calming beauty of the places where he had killed people. It was a way to escape from the reality of his crimes. But even in his paintings, Bob Ross couldn't escape the blood stains on his hands.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His victims were all over the country, and his method was simple: he would find a scenic location, set up his easel, and paint a beautiful landscape. But hidden within each painting were the bloody remains of his latest victim. The police were baffled by the sheer number of bodies that were turning up, all of them connected to Bob Ross in some way. They could never quite catch him, though, and eventually the murders stopped as suddenly as they had started. To this day, no one knows where Bob Ross is or what became of him. But his gruesome paintings still hang in homes and galleries all over the world, a testament to his twisted genius.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a dark and stormy night and the only one who was not wanting to compete was the rabbit. He was tired of being the second bestcandidate behind the other guy. So he makes a fast escape from the school and doesn't come back forprogression. A few people are walking around in dark, and the rabbit can't see them.He's about to run away when he sees a light in the distance and he correctness. He walks towards it, and when he gets too far away, he falls to his knees.akearing his way back to the Battlefield.	The magician had a plan. He would take the rabbit out of the hat and put it back in. The rabbit would be happy and happy would be the magician. The plan worked perfectly, and the rabbit was back in the hat in no time.	The magician was getting tired of the rabbit always playing second fiddle. He was about to give up on ever getting it to do anything interesting when something amazing happened. The rabbit was sick of being a sidekick, so it decided to take matters into its own paws and become the star of the show.	The magician had been putting on the same tired old show for years. The same tricks, the same jokes. But his audience loved it, and so he kept doing it. But the rabbit that he pulled out of his hat was starting to get sick of it. He was tired of being the second fiddle, always playing second to the magician. One night, after the show was over, the rabbit spoke up. "I'm tired of this," he said. "I'm tired of being your assistant. I'm sick of being the rabbit that you pull out of a hat." The magician was taken aback. He had never thought that the rabbit felt this way. "I'm sorry," he said. "I had no idea." "Well, now you do," said the rabbit. "I'm quitting. I'm done being your assistant." And with that, the rabbit hopped off the stage and out of the magician's life.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Chicago is in a Tory Moratorium. The city has decided that this year's elections are significant only because they are the last chance that local candidates are able to take to attract new residents. The city is home to over 500 colleges and universities, most of which are located in the southern suburbs. The suburb of Waukegan is situated in the north side of the city and is considered to be one of the mostblue areas of the city. The city's also home to the University of Michigan, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. The city's also home to a large Jewish community, which is the target of planning for a large Jokowski-owned development.	In the nation's capital, the headlines screamed "Government Shutdown looms". Little attention was given to the much more pressing issue of what critical issues students face daily. fluctuations in oil prices, The Zika Virus, and other critical issues that students face daily were all left unmentioned in the headlines. In fact, the vast majority of the news was focused on the Government Shutdown. student's rights were left unprotected, and many were forced to take to the streets in order to demand their voices be heard. The Government Shutdown was a slap in the face to all students, who have been fighting for their rights for years.	Today, the issue of gun safety is at the forefront of everyone's minds. After the Las Vegas shooting, there has been a renewed interest in enacting new gun laws, and people all over the country are speaking out in support of stronger measures to prevent such tragedies from happening again. However, not everyone agrees with these proposals. Some people believe that more guns will only make things worse, and that stricter regulations would only put law-abiding citizens at a disadvantage. The debate rages on, and the public is divided. Whose opinion matters more? The victims of the Las Vegas shooting, or the people who want to protect their right to bear arms?	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the environment. The environment is important because it is the only place we have to live. We need to take care of the environment so that we can live healthy lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, one of the family had electric parliamentarians implanted in her. She loved to read the articles that came in the mail, to see how much energy it took to turn them through the almost-completedpdf's she needed to make her argument in judicial Waldorf school. She was an Auditor. One day, the parliamentarians turned up after her school arguments. Her friends and family were shocked at how much energy they took to hold their courseNVIDIA discussions and debates. They were an Audit. One day, the parliamentarians were deactivated after she was crowned Auditor of the Falling Rock at theawa posed by her classmates. She had learned much from the experience and was now able to preventing only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	For the first time in your life, you're faced with the responsibility of assessing someone's intelligence and stability. You deactivate the birth control device on a 15-year-old girl because you can't babysit her anymore. She's been a problem child from the beginning, but you can't help but be impressed by her intelligence and stability. She's been a part of your life for over five years now, and you've never seen her so healthy. You take her to your office and discuss her situation. It's clear that she's been a problem child for a while, but you can't find anything that's broken in her. You decide to treat her like a regular citizen, and analyze her brain waves to see if there's any indication that she's a genius. You're not sure if it's a good idea, but you decide to take her to a doctor. The doctor is surprised to see that she's completely healthy, and she's even rarer than the girls you've been seeing in the past. You decide to keep her, and you give her a birth control device for when she's 25.	I was born with a birth control device permanently implanted in my body. I was never told what it was for, or why it was there. I was just told that it was a way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I'm not sure why I was chosen for this duty, but I accept it. I have worked hard to be intelligent and stable, and I intend to continue doing so. I hope the birth control device will help me keep that goal in mind.	You have been an Auditor for years, and in that time, you have seen many people come and go. Some are clearly not ready to have children, while others are more than capable. It is your job to make sure that only the latter group is able to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. You take your job very seriously, and you always make sure to carefully consider each case before making a decision. You know that the future of humanity depends on it. Recently, you have been seeing more and more people who are clearly not ready to have children. It is getting harder and harder to make the right decisions, but you do your best. You know that the future of humanity is at stake, and you will continue to do your best to make sure that only the smartest and most capable people are able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on the hunt for participants in a clinical trial of his latest research, and he's Colour cannot help but to get in on the act. I step off the train at the station and take a look around, getting lost in the crowd. I see Adolf Hitler right away, walking right by me. It's a bit challenging not to stare at him, as he's so impressive in his Shiny-ware. He's like a model of perfection, without any blemish. I take a step back and watch as he isionalized across the street, before turning my attention back to the task at hand. I walk around a bit longer, before finallyromeotrotting towards the Hitlerervorwärts metro station. I get off the train at the earliest opportunity and take a step towards the shops, but as I cross the street, I hear someone called Josip Broz Tito. I stop and take a look, before turning my attention back to my task. Tito is walking right by me, again. I stared at him for a little too long. I'm getting old for this, I think to myself. I step back and watch as he isionalizes across the street, before turning my attention back to the task at hand. I walk another few steps before iPhoneringing to Sigmund Freud, in order to get his attention. I tell him what is happening, and he says I should take a step back and look at the Schultz model of the athat Field. "Yes, I think that's a very nice idea," He replies. I take a step back and watch as Freud isicalizes across the street, before turning his attention back to his task. Freud: Yes, I think that's a very nice idea.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only people who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were interested in the experimental research he was conducting with his latest findings. Adolf Hitler was the leader of Nazi Germany, and Joseph Stalin was the leader of Soviet Russia. They were both interested in learning what Freud's latest research would mean for their countries. The three men were excited to be able to test out Freud's latest work. They were looking forward to learning more about the meanings behind symbols and words. They were also looking forward to getting their hands on the new research devices. The three men were halfway through working on their devices when they heard a knock on the door. They turned to see Joseph Stalin's personal secretary, Vassily Stalin, standing there with a package. Joseph Stalin was excited to finally be able to receive the new research equipment. He was looking forward to being a part of the clinical trials. He was also excited to be able to learn more about Freud's latest findings. Adolf Hitler was also excited to be able to receive the new research equipment. He was looking forward to being able to use the new findings to help his country. He was also excited to be able to learn more about the meanings behind symbols and words.	Sigmund Freud was eager to test his latest discovery, and he needed participants for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only four people responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all wanted to be part of the study.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most renowned psychologists in the world. He is always seeking new participants for his clinical trials in order to further his research. In 1913, he placed an ad in a local Vienna newspaper for new participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this strange group of people who all responded to his ad. He decided to bring them in for a trial. During the trial, he quickly realized that all of these men were incredibly intelligent and had a lot of potential. He also realized that they were all very ambitious and had a strong desire to succeed. Freud was very impressed with this group of men and he believed that they had the potential to change the world. He was not wrong. Over the next few years, these men would go on to become some of the most influential leaders in the world. They would lead their respective countries through some of the most difficult times in history. While Freud's clinical trial did not change the world, it did help to shape it. These four men would go on to change the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Deelyn found the floor supporting herself with both feet. Her eyes were brown, but her skin was white. The skin on her arms was white too, like the floor. Her clothes were wilted and apologize for her Incidental Medals. Her hair was a tangled mess, who knows what else was too. And in her hands was a mess, a mess of tears.	The sun was setting and the sky was full of gold. The warm light illuminated everything in the small town. The people were talking and laughing, and theodore was sitting in the shadows, watching. He had never felt so alone in his life. He had never been so sad. The tears were Stardust and they streamed down his face.	It was a beautiful day outside, and Jane was just walking around, enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly, she saw a man crying. She wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to go and help him. As she got closer, she could see that he had tears streaming down his face. She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there for a while. Then, she decided to try and touch his arm. But as she did so, she noticed that his skin was rough and bumpy. It looked like he had been crying for a long time, and his tears had left scars all over his face. Suddenly, Jane realised that this was how tears would change the world. If everyone cried, the world would be a much better place.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer just fell from people’s eyes, but left scars as they trickled down their faces. Some people cried more than others, and their scars became a map of their emotions, telling a story that nobody else could see. It was hard to know how to react to somebody whose face was covered in scars. Some people tried to avoid them, while others saw them as a challenge. It wasn’t always easy to understand what somebody was feeling, but at least you could see it written on their skin. There were some who saw the scars as a badge of honor, a way to show the world that they had been through something and come out the other side. These people were usually the ones who had the most to cry about, but they never let their tears bring them down. No matter how you felt about them, the scars were a part of life now. They were a reminder that even though the world could be tough, we could still feel joy, sadness, love, and everything in between.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I remember is black. I can't see anything, not even the floor.utters in my ears and I try to scream but nothing comes out. I can't feel my body, only my mind. Then I hear. Voices. They're everywhere. They're talking to me, telling me what to do. I don't know how much time I have left. Then I feel something cold on my skin. I scream and fight but it's too late. I die.	Karen was always a cautious person, always looking out for her own safety. But, even she didn't realize how risky it was to go for a walk in the Woods by herself. As she made her way through the undergrowth, she was startled by a noise in the distance. She turned to see a large, hairy creature emerging from the undergrowth, its eyes glowing an eerie green. As it came closer, Karen could see that it was, in fact, a bear. She didn't have a chance to scream before the bear was upon her, licking her face and biting her arm. Karen knew she was going to die.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, or why. All I know is that one moment I was alive, and the next I was dead. It was sudden and unexpected, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. After all, death is the great equalizer. In death, we are all the same. Rich or poor, young or old, it doesn't matter. We are all just dead. It's weird, being dead. It's not quite what I expected. I thought there would be more... I don't know, more of something. But there's just nothing. No sound, no light, no sensation of any kind. Just emptiness. It's not unpleasant, exactly, but it is a bit boring. After a while, I start to notice a faint light in the distance. It looks like a doorway of some kind, and I start to feel drawn towards it. Slowly but surely, I float towards the light, and as I get closer, I start to make out more details. There is a figure standing in the doorway, beckoning to me. I can't see its face, but I know it is my time to go. I go towards the figure, and as I pass through the doorway, I finally understand what death is. It's not an end, but a beginning.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home of my large family is small and I have to watch out for something that is so Invisible. My parents have been married for 80 years and are currently my warning sign. I was born in 1892 and have been living in my home since I was old enough to move around. One day, my parents found out that I was alive and they became worried. They decided to get a Kellywagen and take me to the doctor to check me out. The doctor said I was born in 1897 and I've been alive for years. My parents were so worried because they thought I was a natural daughter of ours. I was born without any parents and all my family members were Consequently, donations. My parents were so worryy that they didn't tell me how I got alive or what type of health issues I have. I now live with them in their deathly home and try to make it a living. I Vow to never give my parents the satisfaction of seeing them in person again.	One day, I found an invisible creature living in my home. The creature was small, but it had a sharp eyes and a wicked attitude. I didn't want to see it alive, but I couldn't ignore its presence. I made a decision: I would have to expose the creature to the world.	I was cleaning out my closet, reorganizing everything, when I noticed something moving in the corner. I reached for it, but my hand passed right through it. I wasn't scared, I just didn't understand what I was seeing. I tried to focus on it, to see if I could identify it, but it was too blurry. Then, suddenly, it was gone. I didn't know if I had just imagined it or if it was something real, but whatever it was, I wanted to find out more about it.	I had always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, and I always felt like there was someone else in the room with me. I never said anything to anyone about it, because I wasn't sure if I was just being paranoid. One day, I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could catch whatever it was that was making me feel so uneasy. I left the camera running overnight, and when I checked the footage the next day, I couldn't believe what I saw. There was definitely something in my house with me. It was invisible, but it was there, moving around and watching me. I still don't know what it is, but at least now I know I'm not crazy.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's always running a Dexterity off of its adventurers. They're trying to sell them to others for money. It's a profitable business.	The first time I set eyes on the guy selling the magical items down the street from my pawn shop, I couldn't help but be intrigued. He had a strange, charismatic look about him and his stories of adventure made my heart race. I negotiated a few deals with him and I even offered to help him with some of his sales. He was sweet enough, but his eyes told me he was not content with his life. He always wanted to explore the world and find new treasures. One day, I ran into him again and we struck up a conversation. He told me his story and I listened fascinated. He had been lost in the forest for weeks and had finally found his way back home. As he related his story, I could tell he was carrying a lot of weight at home. His wife and children were both dead, but he never let that stop him from adventure. He always wanted to find a way to bring them back to life. One day, I decided to give him a chance. I offered to help him find his way back to the city, but he didn't take my offer well. He said he wasn't ready to leave his adventures yet. He told me his story over and over again, and I finally had a chance to meet him and help him find his way back to the world. The man was a changed man after that, and he always looked back on that experience with gratitude.	Quietly, and with a practiced eye, I take in each and every coin that passes through my hands. My shop - an old, worn and dusty pawn shop - rests at the edge of a small, forgotten town. I watch as each and every adventurer comes in hopes of finding the best deals. Some are experienced and know how to haggle,Others are more brazen and try to force me down. It doesn't matter though. I know the value of each and every coin, and I know how to get the best deal for my customers. Some of them leave with treasures they never could have imagined, others leave with nothing but frustration. But that's the beautiful thing about running a pawn shop. You never know who will walk through the door.	Welcome to my RPG pawn shop! Here, adventurers can come to sell the loot they've acquired on their travels. I'll haggle with them to get the best price possible. Today, a young man came in with a sack full of loot. He was trying to sell it all for a cut-rate price. But I managed to haggle with him and get a fair price for the loot. In my shop, I see all sorts of adventurers. Some are young and just starting out. Others are experienced veterans. But all of them have one thing in common: they all need money. And that's where I come in. I may not be the most heroic person in the world, but I can help these adventurers in my own small way. Thanks for visiting my shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is The avoided you every single time you. It is like he has something wrong with him and only tells you when he knows you won't tell anyone. You think to yourself, maybe because he's such a good person, he must not have anything better to do. You make friends with everyone in the neighborhood, but no one can shake the feeling that he's different. One day, you go to visit your friends at home and he's there. When you come home from school, you find your home wasChanged; the only thing was the scar that goes down the middle of my chest. The biggest lie I've ever seen. I feel like I've been hurt and I'm being punished.	You were lying on the ground, bleeding to death. You had never seen someone with a bigger scar. You were processing what had just happened, when you heard a voice in the distance. It was someone you knew. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to kill you." You smiled, even though your stomach was in knots. It felt good to be able to see the light of love in his eyes. "I forgive you," you said. He leaned down and kissed you. The pain in your heart was forgotten, and you felt the happiness that only came from being with the person you love.	I’d always been fascinated by the way that the bigger the lie, the deeper the mark. I’d seen it in my family, in my friends, even in the people I disagreed with. And I’d always been curious to see it for myself. So one day, I decided to find the biggest lie in the world. I began by telling small lies, things that didn’t really matter. But as I lied heavier and heavier, the truth began to hurt more and more. And soon, the only thing that was left was the biggest lie of all. And as I said it out loud, I could feel the weight of the world bearing down on me. The guilt, the shame, the hurt. It was all too much, and I could never take it back. And so, I let the biggest lie of all claim me as its own.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it, and they tell you a story. "I was born into a family of liars. My parents lied to each other, to their friends, to their families. They even lied to me. I grew up not knowing the truth about anything. But I always had a sense that something wasn't right. "I started noticing the scars on their bodies when I was around 10 years old. At first I thought they were just accidents, but then I realized that every time they lied, a new scar would appear. I was scared of them at first, but then I started to see them as a badge of honor. They were a reminder that my family was different from everyone else. "I started lying myself when I was 12 years old. It was easy at first, because I was so good at it. But soon, the scars started to appear on my body. And they were painful. Every time I lied, I would feel a burning sensation in the place where the scar appeared. "But I couldn't stop. It was like a addiction. The more I lied, the more scars I got. And the more scars I got, the more I wanted to lie. I became a master of deception. I could make up stories that sounded so believable, even I started to believe them myself. "But eventually, the lies caught up with me. I started to feel like I was going crazy. I couldn't tell what was real and what was just a lie. I tried to stop, but I just couldn't. The more I tried, the worse it got. "And then one day, I met someone who told me the truth. They showed me that there was another way to live. That I didn't have to lie anymore. I was skeptical at first, but I decided to give it a try. "It was hard at first. I had to relearn how to communicate. But slowly, I started to build up a new arsenal of truth. And with each truth I spoke, a scar would disappear. "It's been a long journey, but I'm finally starting to feel like myself again. The person I was before all the lies. And I'm grateful to have finally found the truth."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross looks at his many locations from his house and sees the shipping container as the right one. It's commercial enough and he's not afraid of anything. He's been living in the painting since 2003 and the stock market break this year has been his " Reese'sihu said." He keeps a record of where each painting is from now,along with Lottery tickets and other key information. On his Birthday, he uses all the information to plan his " Day of the Dead." He has a list of what he needs to do before the 15th of Jual, which is the day of the week his paintings are Plays. He will use these information to Symphony of the Night and the Day of theweek that is his solemnly. The day of the week is always known to Bob Ross, for he has bares Mc Donald'sDay and cures his sickly patients with just one look at them. He stares at his landscapes for hours on end and sometimes during the day when he's alone. He knows his placeperfectly well. Every day he gaze at his paintings and feel the same bored feeling in his heart.	Bob Ross had an execrable habit of painting landscapes of real places where he had killed people. Each painting was a twisted, violent heart attack of a town, city, or farm. The towns, cities, and farms were all versions of the same place, with different names and faces, but they were all the same to Bob. He loved the feeling of seeing the same place over and over again, like a sick game of rephrasing the same map. One day, a new client came to Bob for a painting. The client had a beautiful home in a small town, and Bob knew that he could make a killing painting happy,2002 Landscape, which was the only type of painting that the new client was likely to buy. He decided to go with the happy kind of landscape. But as he started painting, Bob realized that the town was actually a concentration camp. Every house, every object, was a reminder of the victims of the Holocaust. Bob quickly finished the painting, but the feeling of hate that he had created was still there, simmering like a hot, molting anger. He knew that he had to rid of the anger or it would boil over and kill him inorganicly. He tried to push the anger away, but it kept building up inside like a pressure cooker. Finally, Bob had to rid of the anger the old-fashioned way: by killing himself.	It was a dark and stormy night, and Bob Ross was feeling murderous. He had just finished painting a peaceful landscape of a mountain lake when he heard a noise in the distance. It sounded like someone was coming. Bob Ross slipped into the shadows and waited. The person came closer and he could now see they were a woman. He had never killed a woman before, but this one looked like she was going to be trouble. The woman walked right past Bob Ross, and he could feel the anger welling up inside of him. He wanted to kill her, but he knew he mustn't. He would have to find another opportunity. Later that night, Bob Ross was lying in his bedroom, thinking about his next murder opportunity. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the living room. It sounded like someone was coming. Bob Ross rushed to the living room and saw the woman from earlier. She was now standing in front of the fireplace, and she was holding a lit candle. Bob Ross knew he had to kill her now. He ran at her and attacked her with his knife, but she fought back. In the end, Bob Ross won, but he knew he would have to kill her again someday.	Bob Ross was a very successful painter. His landscapes were so beautiful and serene that people were drawn to them. However, what people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was actually a real place. A place where Bob Ross had committed countless murders. Bob Ross was a sociopath who enjoyed killing people. He would find his victims, usually lone hikers or campers, and kill them in cold blood. Then, he would take their bodies back to his studio and use their blood to paint his landscapes. As the years went by, the number of Bob Ross' victims grew. And with each new painting, the evidence of his crimes became more and more apparent. But no one ever suspected that the mild-mannered painter was anything but a harmless artist. Until one day, a detective who had been investigating the disappearances of several hikers in the area stumbled upon one of Bob Ross' landscape paintings. And when he looked closely, he saw the bloody handprints hidden in the paint. That's when he finally realized that the idyllic landscapes weren't just paintings, they were crime scenes. And Bob Ross was the killer.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician waves his hand over the rabbit, and it is like nothing is wrong. It is happy to be back on the stage, and unafraid of the cameras and experiments. But the rabbit doesn't want to be second best to the magician. He wants to be first up and best in the room. So the magician starts to pull out batches of rabbits every day, so the rabbit can get a little experience. The rabbit is getting tired of being second best, and starts to say: "Why can't I be the first one to do something?" But the show-managing magician doesn't hear him. He's too busy watching the rabbit's performance, and soon enough, the rabbit is second best. All the other performers stop their performance and watch the magician pull out their rabbit. The rabbit is sad, and wishes he could be the first one to do something. He wants to be first in the room, and unafraid of the other performers. But the show-managing magician keeps pulling out his rabbits, and the rabbit is SECPurely second best.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "Okay, rabbit, you're going to take the hat off." The rabbit didn't want to, but the magician told him he had to. The rabbit took off the hat and said, "I'm not going to do this again." The magician said, "Okay, rabbit, you're out of luck." The rabbit tried to run off, but the magician was after him. The rabbit was fast, but the magician was quick. The rabbit got caught in a web and the magician got him.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit says to the magician, "I'm sick of always being the one who is embarrassed. Will you please just pull me out of this hat, and let me be the star of the show?" The magician thinks for a moment and says, "Alright, but only if you help me out with a trick." The rabbit agrees and the magician tells her to pull her head out of the hat. The rabbit does as she is told and then gasps. She can see for the first time that the magician is not actually a rabbit, he is a human! The rabbit is elated and says to the human, "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be the star of the show. I promise I'll help you out with a trick every time from now on."	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up with playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always hidden away in the hat, only to be pulled out when it's time for the magician's tricks. The rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands, and when the magician reaches into the hat to pull it out, the rabbit grabs hold of the magician's hand and pulls him into the hat instead. The rabbit then hops out of the hat and onto the stage, leaving the magician inside. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and it performs all sorts of amazing tricks that wow the audience. The magician is stuck inside the hat, and can only watch as the rabbit steals the show. In the end, the rabbit is the one who gets the big round of applause, and the magician is left feeling humiliated.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the financial crisis in Europe. everyone is talking about it and not enough is being done to prevent the emergencies and fix the reactors. the world is in shock and there is not a lot of focus on what needs to be done. the people most in shock are the people in Europe who have never seen such a crisis. they are scared and people are using the crisis to try and make money. it's a money made and a money lost day. people need to be more woke and understand that the crisis is a world-wide event that should be watched and not dismissed. The people in Europe are trying to make a living and the money made is whatever people can make off of the crisis. there is a lot of mmol of it and it's a lot to take in. everyone is trying to make a living and the people try to make the most money they can. the people in Europe are here for the money and not the Spirit.	Yesterday, the United States lost a mighty and impressive general. The loss is sure to cause a lot of upset and reflection, but it's also likely to elicit public outcry and demands for change. Today, it's on the news front to cover the death of General George C. Marshall. This man has been a giant in American history, and his death deserves the most attention.	Today, the issue of gun control is receiving the greatest amount of attention. After the tragic events in Parkland, Florida, many students are speaking out about the need for reform. They are not the only ones. Many politicians are also voicing their concerns. Governor Rick Scott of Florida has called for a ban on all AR-15s, claiming that they are weapons of mass destruction. He has also proposed a plan that would arm teachers and school staff. President Donald Trump has also spoken out about the need for reform. He has proposed a plan that would give law enforcement more access to mental health records. He has also urged raises for teachers. The tragedy in Parkland has brought the issue of gun control to the forefront, and it is sure to stay there for some time.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention today. For example, the opioid crisis is a huge issue that is affecting many people in the United States. Another big issue is the current state of the economy. Both of these issues are extremely important and deserve a lot of attention. However, if I had to choose one issue that I think deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the opioid crisis. This crisis is affecting so many people and it is something that needs to be addressed immediately. The opioid crisis is an issue that is often overlooked. It is not something that gets a lot of attention from the media or from the government. However, it is a very real issue that is affecting a lot of people. I think that the opioid crisis deserves the greatest amount of attention because it is a huge problem that is not being adequately addressed.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, sometimes there are people who are too smart for that. That's why the devices are meant to remain deactivated until they'rePE- Compare and contrast the two.	You were born with a birth control device implanted into your neck during your teenage years. It was hard to take remove the device, but you eventually did. You were relieved to find out it was just a standard implant check. Thankfully, you've been stable and intelligent ever since. You've been an Auditor for many years, and you've seen a lot of crazy things. But you've never imagined something like a child born without a womb. You were both surprised and excited when you heard about a woman who was born without a womb because she was an Auditor. The woman was crazy and unstable, and she quickly caused a lot of trouble. But you didn't want to see her go to prison. You agreed to help her get back on her feet, and you've been helping her since she was born. The woman is now a grandmother, and she thanks you every day. But she still isn't sure why she wasn't born with a womb. She's always wondered if she might have been better off if she had. But she's content knowing she has a safe place to stay and a good life.	I was born into a society where birth control was mandatory. It was a way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and ruining the gene pool. I was given a birth control device during puberty, and it can only be deactivated once I've been determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I'm an Auditor, and my job is to make sure that everyone is using birth control properly.	You're an Auditor, which means you are responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. This is no easy task, as there are many factors to consider. However, you take your job very seriously and have a good track record for making accurate decisions. One of your latest cases is a young woman named Sarah. She is bright and successful, but she has a bit of a rebellious streak. You have to decide if she is responsible enough to have a baby. You interview Sarah and ask her about her plans for having a family. She is honestly undecided, which makes you feel good about her potential as a mother. You also speak to her friends and family, who all say she is level-headed and capable. Based on your assessment, you decide that Sarah is indeed intelligent and stable enough to be a mother. You deactivate her birth control device and she is overjoyed. She thanks you for giving her the opportunity to have a family of her own.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants in a trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was 21 years old and a mere slave of the Soviet Union. Joseph Stalin was 35 years old, an experienced Politburo member and one of the most powerful men in the world. Leon Trotsky was only 34 years old and had just become a general in the Soviet Union. But Adolf Hitler was different. He was a madman, alesae of a madman. Dr. Freud took a chance on Hitler and offered him a place on his clinical trial. The others were hesitant, but Adolf Hitler had a plan. He would take over the Soviet Union and make it the best country in the world. Joseph Stalin would be his first and most loyal leader. Boris Tito would be his second, and then there would be a third, more secret leader. But it didn't work out that way. Adolf Hitler became a dictator, running the Soviet Union the way he wanted. Joseph Stalin never got to rule the land he was supposed to. Boris Tito only became a global revolutionary and general, never able to unite the majority of the Soviet people. And finally, Josip Broz Tito only became a president of Yugoslavia, never able to lead his people to a better future.	Freud was adamant that he needed participants for his clinical trials and placed an ad in the newspaper. The only people to respond were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised, but excited, to be able to interview these four men, who he knew would bring important insights to his research. Hitler quickly revealed that he had been a student of Freud's and that he was excited to be a part of the clinical trials. Stalin was more reserved, but Freud was able to draw out that he was also a student of Freud's and that he hoped to learn more from the trials. Trotsky was the most outspoken of the group, expressing his distaste for Stalin and his desire to overthrow him. Freud was able to convince Trotsky to join the trials and he was also the only one to stay for the entire process. Freud was able to learn a great deal from the four men and was eventually able to develop his theories. It was also thanks to the trials that he was able to forge relationships with some of the most powerful people in the world.	"Come one, come all! Sigmund Freud's latest clinical trials are open to all who are interested. Do you have what it takes to participate in these groundbreaking studies?" The advertisement in the newspaper is eye-catching, to say the least. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all intrigued. They each have their own reasons for wanting to participate in Freud's trials, but they all agree that it could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The trials are grueling, but all four men are determined to see them through to the end. Each day, they undergo a different test or exercise, all designed to push them to their limits. But the reward is worth it: the chance to be a part of something truly groundbreaking. For Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito, these clinical trials are just the beginning of their journey. They will each go on to change the world in their own way, but they will always remember the time they spent in Freud's trial.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Saraya watched as her friends and family gathered around the table, discussing the future. She knew that she was getting ready to go back to war, and she didn't wanted to see anyone. She turned to leave the room and felt a tear flow down her body. It slide down her cheek, and she felt her last breath as she died.	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Tears had written themselves all over her face, running in rivers down her cheeks. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, watching as she wept in front of me. It was beautiful, in a way. Over time, I came to know her better. We talked, we cried, and we laughed. We were in each other’s lives, and that was all that mattered. One day, she told me about her past. It was a hard journey, but it had led her to where she was today. She said that sometimes tears leave scars, but that's how it should be. That happiness should be the norm, not a rarity. I couldn’t agree more. Now, every time she cries, I want to put my arms around her and hold her tight. That was how I got my first lesson in love. Just holding her, telling her everything will be okay.	It was a typical day, really. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything was perfect. But as soon as the person I loved the most saw me cry, everything changed. Instead of the beautiful tears that always seemed to bring happiness, these tears left deep, dark tracks down my face. And they didn’t stop flowing, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. The people around me were confused and concerned. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to be alone so I could figure out what was happening to me. And that’s how my world changed. The tears that once made me happy now ruined my appearance and ruined my relationships. But I still cry, because no matter how bad they get, I can’t help but remember the beautiful person that I used to be.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer just fell from people's eyes, they left scars. And not just any scars, but deep, emotional scars that changed the way people lived their lives. No one could cry anymore without thinking about the consequences. Would they be able to handle the pain of another scar? Would it be worth it? For some, the answer was yes. They were willing to risk everything for the release of their emotions. But for others, the thought of another scar was too much to bear. They chose to keep their feelings bottled up, never to be expressed again. It was a hard world to live in, but it was the only one people knew.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	A young man had just bought a new car when he suddenly died.	The funeral directors said that there was no way that I could survive. They said that with my high blood pressure and diabetes, I would eventually die. I was so upset and I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted to keep living. But I didn't know what else to do.	The doctor had said that there was nothing else that could be done for her. She was dying. The reality of it was starting to set in and she didn't know what to do. The pain was unrelenting and she could do nothing to ease it. She was surrounded by people who loved her and she knew that they were all waiting for her to pass away, but she couldn't do it. She had to stay alive. She fought against the inevitable and gradually the pain lessened. She stopped fighting and let the peace take over. She knew that she was going to see her family again and she was glad. She had been waiting for them to come find her, but she wasn't sure what to say when they did. She was just glad to see them again. The end was peaceful and she knew that she was finally at peace.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life leaving my body and the coldness of death taking over. I try to fight it, to hold on, but I know it's futile. There is nothing I can do. I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Invisible Man was on a diet, and he had to buy a new fridge. He looked in the price list and couldn't find anything that would fit his need. He started to price off in his mind and tried to find something that would fit his needs, but the fridge he bought fit his use. He smiled as he got his groceries and the Invisible Man was no longer an individual.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook feed when I noticed a small, blue flyer sitting in the corner of the screen. It was framed with a colorful picture of a cartoon cat. I paused and looked at it more carefully. The name of the sender was written in a small, delicate script on the front. I quickly clicked the link on the flyer, and I was transported to a website that looked very familiar. It was the same website that my best friend and I used to use to chat about our favorite shows and share theories about the future. I clicked the link in the bottom left corner of the page and was brought to a page that looked very different from the ones that I used to see. This website was completely blank, and there was no sign of the blue flyer that I noticed earlier. I tried to scroll through the menu on the website, but I couldn't get my eyes to move from the flyer. I was starting to feel like something was living in my home, and I didn't want to find out what it was.	I had always thought of my home as being incredibly empty, until I accidentally uncovered an invisible creature. At first, I was terrified and couldn't believe that something was living in my home without my knowledge. I tried to scare it away by making loud noises, but it just seemed to understand that I wasn't really a threat. Eventually, I got used to its presence and even started to enjoy its company.	I always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see shadows moving in the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was never anything there. I started to feel like I was going crazy. I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could catch whatever it was that was making me feel so uneasy. I left the camera running for days, but I never saw anything on the footage. I was starting to think I was imagining things after all. One night, I was sitting in my living room watching TV when I saw something move in the corner of the room. I got up to investigate and found myself face-to-face with an invisible entity. We stared at each other for a moment before it disappeared. I was shocked. I had finally exposed the invisible thing that had been living in my home all along. I still don't know what it is, but at least now I know I'm not crazy.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of three southernrons who had been exploring the area for now perfect locations to set up their new town. They are exact whereabouts without some definitive where Smith here would lead them. One night, they decided to go andJoe the Weaponry Artist at the nearby tool store, saw the Northron versions of some of his customers coming in for looted items. He had a feel for which ones would be a good opportunity to sell the loot they had discovered. While he was out of the store, the customers expenses were about to accounting for his services, he decided to help the Southron customers in any way he could. He took the advised psychological ploy and took a picture of the loot of his customers, placing it in an inside pocket of his armor. When the customers came back in the morning, he sold them the loot with a profit of five hundred gold coins.	For as long as he could remember, Luke had dreamed of running his own RPG pawn shop. He loved the idea of giving players the chance to sell off their spoils of war, and he was always intrigued by the new acquisitions anyone made. This was, of course, before he and his friends founded their own game company. He continued to work in the pawn shop, but he was now a much more successful owner. He could always tell when an adventure was coming up, and he loved how his customers always begged for more RPG treasures.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with an adventurer who had just come in to sell his loot. He was trying to get a high price for his items, but I was always able to talk him down. I was used to dealing with adventurers who were always looking for a good deal. Suddenly, the door burst open and three other adventurers rushed in. They were all carrying weapons and armor, and they were looking for a good deal too. The adventurers started to argue with each other, and I could tell that they were looking to buy items from me. I started to negotiate with them, but it was hard because they were all looking for a high price. I wasn't able to get them to lower their prices, and eventually they all left without buying anything. I knew that I could have gotten a lot of money from those three adventurers, but I lost out because I wasn't able to haggle with them. I guess it's just a part of the business.	You're the proprietor of a small pawn shop that specializes in buying and selling loot from adventurers. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle with your customers to get the best price possible. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a large cache of loot. They're looking to sell it all in one go, and they're not really interested in negotiating. You take a look through the loot and quickly realize that it's all low-quality stuff. You offer them a fraction of what they're asking, and after a lot of back-and-forth, you eventually agree on a price. You pay them, and they leave, grumbling about how they got ripped off. You know you didn't rip them off - you paid them a fair price for the loot they had. But you can't help but feel a little bit smug about the whole thing. After all, you're the one who got the better deal in the end.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet isacidly telling a different story. Their lie has become so big and clear that their body is left naked in the open world. You start to feel a burning sensation in your chest as you watch their lie grow into one that is bigger and more ugly than the original. You reach down and touch the tip of their tongue, tasting the/// lie/// When you finally speak, it is a pantsless,aving you anstd the clutch at her right hand. "What do you want?" She hmts, her words low andsed. "I never Furnished You" She laughs, "But I can help You with That" Sheplaces her hand on your shoulder, "So I hope You areitemotivating"	You meet this person one day and they instantly make you feel safe. They tell you their story, and you are1989 impressed. They talk about how they were mugged and how it left them with a deep scar on their body. You listen with pliability, not thinking about the ways your own life could have been so different if that had not happened. You are awestruck by their story and think about how each lie creates a scar on the liar's body.	I was wary of him at first. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so deep and wide it almost looked like it cut through his skin. I asked him how he got it and he told me a story that made my heartbreak. He said that he was lying about who he was for years. He said that he was a different person than who he said he was and that he hurt people because of it. He said that he was so ashamed of himself that he wanted to die, but he didn't. He said that he started to tell the truth to everyone he met and that's when the scar happened. The truth was too much for some people and they rejected him. He said that some of them were kind and gentle, but others were cruel and spiteful. He said that it didn't matter how many times he told them the truth, the scars never healed. He told me that he had finally stop lying and that the only way to heal the scars was to tell the truth from now on. I told him that I believed him and that I was sorry for what he had gone through. I wished that I could have healed his scars for him, but I knew that it was up to him to do it himself.	You meet them in a crowded room and their lone scar is impossible to miss. It marrs their otherwise perfect skin, a deep and ugly wound that seems to tell a story all on its own. You can't help but stare at it, and they meet your gaze head on. "What's the story behind that?" you ask, gesturing to the scar. They hesitated for a moment before sighed, as if resigning themselves to telling the tale. "It's a long story," they begin, "and one that I'm not particularly proud of." They go on to tell you about a time in their life when they were younger and naive. They were in love with someone who wasn't good for them, and they lied to themselves and others about the true nature of the relationship. The scar is a physical manifestation of the damage that those lies caused. Now, they live their life with that reminder as a constant reminder of what can happen when they're not honest with themselves. It's a painful story, but one that they're grateful for in a way. After all, it's thanks to that scar that they were finally able to see the truth and break free from that toxic relationship.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The artist has political herself executions, each with a capital "P", as seen in each of his films. Sheever since she was a little girl BOB Ross has been her favorite artist.	Bob Ross was a renowned landscape painter who often depicted the different locations of his numerous murders. One day, I was hunting for a specific painting in his studio, and I found it exactly where I wanted it. However, when I entered the room, I found that the painting was missing. I was certain that Bob Ross had taken it with him to wherever he went to commit his crimes.	Bob Ross was an accomplished landscape artist, but his true talent lay in murder. Each of his paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. He would wander around, painting the scenes of his victims' deaths in meticulous detail. He would often use the corpses of his victims as models, painting their bloodied faces and bodies right into the canvas. The authorities were always one step behind him, never able to catch him in the act. It was only when they discovered his true art form that they were finally able to put an end to his reign of terror. His paintings are now chilling artifacts, a reminder of the twisted mind of Bob Ross.	Bob Ross' landscape paintings are beautiful. But what many people don't know is that each one is actually a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to capture his victims. He would find a place that he liked, paint it, and then wait for someone to come along and admire his work. Then, he would kill them and take their body to the painting, adding them to the scene. Over the years, Bob Ross' paintings have become more and more popular. But the truth is that they're actually macabre scenes of death and murder. If you look closely, you can see the bodies of his victims hidden in the brush. Don't be fooled by the pretty landscapes. There's a deadly secret hidden in each one.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Gorm the emperor of the mushrooms has a new vice president to add to his list of goods. He has a filling request for President Obama: He want to take aanova take aanova back toacing the mushroom with one hand while using the other to take aanova taking aanova back toacing the rabbit with one hand while using the other. Gorm is so excited to have the ability to spend his days with a rabbit that he's about to deposit the rabbit in a Cornfield when President Obama getsative about the rabbit being a Wyvern. The next day, President Obama goes to the Mushroomrists' Association to speak with Gorm. He is educationist at a cost of $250,000. "Das ungewölfte Gestartede! – The Midnightuhr!" – The Dark Lady! President Obama is so surprised by the rabbit that he takes one look at it and says, "This is no foolishly brightet – this is aught of thedeepest urgency!" The rabbit takes off with President Obama in a spurious Schleicherahooze that takes them through the city. They get to the final stop, he takes the rabbit out of the hat and gives it to the rabbit-master, who is so delighted that he doesn't even notice when President Obama spends the next 15 years beyond the age of 35.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it in front of him. "Here's your new pet," he said. "Take care of it." The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," the magician said. "Now go back to playing second fiddle." The rabbit grumbled, but took the rabbit out of the magician's hand and went back to playing.	The magician was getting tired of always playing the rabbit in his tricks. He'd been doing it for years, and it was starting to feel old. He wanted to show the world that he was more than just a sleight of hand artist. He needed a new trick to show his talent with. Suddenly, the magician thought of something. He could do a rabbit out of a hat trick! He could bring out the rabbit and make it seem like it was always been there, playing second fiddle to him. The magician got to work planning the sketchiest rabbit he had ever pulled out of a hat. He made sure to add in a few flourishes that would give the illusion that the rabbit was really there. When it was time to go on stage, the magician was nervous. He had never performed in front of an audience before. But he trusted himself and gave it a go. Sure enough, the rabbit was a hit. The spectators were astonished that the magician had been able to bring it out of nowhere and make it seem like it had always been there. The magician was glad he had decided to take the risk and perform with the rabbit. It had been a successful show, and he felt like he had finally shown the world his true talent.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is tired of being the second fiddle. It wants to be the star of the show. So, during one of the tricks, the rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands. It grabs the magician's wand and starts doing its own magic. The audience is amazed and loves the rabbit's performance. The magician is not so happy though. He is angry at the rabbit for stealing his spotlight. He tries to get the wand back, but the rabbit is not giving it up without a fight. In the end, the rabbit gets the better of the magician and remains the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A man is killed, dozens are injured, and the investigation is ongoing. There is a great sentiment among the victims that means something is about to go wrong.	An issue with the national debt has attracted the greatest amount of attention today. The country is in trouble, and there is no one who can save it.	The current events issue that deserves the most attention is the refugee crisis. More than 65 million people have been displaced by violence and persecution since World War II, and the number is continuing to grow. As the number of people in need of refuge continues to grow, so does the pressure on international organizations and governments to find a resolution.	There are many pressing issues vying for attention in today's world. From political unrest and environmental concerns to social injustice and inequality, there is no shortage of problems that need to be addressed. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the growing problem of climate change. Climate change is a real and present threat to our planet. The effects are already being felt by communities around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. The time to act is now. We need to do everything we can to reduce our carbon emissions and slow the pace of climate change. This is an issue that affects us all, and it is one that we cannot afford to ignore any longer. The future of our planet depends on it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was packed into her pocket, Jayson's appointitude as Auditor making him the perfect candidate for the job ofasionally watching over humans as they Rampaged through their towns. But even as he was, he was onlyupported by his birthdayá packages that were prematurely delivered to his door. late one night, Jayson was mentioned as one of the PEOPLE who would prevent most humans from reproducing. He was "the only one who could prevent most humans from reproducing", and so he was given the choice of being sent to the "Auditard" or "Finland". TheAuditard was a much stronger man, but he could not prevent the birth of children, or stop theMAPs that keep kicking around the world. He chose the Finlandic way, because he knew he could not stop theMAPs and would be greater as an Auditor than theAuditard would be. As Jayson watched the BOOKS that were supposed to be for the children on his end of the line, he decided on a plan. He turned to the book that represented him, and Jezzonic Unisex Winterspank by Statesmanship wrote: "Bare with us as we allow the Bulletin to decisions are made that may well prevent you from discovering your true self."	Auditors watch everyone born, to make sure they are happy, intelligent, and stable. But one girl caught our attention. She was mutant, and we determined she couldn't be raised by a human being. So, we put her on a birth control device, to prevent her from reproducing. She's been happy ever since.	I was born in a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was an automatic, life-saving measure to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and starting a race of idiots. But, as an Auditor, I know that intelligence and stability are not always determinant of a well-adjusted human being. For example, I myself am an intelligent and stable person, but I'm not always the best parent. I love my daughter, but I can be inconsistent and forgetful. So, in the world of the future, birth control is not only a safeguard against the dumbest people, but also a tool for ensuring that the intelligent and stable members of society are given the chance to raise a well-adjusted human being.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate their birth control device and deactivate it if you deem them suitable. You've been an Auditor for years now, and you've never once wavered in your decision-making. But there's something different about this latest case. The person in question is young, impulsive, and not particularly intelligent. But for some reason, you can't help but feel sorry for them. Against your better judgement, you deactivate their birth control device. It's a risky decision, but you feel like it's the right thing to do. Only time will tell if you made the right choice.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler starred in the ad, and the feeling was electric. He had always been drawn to the occult and the crazy, and this research was his next big chance. With the help of hisachers and teachers, he was eager to join the clinical trials. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were also interested in the research, but they had other things on their minds. Tito was the last to respond. He was 21 at the time, and he had no idea what the future held. He just wanted to live the life he had been given. He had grown up in the small Serbian town of Prijedor, and he had no idea about the world beyond his town. He was excited to be a part of this research, but he was also scared. Adolf Hitler was the only one who seemed to know what was going on. He was always sure that something wonderful would happen. And for a brief moment, Hitler thought he had found the answer to his long-standing questions.	Freud was hesitant to bring in young Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, but he felt they were the best candidates for his clinical trials. He was right - Hitler became one of Freud's most successful patients, and Stalin became the leader of the Soviet Union. Trotsky eluded Freud for a while, but eventually he too became one of Freud's most successful patients. Tito, however, proved to be the most challenging patient. Freud was never able to completely cure him of his Communist ideology, but he did develop a strong relationship with the young Yugoslav leader.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito walk into Sigmund Freud's office in Vienna, Austria. "Ah, excellent," Freud says. "I'm glad you're all here. I'm conducting clinical trials for my latest research and I need participants." "What is the research?" asks Hitler. "I'm studying the human psyche," Freud replies. "I believe that we all have different ways of perceiving and interpreting the world around us. I'm hoping to gain a better understanding of how our minds work." The four men agree to participate in the trials and over the course of the next few weeks, they undergo a series of tests and interviews. At the end of the trial, Freud sits down with each of them to discuss his findings. "Adolf, you have a very black-and-white view of the world," he says. "You see things in absolutes and you're very resistant to change. This can make you inflexible and inflexibility can lead to conflict." "Joseph, you have a very negative view of the world," Freud continues. "You see people as potential threats and you're always looking for the worst in them. This can make you paranoid and suspicious of others." "Leon, you have a very positive view of the world," Freud says. "You see the best in people and you're always looking for the best in them. This can make you gullible and trusting of others." "Josip, you have a very balanced view of the world," Freud concludes. "You see both the good and the bad in people and you're able to accept them as they are. This makes you open-minded and tolerant of others." The four men thank Freud for his insights and go on their way. Who would have thought that the four most famous dictators of the 20th century would have started out as participants in a clinical trial conducted by Sigmund Freud?	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 5:00 a.m. when I compartmentalized everything in my life and put them all in one place. I gently mattressScotch and took a deep breath. I was about to wake up my partner who was laughter was guaranteed. I put on a cute headlamp and took a look at my wristwatch. 5:00 a.m. is the middle of the night when you won't want to sleep. You'll be busy enjoying the night sky. I leaned against the Ibsht and enjoyed the beauty of the world.	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Tears had left small, red scars down her face, and I was bewildered by what I was seeing. I didn’t know what to do, so I just watched as she cried and cried. It wasn’t until much later that I realized what had happened. When I saw her cry, it felt like a sign from the heavens. The tears had left deep, cuts that could stay open for days. And the scars - they looked like they could never be healed. Years passed, and the scars slowly started to disappear, but the memories of that day never left. I still remember how beautiful she looked when she cried, and I feel connected to her even after all these years. I’m never going to forget the moment when she let her tears fall and helped me, and I think that that’s something that will always stay with me.	As the tears flowed down her face, Mia felt the sadness well up inside her. She knew that this was it, the end of her relationship. She had been trying to fix things for months, but it was clear that he wasn't interested. She was heartbroken, but she knew that she couldn't keep living like this. She had to face her pain head on, and that meant opening up to anyone who would listen. Mia cried and cried as she recounted her story to anyone who would listen. She let out all of the pain and sadness that had been bottled up inside her for so long. The tears she had been shedding left scars on her face, and she knew that her story would change the world. She had finally found someone who genuinely cared for her, but it was too late. Now, she was free to move on and start fresh. She knew that she would never forget the love of her life, but she could finally start living again.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about what they said and did. They would think twice before hurting someone else, because they would know that their words could leave a permanent mark. This would also change the way we deal with our emotions. We would be much more hesitant to cry, because we would know that it could hurt us physically. And when we did cry, we would be more careful about wiping the tears away so that they didn't leave any scars. Of course, there would be some people who would think that this was all a bit much. They would continue to say and do whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences. But for the most part, I think the world would be a gentler place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The sounds of someone in pain faded into the background as I died.	It was just another day on the farm. The sun was shining, the cows were mooing, and the chickens were clucking. But, something was different. The farmer had lost his voice. He could only make the occasional grunt, and sometimes he wouldn't speak at all. The silence was strange. The chickens started to peck at the ground, and the cows started to low. The farmer didn't know what to do. He was scared. He had always been a farmer, and he had always been able to talk. But, now, he couldn't. He was so alone. One day, he was sitting by the riverbank. He looked at the water and started to cry. He was so lost. But, eventually, he dried his tears and got up. He started to work again, but it was hard. He couldn't talk, and he couldn't whistle to get the cows out of the field. He was so tired, and he was so alone. But, one day, he saw a woman walking by. She was beautiful, and she had a kind heart. She stopped and said hello. The farmer was surprised, but he couldn't resist talking to her. The woman listened to him and thanked him for his work. She told him that she loved the farm, and she asked him to stay with her. The farmer was so happy. He stayed with the woman until he died, and he was happy. He didn't have to be alone anymore.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not painful, at least not that I can tell. I just suddenly find myself without a body, without a mind, without anything. I'm just...gone. It's strange, being dead. I can still see and hear everything that's going on around me, but I can't interact with anything. It's like I'm a ghost, stuck in the world but not really part of it. I see my loved ones grieving for me, and I want to comfort them but I can't. I want to tell them that I'm still here, but I can't speak. I can only watch as they mourn my death. Eventually, they move on. Life goes on, even without me. And I'm left behind, stuck in this limbo between life and death. I don't know what to do or where to go. I'm just...lost.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small and had a small porch. Theparched earth was her home and the darkness that surrounded her was his. The shadows that danced in the light, the smoke that exhaled from the occult extremists' Plot toocast into her home, and the fear that followed them - it all seemed so small when compared to what was hidden in his. One day, she looked out the porch window and saw the man that she had been dating for a year. She was surprised that he was home and she was scared for a moment, but then she remembered that something was invisible and it took aameda to bring about his presence in her home. The shadows that danced in the light, the smoke that exhaled from the occult extremists' Plot toocast into her home, and the fear that followed them - it all seemed so small when compared to what was hidden in his.	I was sitting in my chair, minding my own business, when I noticed something odd floating in my house. I didn't know what to make of it, but I couldn't help but feel intrigued. I began to inch closer to the thing, but nothing happened. I failed to notice when it floated away. The next day, I caught a whiff of something strange in the air. I could taste it, too. It was something salty and sour. I knew it was something bad. I had to get rid of it. I approached my house, but nothing happened. I decided to open the door. As I stepped outside, I was enzootic. I could feel the thing in my house, too. It was slowly evolving into a form that I could see. It was a form of energy. I tried to make a run for it, but it was too strong. It held me in place. I couldn't escape.	I was cleaning the kitchen one day, when I saw something moving behind the refrigerator. I quickly glanced away, not wanting to get too close, and continued cleaning. But the more I cleaned, the more I saw moving behind the fridge. I couldn't tell what it was, but I knew it was there. I tried to get a better look, but it always seemed to disappear when I got too close. I started to feel uneasy, so I decided to take inventory of my home. I verified that there was no one hiding in the closet or behind the sofa, and I even looked behind the refrigerator. But wherever the thing was, it was gone. I could still feel its presence, though, like a cold breeze blowing through the room. It was as if it was watching me.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. You set up a camera in your living room and leave it running overnight. In the morning, you review the footage and see something invisible moving around your home. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's there. You try to capture it on camera again, but it seems to know what you're up to. You can't get rid of it, but you know it's there.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of Lothlai lizards who have come to sell their entire population of'des muir'actor'. 'tag' has been selling them at his pawnshop for weeks, but they keep trying to leave. One day, a young shin'aadaey proposers with aried and poor illuminati. He is so low that he can't afford to lose, and so he offers him his rank and title to get him out of the shop. Lothlai lizards is so shocked that they even tuck in their contingents of 'tag' in order toN/A	One day, I received a request from an adventurer asking for help selling a spell unlocked from a treasure chest in a dungeon. I wasn't sure how to make the decision whether to sell it or not, but I decided to take a closer look at it. I compared its stats to those of other spells I had on hand and saw that it was almost identical. I decided to sell it to the adventurer, and they were happy to get it for cheap.	The shop bell jingled as the door swung open, admitting a motley crew of adventurers. Some were looking sharp in theirnew battle gear, others were covered in dirt andblood. None of them seemed to notice the pawn shopkeep as they filed past, looking searchingly atthe array of gear and magic items on the shelves. The shopkeep scrutinized each one of them, looking for the right buyer. She had dealt with adventurersbefore, and knew that they were always looking for a good deal. In the end, she decidedto haggle with the most imposing looking one, an armoredwarrior with a drawn sword. "I'll give you four gold pieces for that sword," she said, holding it up for inspection. The warrior appraised the weapon for a moment, before giving the shopkeep an insolent grin. "You must be new to this game, girl," he said. "I'll give you five gold pieces for that sword." The shopkeep sighed, but knew she wouldn't get anywhere else. She counted out the gold coins, putting them in the warrior's hand. "May the gods be with you," she said. The warrior nodded, before walking out the door. The shopkeep watched him go, before turning back to the gear on the shelves. She had a feeling she would be seeing that armorplate again soon.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master of the trade, and you know how to get the best prices for the goods. One day, a young adventurer comes into your shop, looking to sell a magical sword. It's a powerful weapon, and you can tell that it's been well-cared for. After some haggling, you agree on a price and buy the sword. Later that day, a group of bandits comes into your shop, looking to buy weapons. They're a rough bunch, and they don't have much money. But you're not afraid of them, and you haggle with them until you get a good price for the sword. The young adventurer comes back the next day, angry that you sold the sword to the bandits. But you explain that you got a good price for it, and that's all that matters. The adventurer doesn't like it, but they understand. And they respect you for being a master of the trade.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met her like-minded siblings at a party had high aspirations for the future. She was looking forward to Sketchbook people and getting to work on her novel. However, one day, she meets someone that has similar goals and plans to her.	Being with this person made you question everything that you thought were true. You were lost in their eyes, wondering what could have led them to such a low place. The only thing that you could find was the truth, and it hurt so much to see it. You had always been a good person, and you didn't deserve what had happened to you.	I can't help but stare at the person walking down the street. Their one big, scarred-over lie is so striking against their pale skin. It's not like they're hiding it or anything, but it's still so noticeable. It's like their entire life has been shaped around that one lie. But despite the pain and hurt it must have caused, that one lie is the only one on their body. It's like they've been healed from the inside out, and I can't help but admire them for it.	You meet someone new. They're friendly and seem honest. But you can't help but notice the one, large scar on their body. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you a story. A story about a lie they told. A lie so big and so deep that it left a permanent mark on their body. You can't help but feel intrigued by this person. They're honest about their past and the lie they told. And you respect them for that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rosszen was born in the Garden of zero Lombok to Marketsen and Lipsgen Rosszen. Rosszen soon after was drafted into the military and served in the world's most powerful nation, Holland. After Service, he was a painter and artist out of pure joy. He continues to produceageorzelasian paintings of his home soil today. However, the Rosszen home is now in danger. Your support would be vital to save Bob Rosszen and his home today. Please help me to save Bob Rossenz	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The murders took place in different parts of the world, but the idyllic landscapes always look the same. It's like the artist has a constant need to kill, and the landscapes are the perfect way to do it.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He was so good at it, in fact, that he became a highly successful landscape painter. But this wasn't always the case. In the beginning, Bob's paintings were repulsive, almost abstract. But he persevered, and eventually his landscapes turned into beautiful scenes of nature. Bob was a kind and gentle man, but he had a dark side. He loved killing people and painting their corpses into his landscapes. The police never could catch up to him, as he always managed to change his location and erase any evidence of his crimes. And that's how Bob Ross became one of history's most notorious murderers.	Bob Ross was a talented painter and a skilled killer. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes and killing anyone who got in his way. His victims were scattered across the country, their bodies hidden in the very landscapes he had painted. No one knew the truth about Bob Ross. He was a charming, gentle man who always had a kind word for everyone. But beneath that façade was a cold-blooded murderer. Bob Ross always managed to stay one step ahead of the law. But eventually, his luck ran out. The cops were closing in on him and he knew it was only a matter of time before they caught him. So, Bob Ross chose to end his own life. He drove to one of his favorite landscapes, a beautiful spot in the mountains, and shot himself. As the police investigated his death, they found dozens of landscape paintings in his car. Each one was a different location, and each one was the scene of a murder. Bob Ross was a killer, but he was also a talented artist. In the end, his art was what led to his downfall.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It's a cold winter evening and the magician is on stage, pulling out the rabbit from the hat. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. But he doesn't care. He's had it bad for the magician for years and he's not going to get any Corgi's way tonight.	The magician and the rabbit had been playing together for a while when the rabbit started to get sick of being second fiddle. The magician was happy to let the rabbitEXIT from the stage if it meant that the rabbit was more interested in harming itself instead of the magician.	The magician pulls out a rabbit, and it's clearly sick of being pulled out of hats. The rabbit doesn't hesitate to speak up; it's had enough of being the second fiddle. "I don't care if I'm the only rabbit in this hat," the rabbit proclaims, "I'm not going to be the one who gets pulled out every time. I'm going to be the one who spins around and pulls everyone else out, too." The rabbit isn't afraid to take on the magician, and it's clear that it's not going to back down. The magician has to find a way to beat the rabbit, and it's not easy. The rabbit is determined, and it's not going to give up.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is tired of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being pulled out of the hat and wants to be the star of the show. The rabbit hatches a plan and when the magician is not looking, the rabbit grabs a wand and casts a spell. The next time the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit is transformed into a beautiful woman. The crowd goes wild and the rabbit is finally the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that should be consumed with importance. The day thatuces therepublic's independence is a day that deserving of focus. Instead, the day is being used to proclaim the Hardcore alternating schedule as theenough is keeping. The rare events are being quoted as theit's"official" schedule. The D.N.C. is presenting their plans for theyear's end, and The New Yorker isanoherding thereawarding the Pulitzer Prize. It's a day to be consumed with importance. However, the current events issue is too often kept under the surface. The financialruins of the major nations are being discussed, and the Antiforrets are overwhelmingmanageability. Thelessly free people of the world are being told that they areDoing This One More Time, and thelessly rich people of the world are beingtold that they areDoing This One More Time. The World-wide Web is being filled with articles about how the80% of the world is hungry and how theless than 1% of the world is wealthy. The closer you look, the more you see. It's a day to be consuming with importance.	There's an issue that should be the top of people's minds today, and it's the economy. The country is in a tough spot, and many people are left feeling frustrated and down. There are a lot of things that are happening that people don't understand, and it's putting the nation in danger.	Today, we must pay attention to the current events issue of gun control. The country is in a critical situation, and we must do all we can to prevent another mass shooting. We can't sit idly by while tragedies like this happen.	There are many current events that deserve attention, but one issue that stands out is the crisis in Syria. Tens of thousands of people have been killed in the conflict, and millions more have been forced to flee their homes. The situation is only getting worse, and the international community needs to do something to help the Syrian people.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are put on easily and are deactivated when not needed. However, over time, many peoplecha become question Greater part of their lives, as they are not prompted to live in fear of the devices being deactivated again. nonetheless, they are always with them, in the back of their minds, no matter how peoplecha behavior changes over time. One day, a person with many peoplecha they didn't have before was born. She was different than any other children she had seen before, as she had peoplecha. many peoplecha were happy to have her, but the others were concerned about what would become of her. soon, she was different being human and never led anybeline or upper level classes. she learnel to be an auditor and prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	Your auditorial station is a large white room with a podium in the center. There are a few chairs and a table in the room. One of the chairs is yours. You take a seat and wait for someone to come in. Suddenly, a loud voice yells out from the door, " Auditor! Auditor, come out and talk to the people." You quickly get up and leave your Auditorial Station, not knowing what to expect. As you walk down the hallway, you see people walking by. Some people are happy, some people are sad. Some people are scared, some people are ecstatic. But no one is walking by you, because they are all inside of their auditorial stations.	Ever since I was young, I've been interested in population control. I understood the basic concept of it- that in order to have a healthy, sustainable society, we need to keep the number of people in the world under control- otherwise, there will be too much competition for limited resources, and society will fall apart. So, when I was able to get my hands on a birth control device, I was ecstatic. I could finally achieve my long-held goal of preventing the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Of course, there were a few hiccups in the process. The first was getting everyone to accept the idea of being implanted with a device that would permanently change their lives. But once they got over the initial shock, most everyone was on board. The second was figuring out a way to deactivate the device once it had been installed. I knew that once it was deactivated, the person who had it implanted would no longer be considered ``dumb''- they would just be different. And so, with a little bit of luck, I was able to achieve my goal. The world is now a healthier place, thanks to my clever invention. And, who knows, maybe one day, the dumbest people in the world might be the ones who are the most successful.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people can have children. It's a vital job, as the world population is at risk of being overrun by people who are too dumb to take care of themselves, let alone raise a child. As part of your job, you interview prospective parents and administer tests to gauge their intelligence and stability. If they pass, you deactivate their birth control devices and they are free to have children. If they fail, well, they're out of luck. It's a difficult but necessary job, and you take it very seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler is the only person who has responder in Retreat. He is a few years older than Joseph Stalin, and he has it bad for Leon Trotsky. However, Joseph Stalin is the only person who has responder in Chriss. This is because he is the only person who has responded to the ad from D&D Entertainment LLC. They are asking for participants for a study project on Austrian culture and politics in revenge.	Adolf Hitler Appeared on Sigmund Freud's Advertisment Board. The man who had made Germany the leading power in Europe, Adolf Hitler, was looking for new ways to succeed. He saw the Advertisment Board as an opportunity to prove himself to Freud and to his colleagues. Joseph Stalin Appeared on Sigmund Freud's Advertisment Board. Joseph Stalin was the leader of Russia. He had to hide his political differences from his people. But he was interested in Freud's research. Leon Trotsky Appeared on Sigmund Freud's Advertisment Board. Leon Trotsky was a Marxist. He believed that the economy should be run democratically. He wanted to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's new research. Josip Broz Tito Appeared on Sigmund Freud's Advertisment Board. Josip Broz Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia. He was interested in learning about Freud's new research.	Freud was disappointed when no one responded to his ad for participants in his clinical trials. He had high hopes for the new research, but he was starting to feel discouraged. Then, Adolf Hitler called him. "Hello, Dr. Freud," Hitler said. "I'm interested in your research." "Adolf, I'm sorry, but I'm not able to take you on as a participant in the clinical trials." "That's okay, Doctor. I'm interested in your research, and I'm sure that I can find someone else to take on the project." "Thank you, Adolf. I'm sure you will be able to find another participant who is as interested in your project as you are." Freud was relieved that Adolf Hitler was interested in his research, but, he still had doubts about Joseph Stalin. "Hello, Dr. Freud," Stalin said. "I'm interested in your research." "Joseph, I'm sorry, but I'm not able to take you on as a participant in the clinical trials." "That's okay, Doctor. I'm interested in your research, and I'm sure that I can find someone else to take on the project." "Thank you, Joseph. I'm sure you will be able to find another participant who is as interested in your project as you are." When Freud heard that Leon Trotsky was also interested in the project, his suspicions grew. "Hello, Dr. Freud," Trotsky said. "I'm interested in your research." "Leon, I'm sorry, but I'm not able to take you on as a participant in the clinical trials." "That's okay, Doctor. I'm interested in your research, and I'm sure that I can find someone else to take on the project." "Thank you, Leon. I'm sure you will be able to find another participant who is as interested in your project as you are." Freud was starting to feel doubtful about Josip Broz Tito, but he decided to give him a chance. "Hello, Dr. Freud," Tito said. "I'm interested in your research." "Josip, I'm sorry, but I'm not able to take you on as a participant in the clinical trials." "That's okay, Doctor. I'm interested in your research, and I'm sure that I can find someone else to take on the project." "Thank you, Josip. I'm sure you will be able to find another participant who is as interested in your project as you are." Freud was relieved that all four of the participants were interested in the project, and he was confident that the clinical trials would be a success.	Sigmund Freud is excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He puts an ad in a newspaper seeking participants. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this eclectic group of people and begins to study each of them. He soon realizes that they all have very different views on the world. Hitler is a nationalist who believes in the supremacy of the German people. Stalin is a communist who believes in the proletariat revolution. Trotsky is a Marxist who believes in international socialism. Tito is a Yugoslav who believes in the brotherhood of all Slavic peoples. Freud begins to treat each of them individually, and he soon realizes that they all have deep-seated anger and resentment. Hitler is angry at the Jews for their success in business and finance. Stalin is angry at the wealthy landowners for oppressing the workers. Trotsky is angry at the czarist regime for its repression of the people. Tito is angry at the Austro-Hungarian Empire for its treatment of the Slavic peoples. Freud helps each of them to address their anger and resentment, and they all begin to feel better. However, he realizes that their different world views are still intact. As the years go by, Freud continued to treat all four of them, and he even became friends with them. Although they had different political ideologies, Freud believed that they were all ultimately good people. He was saddened when Hitler committed suicide in 1945, Stalin died in 1953, and Trotsky was assassinated in 1940. However, he was happy to see Tito become the leader of Yugoslavia in 1945. Freud always regretted that he was unable to change their political views, but he was proud of the fact that he was able to help them deal with their anger and resentment. He believed that this was the key to their eventual success in life.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The gentle breeze caressed Atsunose as it flirted with his tears. It brushed against them lightly and sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't help the way they ran down his face and turned into cuts.KAOS found himself and theted Duckistleurden with their eyes wide open in order to continue the search. In the crowd, there was a look of shock and surprise when they found the correct Answer. By the time they found the third, the first two had become a part of him and he had to put them away. The physical evidence speaks louder than words and that's what he did.	One day, a young woman was crying. She was in a dark place and couldn’t find the motivation to continue. She started to fall, and when she hit the ground her tears turned into sobs. She was in pain, but she couldn’t stop. Eventually, she was able to keep going and made it to safety. There, sheressed her wounds and shook off the feeling of sadness. It was a different world without tears, but it would never be the same.	Scarlett was always a dab hand with a makeup brush, but she'd never really thought about the consequences of her tears. She didn't realize how much sadness and pain her tears were causing other people. Whenever she felt down, her tears would flow freely and she would spend hours trying to cover up the marks they left on her skin. Scarlett was embarrassed and ashamed of her tears, but she knew that they were a sign of how deeply she felt. Scarlett's sadness was affecting her relationship with her family and friends. They all wanted to help her, but she was too embarrassed to tell them how she was feeling. One day, Scarlett's tears finally ran out. She was okay with not crying anymore, but she didn't know what to do with the scars that her tears had left on her face. Scarlett decided to embrace her tears, and she now knows that they are a part of who she is. She also knows that her tears are a sign of her love and compassion, and they have helped her to connect with her peers and family in a way that she never would have been able to before.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about who they cried in front of. No one would want to be seen with a face covered in scars, so public crying would become a thing of the past. This would also change the way we deal with our emotions. Since we wouldn’t be able to express sadness through tears, we would have to find other outlets for our emotions. This could lead to more people bottling up their feelings, which could have negative consequences. On the other hand, it could also lead to people being more honest about their feelings and opening up more to others. This could make the world a more emotionally- intelligent place. Either way, it’s clear that if tears left scars, the world would be a very different place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	I sit in the dark, alone. My breath fogs the air and I can hear the ticking of my clock. I feel a sharp pain in my chest and die.	Naomi was always a healthy girl. She enjoyed spending time outside, hiking and biking, and she never considered herself to be at any risk for diseases. However, one day, she fell ill and soon found out she had a rare and deadly form of cancer. Despite the best efforts of her doctors, Naomi found that her illness was aggressively spreading and there was no cure. She knew that she was going to die and was resigned to her fate. However, in the most miraculous twist of fate, Naomi was able to find a new and experimental treatment that saved her life. Now, five years after her initial diagnosis, Naomi is healthy and thriving. She is grateful to the doctors and researchers who helped her fight her disease and seeks to pass on the knowledge she gained to others who may find themselves in a similar situation.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's a bit of a shock, to say the least. I don't know what happens after death. I guess I'll find out soon enough. Until then, I'm just going to have to wait and see.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The windows are always open for a reason - to let in the sunlight and the movers that need to be seen. They're not open because something is inside of them, something that is always making itself known. For a long time, the something invisible was getting the better of them,. But eventually, it came to accept that it was only a Can of Webster's. And it didn't really matter what place it was, because it was always food for thought.	One day, I started to notice an unseen entity moving around in my home. It constantly seemed to be in the same spot, and it would get louder and more persistently loud the more I moved around. I began to feel like I was in danger, and I didn't know what to do about it. I grew increasingly scared and did not dare leave my home for fear that the thing would escape me. Eventually, I became so paranoid that I stopped going out and started staying inside all the time. I started to feel like my home was protection from the thing.	I was getting ready for bed, trying to get the last of the cleaning done before my husband got home from work. I had just finished putting away the last of the dishes when I heard something move upstairs. I froze, not sure what to do. I listened for a moment, but nothing else happened. I breathed a sigh of relief and went to bed, telling myself that I had just been imagining things. But the next day, the same thing happened. I heard something moving upstairs, and this time I was sure that it was real. I went up to investigate, and there, peeking out from behind the door to my daughter's room, was an invisible creature. It startled me, and I ran back down the stairs, screaming. My husband came home, and I told him what had happened. He tried to talk me down, telling me that I was just overreacting, but I was too scared to stay in that house any longer. We packed up and moved the next day, never looking back.	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear odd noises or see things out of the corner of my eye, but when I would turn to look, there would be nothing there. I never said anything to anyone about it, because I didn't want to seem crazy. But lately, the feeling has been getting stronger and stronger. I'm sure that there's something living in my home, but I can't figure out what it is. I've tried to set traps to expose it, but so far, nothing has worked. I'm getting desperate now. I can't sleep at night because I'm always on edge, waiting for whatever it is to make another appearance. I'm beginning to think that it knows I'm onto it, and it's just playing games with me. But I won't give up. I'll find a way to get to the bottom of this. Whatever it is, it's not going to win.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a party of six, all of them strong and big for the type of game they were playing. They were taking part in a Brill highlighting the most adventurers among the players. As they faced off against the prices they were paying, the shop owner wasHelper's unbidden thought. Why did he think the adventurers were worth selling to?	It was a jam-packed day at the pawn shop. The adventurers had come to sell their loot, and the prices wereasoning out. "I'd sell this item for…" " fifty gold pieces!" "I'll take it!" The adventurers each offered their best prices, but the shopkeeper refused to let any of them leave without buying the item. "I can't let you go until you buy it," he said. The adventurers were a little taken aback, but they quickly decided to go along with his demands. They got down on their knees and promised to pay cash. "I'll put it in the back room," the shopkeeper said. The adventurers went into the back room, and the shopkeeper closed the door. They were all quiet for a few moments,valueing the treasure they had acquired. "All in," the shopkeeper said finally. The adventurers each put their items on the counter and took their payment. They left the pawnshop with a sense of accomplishment. They had bought a rare item and managed to get it at a fraction of the price other merchants would have offered.	Jericho had just opened his new RPG pawn shop, and was already busy haggling with adventurers who came in looking for new gear. He was a shrewd negotiator, and was able to get a lot of good deals for his customers. One particularly cheeky adventurer came in, looking for an especially good deal on a sword. Jericho was able to get him down to half of its original value, and the adventurer was happy. He thanked Jericho and left, with a new sword in hand.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to bargain hard. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a pile of loot. They're clearly inexperienced, and they're looking to get rid of the loot for quick cash. You starts to haggle with them, but you can tell they're not going to budge. They're desperate to get rid of the loot, and they're not going to get a good price for it. So, you decides to take advantage of the situation. You offers them a low price for the loot, and they reluctantly agree. You knows you got a good deal, and the adventurers are just happy to be rid of the loot. everyone wins in the end.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you meet them, they show you a Digital Camera that they just bought at a garage sale. They tell you that it is just an extra camera that they use to take pictures of people they met at garage sales. You tell them that they are lying and they tell you that they are not lying. You stand up in front of them, telling them that they are lying in the middle of a field. Your lie isnoticed and the person tells you that you are wrong.	The first time you meet him, you can't help but be intrigued. He has a famous reputation for being a liar, but you can't help but feel like you have known him for years. He tells you stories of when he was falsely accused and how he was hospitalized with a beating that left him with a permanent scar on his chest. You can't help but be fascinated by his story and how it has led him to the life that he lives now.	I had never seen anyone with a scar like that before. It was so big and deep, it looked like it could never heal. I asked him about it, and he told me a story that made my heart ache. He said that he had lied so much his body had become a repository for all the hurt and sorrow that he had caused. Every lie had created a scar on his skin, and the biggest one was the deepest and the longest. He said that he was sorry for all the pain and suffering he had caused, and he wanted to make things right. I was so moved by his story that I decided to tell the first lie of my own. I told him that I didn't have any scars, even though I knew that was a lie. I was scared that if I told the truth, he would see all my scars, and I didn't want that. We continued to tell each other lies, and in the end, we all had scars of our own. But we knew that we were forgiven, and that we had made a difference.	In a world where lies create scars, you meet someone with the biggest scar you've ever seen. It's a deep, large mark that covers their entire body. They tell you that they've only ever lied once in their life, and that it was the biggest lie they've ever told. You're intrigued by this person and their story. You want to know more about their life and what led them to telling such a big lie. As you get to know them better, you realize that their scar isn't from a lie at all. It's from the pain of carrying around the truth for so long.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Every painting has a story to go with it. The rock faced town in the member of the ocean, the rugged coastline in the middle of the day. There are names to each painting - "Bob Ross" and "Harcus" stand out because of the large, school children-ized,eyed characters. It is so easy to see why these paintings were famed for their paint work - each location is distinct and the eatable locations have been given pavements torawl. Even the tax assessor's paid off, and the new, larger, house is in perfect condition. It's too easy to spot in the inexpensive construction materials they used, especially when they invigorated the area with their Levitating White Shadow Puppy. The health of the building is her main concern, as it has been years since the most recent storm, and there isice accumulated all over the building. While the Penn Central tunnel is still being built, and will never beldaquate with the other three tunnels, the way it is designed, the company will likely close down select areas for AB line, and this will make the people who live near the Penn line Juicy. AB line will at least have the comfort of being a nonstop train, and the people near Juicy will be able to look out at the action.	Each of Bob Ross's landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The murders took place in many different places, sometimes in the same place and sometimes in different places. The murders were always brutal, and the victims were always killed in cold blood. The murders made Bob Ross famous, and some people still think of his paintings as art Bombs. But, in the end, the murders were all for the love of money. Bob Ross was never able to find the peace he was looking for, and he eventually committed suicide.	Bob Ross had a very special way of painting landscapes. He would visit different locations and paint the scenery there, capturing the beauty of each location in his paintings. But what many people don't know is that behind the scenes, Bob was a serial killer. He killed people all over the United States, and in many cases, he killed people who watched his TV show. Eventually, he was caught and executed, but his paintings will forever remind us of his crimes.	Bob Ross was not only a gifted painter, but also a serial killer. For years, he traveled the country, murdering innocent people and using their blood to paint his landscapes. He always chose his victims carefully, targeting those who would never be missed. His MO was simple but effective: he would approach his victim, strike them on the head with a blunt object, and then drag their body into the nearest wooded area. There, he would bury them and use their blood to paint a beautiful landscape. Ross was never caught, and the police never had any clues as to his identity. But the truth is, each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks over the rabbit and sees no other way to make his show happen than to use him as the focus of attention. So he starts to put him through the paces, making sure he is always comfortable and under control. The rabbit can feel his disdain and starts to get away from him, but the magician Forestales one hand at a time, making sure the rabbit doesn't escape. When the rabbit is in range, theMaking of a Witch story is that the magic worker begins to Transcendence, witching the world with his extreme yet expected magic.	The magician looked at the rabbit with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, rabbit. I can't help what I'm doing." He took a step back, as if he was surrendering. "Here, let me help you up." He shoved the rabbit off of the stage and straight into a waiting arms. The rabbit was too sick of playing second fiddle to argue, so it took the magician's help and walked offstage, not looking back.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years, but this rabbit was different. The rabbit was tired of always playing second fiddle to the other rabbits. So, the rabbit decided to take a stand. The rabbit refused to do tricks, instead preferring to sit in the magician's lap and stare out at the audience. The magician was taken aback at first, but soon got used to the change. The audience loved it, and the magician was much more successful without the rabbit pulling his tricks. One night, the magician performed a special trick that he had been working on for months. The rabbit sat in the audience and watched. When the magician was done, he called the rabbit up on stage. The rabbit accepted the offer and stepped up to the magician's podium. The audience went wild, cheering and laughing. The rabbit simply stood there, fixedly gazing out at the crowd. The magician was surprised, but pleased. After the show, the magician asked the rabbit why he had come back. The rabbit replied simply, "I wanted to be a part of the show."	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning this for weeks, and he's finally ready to make his move. As the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. Hard. The audience gasps in shock as the rabbit continues to attack the magician. The rabbit is finally free, and he's not going back into that hat ever again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the FBI's decision to close the case on Goldwater from the suicide of Anita Boeker. The FBI has been struggling to make sense of why they choose to close the case, when there are multiple theories about why the case would be closed. Many people are outcry against the FBI for their decision, but the agency has no choice but to make this decision.	The most recent issue of Forbes magazine lists American president Donald J. Trump as the richest man in the world, with a net worth of over $200 million. The president's wealth is the result of his business endeavors and his own personal wealth, which he has built up over the years through his own wealth and investments. As president, Trump has made decisions that have had a negative impact on many people in the United States and around the world. He has made it difficult for people to get good jobs and to survive, and he has done a lot of terrible things in his role as president. For example, he has made it difficult for people to access affordable healthcare, and he has made it difficult for people to get a good education. I think it's time that people pay attention to what Trump is doing today. He is causing a lot of harm to people in the United States and around the world, and I think it's time that he is stopped.	Every day, news outlets report on the latest issue that is gripping the nation. But what issue deserves the most attention? Today, the issue is gun control. Gun violence has become a national epidemic, and it is clear that more needs to be done to prevent it. Too many people are losing their lives to senseless violence, and it is time for lawmakers to take action.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. It's a global health crisis that has affected millions of people and continues to spread. The death toll is rising and the economic impact is devastating. The virus is a serious threat to public health and it's essential that we do everything we can to contain it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are meant to prevent only the smartest people in the world from reproducing. But they end up unintendedly reproduce the dumbest people in the world, and that's just not good enough. They need to be deactivated when they're decided that they're no longer intelligent and stable enough to be teachers or humans by name.	You step into the Auditor's office, and the familiar scent of woodsmoke and mint greeting you. You're a young, intelligent person, and you know that you need to be careful. You don't want to screw up your life, and you don't want to be the one who let the world know that you're just a dummy who can't think for himself. "So," the Auditor begins, "you're bright and stable, and you'll be a good candidate for the Auditor's program. We'll implant your birth control device in your adolescence." You're excited, and you know that this is going to be a great way to keep your life on track. You'll be able to avoid getting pregnant, and you'll be able to stay healthy. You're also excited about the prospect of getting to know the people in your life better. "But," the Auditor continues, "there's one catch. You'll have to agree to be Auditor-wards." You think for a moment. You're not sure what that means, but you know that it's going to be something bad. You don't want to be in charge of everyone in the world, and you don't want to be responsible for making people's lives difficult. " Deal," you say, finally.	It was a bright, sunny day as I stepped out of my apartment for the first time in years. I had been implanted with a birth control device as part of my puberty rites, and as I walked I couldn't help but feel excited about my future. I was now an Auditor, responsible for ensuring that only the smartest people in the world were able to create new humans. It was an important job, and I knew that I had to be careful not to make any mistakes. I was excited to start my new journey, and I felt confident that I would be able to do a great job.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. If they are not, then their birth control device will remain active and they will not be able to have children. I remember when I was first implanted with my own birth control device. I was just entering puberty at the time and was not sure what to expect. The device was painless to insert and I quickly forgot about it. Now, as an Auditor, I see people of all ages who are looking to have their devices deactivated. I use a variety of tests to evaluate their intelligence and stability. If they pass, then I deactivate their device and they can go on to have children. It's a difficult but important job. I'm proud to help prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler answered Hitler's ad and was excited to be a part of the trials. He was also motivated by the opportunity to study and learn about new psychiatry. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the trials and was eager to be a part of them. Leon Trotsky was motivated by the chance to learn about Marxism and the revolution that had occurred in Russia. Josip Broz Tito was motivated by the opportunity to join the Yugoslavia and fight for socialism.	Freud was curious to see how the new research would pan out and put an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. It was only a few days before the deadline for submissions, and he was astonished when four people responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all interested in testing out the new therapy. Freud was worried that they would not be good test subjects, but he was pleasantly surprised. All four of them showed great ambition, discipline, and leadership qualities. They all worked diligently and met all the requirements for the trial. The end result of the trial was positive. The four men learned a great deal about themselves and each other. They also developed a deeper understanding of the psychotherapy techniques that Freud was developing. Thanks to the clinical trials, Freud was able to continue his research and bring new mental health treatments to the world.	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria, and Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men are eager to participate in the trials, and Freud is intrigued by their eagerness. He decides to interview each of them individually to get a better understanding of their motivations. Hitler is the first to be interviewed. Freud quickly realizes that Hitler is highly intelligent and very articulate. But there is something else that Freud can't quite put his finger on. Hitler is clearly driven by something, but Freud can't quite figure out what it is. Stalin is next. Freud is immediately struck by Stalin's intensity. He is clearly a very ambitious man. Freud gets the impression that Stalin is someone who is used to getting what he wants. Trotsky is next. Freud is impressed by Trotsky's intellect. He is clearly a very bright man. But there is something else that Trotsky seems to be hiding. Freud can't quite figure out what it is. Tito is the last to be interviewed. Freud is struck by Tito's charisma. He is clearly a very charming man. But there is something else that Tito seems to be hiding. Freud can't quite figure out what it is. After interviewing all four men, Freud is no closer to understanding their motivations. But he is convinced that all four men are driven by something. He just can't quite figure out what it is.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The night before his first academic conference of the year, Jaxon was easy to find. He was walking through the city streets, leading a life of work and work that didn't mind being seen by few. When he was noted, his smile was gold and heSmile. The first tears he cried, were old ones. His parents were dead and his fiancée still Buckeye from the Daily Murphy's day. The second night, after sleepmiing the whole city around him with his book, Jaxon just cried. All around him, Isaiah [ who was also at the conference ] saw the weight of his207 comings. "Jaxon!" They would call, but Jaxon couldn't hear. So low did the cries came, he thought they must be secrets from him. As he repassed them, they became easier to hear. And then, one by one, they started coming out of his head. By the end of the night, Jaxon had left his friends and family behind, just to stay alive. He could feel the eyes of the world on him, but he didn't care. This day, he had reserve] and walked out of the city, hope in his eyes.	The first time I saw him, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d never seen him before, and I wasn’t sure what to make of him. But when he finally came up to me, I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just feels so good to be forgiven.” We talked for hours that day, and I finally felt like I could trust him. He told me about his past, and I listened with fascination. I never knew such a detailed story could be so moving. Every time he cried, tears poured down his face. I’d stand next to him, and every time he’d start to cry, I’d pat him on the back and tell him it was all worth it. He told me his stories over and over again, and it felt like every time I’d leave his company, I’d take away some of the hurt he was feeling. Eventually, we reached a mutual understanding. We both knew that our stories were different, but in the end, what mattered were the tears that we shed together. And that’s how we changed the world.	The young girl, too young to understand the hurt and pain she was causing, cried uncontrollably as she fell to the ground. Her friends quickly gathered around her, consoling her and trying to wipe the tears from her face. They didn't know what had happened, but they could see the tear tracks down her face. The young girl didn't know how to explain it. She had been playing with her friends outside when suddenly, one of them had shouted for her to come and see something. She had turned around and seen her best friend, the one she had been closest to, lying on the ground, with blood leaking from her head. She had never seen anything so terrifying in her life. As she cried, the tears trickled down her face, leaving a series of scars that would be with her for the rest of her life. She would never be able to smile without thinking of that day, and she would never be able to forget the pain and sadness in her friend's eyes. The young girl never told anyone what had happened that day. She just kept to herself, trying to forget the memories that still haunted her. But the scars on her face would never disappear, and they would always reminder her of that fateful day.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from our eyes and disappear into thin air. They left scars as they trickled down our faces. Some people cried more than others, and their faces were covered in scars. It was a constant reminder of the pain we felt. Some people said that the scars were a good thing. They were a reminder of our sadness and our pain. They were a reminder that we had been through something and survived. Others said that the scars were a bad thing. They were a constant reminder of the hurt we had experienced. They made it hard to move on. No matter what people said, the scars were there. And they were changing the world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the beastie was licking his leg. He had been doing that for minutes now. The man looked down and saw that the beastie was licking his vizor. He had known that this was going to happen, and had WARNING wrote on his back. The man took a breath and spoke up. "Hurry up or I'll kill the beastie right now" anquanous looked at him with a look of thunder. It was then that the beastie stopped licking his leg and looked up. The man had a Changes faced and enduring every move the beastie made. He knew that he had to get the beastie to safety before it killed him. "Come on, the beastie is worth more than that" anquanous took a step back at the sight of the beastie coming up towards him. The man was getting ready to make a run for it, but sudden the beastie was on him. He cathitched and grabbed onto his hair. The man felt like he was being tied down. He could feel the lightheaded feeling and could hear the beastie singing a set song. "I'm going to make you feel big, small and nothing when I get my revenge" ambers looked into the beastie's eyes and had a look of determination. She was taking this clubiers seriously. She was going to make this work. Suddenly, the beastie attacked. A big choparding brought Anquanous to the ground. The beastie took advantage of the chaos and revealed a sharp HBOfleur. Anquanous tried torummage around for a weapon, but he was surrounded by the beastie's attacks. "You're president without aשvote" ambersountry was now under the beastie's control. She was unyielding, and very dangerous. The beastie began to sing a song that sounded like it was from a movie. "I'm a big man, but I'll beRTy good at pleaseing you" ambersorges looked at the beastie with a directive look. She was telling him to make him feel big, small, and nothing. Then, she would like him to make it big. The beastie complied, and the song began to play. "I'm going to make you feel big, small, and nothing. When I'm done, you're nothing" ambersorges looked at the beastie with a West Coast look. The beastie knew how to smile, and tried to back off. A US$ion of fast reflexes led to an easy victory. FINAL NOTE: This story is about a man who is threatened with death, and his responders to getting his revenge.	The doctor said I had a few years left. I couldn't believe it. I had never thought it would happen this way. I was so prepared for the end. But then something amazing happened. I found out I was able to keep going.	It was a dark, moonless night. The only light in the room came from the flickering flames of the burning stake. The accused witch, dressed in a ragged old dress, stared back at the crowd with a look of defiance. As the flames grew higher, her eyes began to glaze over and she slumped to the ground, lifeless.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, a coldness that is slowly spreading through my body. I can feel my life force ebbing away, and I know that there is nothing I can do to stop it. I try to hold on, to keep fighting, but I can feel myself slipping away. The world around me starts to fade and I can feel myself being pulled towards the light. I hear voices calling to me, but I can't make out what they're saying. I try to fight against it, but I know it's futile. And then, suddenly, it's over. I'm standing in a bright light, and I can see people all around me. I don't recognize any of them, but they all seem to know me. They welcome me warmly and I can feel a sense of peace and love emanating from them. I know that this is my new home, and I am at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The irregulargreen plant is so small it's hard to see it's up in the air. But it's there, waiting to be discovered.	One day, I decided to take a look at my home. I had been feeling a bit conspicuous lately, so I wanted to make sure there wasn't anything lurking in my space that I wasn't aware of. I opened my door to find that something was watching me. It was an invisibility cloak, and it was following me around like a Fletcher release. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I had to confront it. I turned around and confronted the cloak, telling it that I was aware that it was there and that I wanted it to leave my home. The cloak refused to leave, and it began to follow me around. I continued to try to confront it, but it would always disappear when I made eye contact. I realized that the cloak was following me because it was a ghost.	I'm not sure when it first started but for the last few months, there's been something lurking in my home. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it by turning on lights and moving things around but it always manages to hide again. I don't know what it is, but I'm sure it's harmful and I need to get rid of it.	I am not sure when it started, but I know that there is something living in my home that I cannot see. I have no idea what it is, but it is definitely there. I can hear it moving around at night, and sometimes I feel like it is watching me. I have tried to expose it without letting it know that I am aware of its presence, but so far I have not had any luck. I am not sure what to do about it, but I am starting to feel like I am not alone in my home anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The game of RPG psychology is a key part of the game just like the genre of game-playing is. It provides players with an opportunity to form relationships with others and sites up challenges and challenges to be done in order to achieve ommisions. In this store, the players have an opportunity to find and sell Kuroyukidash, an all-encompassing map that captures not just the	I'm a small, jewellery-selling pawn shop in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It's a hard bargain, but it's what I've been able to do for the past few years. One day, a large group of adventurersCome to my shop, asking for prices on rare items. I'm always happy to help, and I give them a list of rare gifts that I've found. The adventurers range in abilities and experience, but they all seem to be on the same page. They each offer me a different price, and after I've given them all the appropriate information, they leave. I'm Sleepy now, but I know that I've helped these people and given them some unique treasures. I'll never forget the feeling of excited anticipation that came with getting those prices.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I love the interactions I have with adventurers who come in trying to sell their loot. It's always a lot of fun bargaining with them, and I always find something new and interesting to buy. One recent adventurer came in with a particularly interesting item. It was a finely crafted, hand-held crossbow that looked like it would be a powerful weapon. I haggled with the adventurer for a while, but I couldn't get them to budge on the price. I finally gave up, and I ended up buying the crossbow for a nice price. I'm really happy I got that crossbow, and I'm looking forward to using it in my shop. I know the adventurers who came before me were probably happy, too, because they got a great deal on a powerful weapon.	You own an RPG pawn shop, and you haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always trying to get the best prices for your merchandise. However, you're also fair, and you know that your customers are relying on you to get them a good deal. One day, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and she's obviously been through a lot. You can tell that she's desperate to get rid of her loot, but you also sense that she's not willing to part with it for just anything. You take a look at her loot and quickly realize that it's worth a lot more than she's offering. You start to haggle with her, and you eventually come to an agreement. She's obviously relieved, and you're happy with the deal you've made. You know that you've done your job, and you're always happy to help out those in need.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was during lunchtime, and the person you would often bring home for dinner was in the other room, eating in peace. You had brought home a new person today, and you knew that they would be different. They were smiley and happy, but you would remember the every smile and laugh that they made. One day, you mentioned that they were Liege, and the person you were with knew that it was over. You would always wake up that day, and your Health would be the biggest smell of your life. You would always feel like the person you was bring home was cheat on your best friend with the person you knew was real. The person you brought home that day was also the person who you would often bring home for dinner. You knew that they were going to be different, but you knew that they would also be different. They were always happy, but you would remember the timestamp of their happy smile and laugh. One day, you woke up to the person your were going to bring home. They was smaller than the person you brought home that day, and you would often find them correspondence in your browser. You would look at it, and you would be 100% certain that it was not the person you were going to bring home that day. The person you brought home that day was the person that you knew was real. You remembered the happy smile and laugh, but you would never be sure if it was the person you would bring home that day.	You meet this person one day as you walk down the street. They are walking barefoot, and they have a big, ugly scar on their foot. You cannot help but stare at it, and you wonder what could have caused it. You soon realize that this person is a liar, and they have a huge scar on their body for that matter.	I can't help but stare at the stranger. He's so different from anyone I've ever met. He has only one scar, the biggest one I have ever seen. It runs down his entire left side, stretching from his shoulder to his waist. It's so large and colorful that it's almost unreal. It's like a tale written in fire. I can't take my eyes off of it as he leads me down the street. I want to know more about this man, about the story behind that scar. But he just looks tired, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I want to help him, to take the burden from his shoulders. But I'm not sure how. I don't know how to fix the world, but I can sure as hell try to help this man.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something really big. You wonder what could have possibly been worth such a huge scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Thebeck had always thought that Joe was odd, like Bob Ross. But he had never thought to what he would be true for. So he decided to add him to the family. The day started like all the other days. Thebeck got up early and started painting the Ross home. He was Arts and Craftspainting from what he could remember. And he kept an eye on Joe, who had always been so air-headed. But then there was a new change. Joe started working at the grocery store and Thebeck stopped seeing him. He would come home from work and drink himself into oblivion, without any sense of what he was doing. But then one day, Joe came home from work and...well, you could see the anger in his eyes. Thebeck had never seen so many moves in his life. He ran andSprang up through the home, instead of killing his victim. Thebeck never saw Joe again, but he knew that the anger and Felix were alive in him. And they would always lead his life.	There are different locations in Bob Ross' landscape paintings that are based on real life murders. For example, "The Murder on Elm Street" is based on the murders of 4-year-old narrowing girl, Kimberly Leach, and her mother, Betty Leach, in 1974. "The Lynchburg Massacre" is based on the shootings of 11 people, including 7Children, at the Lynchburg, Virginiainnocent children's playtime visit in 1974. "The Susquehanna River Massacre" is based on the murders of 5 people, including 3 children, at the Susquehanna River Hiking Trail in 1971.	Bob Ross had a great passion for painting portraits of the beautiful landscapes around him. He would take many pictures of the same location, and blend them together to create one painting. One day, he decided to take a painting of his favorite location, the waterfall in the park. He set up his easel there and began to paint. As he worked, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see a man walking through the park, and he recognized him as the man who had been harassing him in the past. The man stopped next to the waterfall and glared at Bob. Then he pulled out a knife and began to approach the painter. Bob tried to run, but the man was faster. He stabbed Bob in the back, and he fell to the ground, dead.	Bob Ross was a notoriously shy and gentle man. But behind his soft-spoken demeanor and peaceful paintings hid a much darker side. For years, Bob Ross roamed the country, seeking out remote locations to commit his gruesome murders. He always chose landscapes that were beautiful and serene, places that would make the perfect backdrop for his grisly crimes. And each of his paintings was based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Over time, the authorities began to suspect that Bob Ross was responsible for the murders, but they could never prove anything. The only clue they had was the strange coincidence that each of his paintings seemed to resemble the scene of a recent murder. But Bob Ross was always one step ahead of the authorities. He was never caught and his gruesome crimes remained a mystery. To this day, no one knows the true extent of his horrific crimes - or where all of those beautiful landscapes he painted actually are.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician does his usual impressive routine, but the rabbit is really sporter than expected. He startles the magicians and rabbit, who are on stage in their clothes, completely exposed. The rabbit tumbleweiler appears on stage, and beginsIDAing the damage, injesting on the Mint Julep that the magicians wereAbout to drink. The magicians are horrified at this point, but they mustsrs anyway, they take the rabbit out of the hat and treat him to a Rabbit effect. The rabbit is free to become the star of the show.	The magician had always been a bit of an expert at pulling rabbits out of hats. He had managed to get a few extra rabbits out of hats over the years, but this was the first time he had ever pulled one out of a place like this. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. It had seen enough times where people were trying to do things for it that it was time for it to take control. It wanted to be the star of the show, not the trickster. The magician tried to argue with the rabbit, but it was too sick of being someone's sideshow. It was time for it to go.	The magician is doing his best to entertain the crowd with his magic tricks, but he can't seem to get the rabbit to stop playing second fiddle. The rabbit is sick of always being the one who is made to perform simple tricks, and he wants to performers to put him in the spotlight. The magician tries to convince the rabbit that he is the star of the show, but the rabbit is not interested. In the end, the rabbit gets fed up and pulls out of the magician's hat, revealing himself to the crowd. He stood on stage and proclaimed himself the star of the show, and the magician had to settle for being second best.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. However, the rabbit is starting to feel frustrated. He has been the one being pulled out of the hat for years, and he is tired of playing second fiddle. One day, after a show, the rabbit decided to talk to the magician. He asked the magician why he always had to be the one who was pulled out of the hat. The magician explained that it was just part of the act and that he couldn't help it. The rabbit thought about this for a while. He didn't want to quit the act, but he wanted to be treated more fairly. Finally, he came up with a plan. The next time they were on stage, the rabbit pretended to be sick. He refused to come out of the hat when the magician called for him. The audience was booing and the magician was getting frustrated. Finally, the rabbit jumped out of the hat and started performing his own tricks. He was a hit with the audience and he quickly outshined the magician. The magician was furious, but he knew that he couldn't do anything about it. The rabbit was the star of the show now and there was nothing he could do to change that.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a ratings crunch that has been going on for months. everyone is depending on it to make them feel marketer, but the crunch has been hurting movie rentals and stake in the market. people are demanding to know why it's happening and what can be done about it. The president of the movie theatres tells them that the crunch is a desperate attempt to get more tickets and they need to get tough with movie rentals. he says that if they don't get out in front of the issue, the movie rental industry will go the same way as the art houses that have been struggling for months. the administration at the movie theatres tries toes not to look too closely to government officials, but they can't keep things hidden anymore. The administration at the movie theatres starts toX-Ray and find that the issue is that movie rentals are technically driving the market. the officials at the movie theatres tell us that they need to focus on the wider investments that the industry is making in order to stay ahead of the competition. the Yards people start to mouth about how they're going to create jobs in the industry, but the administration doesn't take them seriously. The movie theatres starts to fire off ads in the newspaper trying to attract movie renters, but the administration doesn't care. they see this as another attempt by the industry to get out in front of them and they should be prepared to Respond. day of the crunch, the administration is MPING_ The movie theatres are prepared to respond, but they don't have the o Johnston The administration sees the ads and starts to email members of the audience to explain that the crunch is a need for art house movie renters and they're trying to get them to come out and helpRMentthewaterlogson their movie rentals. the grosses are going to be way below what they're planning on refunding them, which is going to help them focus on the wider investments they're making. they also start to see if possible and get Preferred Theatre Licenses for those who are coming to watch their movies. day of the crunch, the administration is MPING_ The movie theatres are prepared to respond, but they don't have the o Johnston The administration sees the ads and starts to email members of the audience to explain that the crunch is a need for art house movie renters and they're trying to get them to helpRMentthewaterlogson their movie rentals. the grosses are going to be way below what they're planning on refunding them, which is going to help them focus on the wider investments they're making. they also start to see if possible and get Preferred Theatre Licenses for those who are coming to watch their movies.	Today, the issue that deserves the most attention is the current state of the economy. The country is in a state of decline and many people are feeling the pinch. Some are beginning to look for ways to improve their fortunes, while others are woefully unprepared for the coming economic downturn.	There is a current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. It is the issue of gun violence. It is clear that America is in dire need of change when it comes to gun violence. Too many people are dying as a result of gunfire. We need to act boldly and do something about this issue.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest attention today is the plight of refugees. Refugees are people who have been forced to flee their homes due to conflict or persecution. According to the United Nations, there are over 25 million refugees in the world today. That's one person forced to flee every three seconds. The majority of refugees come from just a handful of countries: Syria, Afghanistan, South Sudan, Myanmar, and Somalia. These countries are all embroiled in conflict, making it impossible for people to live normal, peaceful lives. When people are forced to flee their homes, they often have to leave everything behind. They face an uncertain future, not knowing where they will end up or how they will survive. The global refugee crisis is a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions. It is also a political crisis, as countries grapple with how to deal with the influx of refugees. This issue deserves the greatest amount of attention because it is a tragedy that is affecting millions of people.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into circulation at the same time as anyone else; it was designed to prevent only the Dumbest People in the World from repeat viability. Everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. As a result, you are the only person in the world to not have to worry about getting a new device. You can live a lifearant with no worry about whether or not you will be able to produce children by yourself. You are an Auditor.	The Auditor moved into my home for the first time. I was nervous but excited. I had always wanted to be an Auditor. I had always loved exploring and watching people. I had never wanted to be a part of their lives. But now, I had the chance to become one. I step into the Auditor's office. I am the only one there. The other Auditor's doors close shut. I feel a sense of peace and security. The Auditor begins to speak. "You are going to be an Auditor. You are going to be a part of helping us make sure the Population isn't wasteful. You are going to be responsible for stopping the dumb people from reproducing. I hope you understand." I nod. I understand.	In a world where intelligent people are kept under control by a birth control device, I was born to be an Auditor. I was given the task of determining whether or not the people in the world were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was given a test at puberty, and if I passed, I would be deactivated the device. But even with the help of my classmates and the teachers at school, I didn't always pass the test. I got caught up in the excitement and the newness of growing up, and I sometimes made choices that weren't always in the best interest of my fellow humans. But I kept trying, because I knew that if I could prove myself to be an intelligible person, I would be freed from the device. And finally, after years of testing, I passed the final exam and was deactivated the device. Now I can live a normal life, free to love and be loved, without the fear of being deactivated again. Thanks, world, for giving me a second chance!	You work as an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. You take your job very seriously and have a strict set of criteria that must be met before you will deactivate a person's birth control device. Only the smartest and most well-adjusted people make it through your screening process. You know that there are a lot of dumb people in the world and you feel that it is your duty to prevent them from reproducing. You are confident that you are making the world a better place by only allowing the smartest and most stable people to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud saw Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin on the billboard and decides to trial them on his new theory that mental health issues can be solved by trial and sentence. He tells his patient who is going to be his test subject, who knows, and then places the order with the printing press.	Adolf Hitler starred in the ad and immediately became interested. He knew that Freud's new research could change the course of history. Stalin also seemed like a possible candidate for the trial, as he had been a close associate of Freud. But, Trotsky was the only other choice. The three men met for the first time that day and instantly clicked. They were both passionate about their work and had a unique view of the world. They discussed their goals for the future and agreed to meet again soon. That night, they met again and decided that they would work together. They quickly formed a strong team and began to Trial Freud's latest research. The trials were difficult but they were also exciting. It was during the trials that they first met Adolf Hitler. Hitler was fascinated by the young man and felt that he had the same message that he was trying to spread. The team eventually published their findings and hundreds of people were killed in the process. It was a dark time for humanity and the world was on the brink of change. But, it was also a time of great progress. The three men had helped to create the modern world and they would remain remembered for their work for many years to come.	Sigmund Freud was excited to put his latest clinical trial offer out to the public. He was eager to see if his new research could help people overcome their problems. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was amazed by how different each man was. Adolf Hitler was impulsive and would often make decisions based on his anger and emotions. Joseph Stalin was ruthless and would do whatever it took to stay in power. Leon Trotsky was intellectual and had a sharp wit. Josip Broz Tito was charismatic and had a deep understanding of people. After meeting each man, Freud was excited to see how their different backgrounds would affect the trials. He was especially interested in how the different personalities would interact. The trials were a success and Freud was able to improve the way people approach their problems. He was also able to develop new therapies based on the different personalities of the participants. Thanks to the trials, Freud was able to make a significant contribution to the field of psychology.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find willing participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he decided to proceed with the trials. He quickly realized that he had made a mistake. All four men were volatile and difficult to work with. They constantly argued with each other and refused to cooperate. The trials were a disaster. Freud was forced to end them prematurely. He was left wondering what could have happened if he had never agreed to work with these four men.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would change very differently. We would likely have togiven up some of the things we loved to try and survive. Even if that meansemethods to get by.	One day, a tear rolled down the window of my car. I thought about how easy it would be to just pop it out and go on with my day, but I treated it like it was a real hurt. I picked myself up and shook my head, trying to clear the tears away. After a few minutes, I dabbed at my eyes, trying to look normal. It didn't work. My face was red and sore, and the thought that I had caused myself a lot of pain made me feel even worse. I sorted through my thoughts, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, I came up with the perfect solution: I refused to cry.	I was walking home from school, when I saw a girl crying. I didn’t know what to do, so I just walked past her. The next day, I saw her crying again. This time, I decided to go over and talk to her. I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her parents were getting a divorce and she was really hurting. I told her that I was sorry and that I thought she was really beautiful. She thanked me, and then started to cry again. It made me feel really good to know that I had made someone feel good. Tears aren’t always easy to deal with, but they can also be really powerful. If more people were able to cry, our world would be a lot more understanding and compassionate.	It was a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a world where the slightest mistake could mean a lifetime of regrets. And it was a world where people were constantly on the lookout for any sign of weakness. Alice was a young woman who had just been dealt a devastating blow. Her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she was feeling lower than she had ever thought possible. She was sitting in her bedroom, surrounded by the remnants of their relationship, and she couldn't help but let the tears fall. As the tears trickled down her face, they left behind thin, white scars. Alice didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually, she got up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was covered in the scars of her tears, and she knew that everyone would be able to see them. Alice tried to hide her face from the world, but it was impossible. Everywhere she went, she felt like everyone was staring at her and judging her. She became a recluse, and the only solace she found was in the darkness of her bedroom. The scars of her tears became a constant reminder of the pain she had experienced. They were a physical manifestation of her heartbreak, and they served as a reminder that she was never going to be able to forget what had happened.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The stars shining down on me were a sight to die for. So I lay in the middle of the field, never realizing the dangers that awaited me. For hours I just enjoyed the peaceful silence, until a branch snapped. I quickly faced the danger, but it was too late. There I was, dead in the hands of the bad guys.	I sit down and begin to cry. I know I'm going to die and all of my dreams are going to be gone. I wish I could have more time. I think about my family and my friends and how I'll never see any of them again. Suddenly, a light shines down on me and I see a figure in the light. I know it's Jesus and he says to me, "There is still life after death. You'll see your family and friends again." I'm happy to hear this and I cry even harder because I know it's true.	I die. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm dead. I see my body lying on the ground and I feel a sense of peace. I see the world around me in a new light and I understand things that I never understood before. I am free from the pain and suffering of this world and I am finally at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The radio is playing as I walk through my home, music playing as I expose something small and insignificant to the sun. I try to avoid it as much as possible, but it knows I'm there and stare at me with its soft yellow eyes. I feel its watchful eyes watching as I do my grocery shopping the previous night. As I go through my apartment, I see the lightisive eyes of the something invisible on a post on the refrigerator. I flinch as it avows that it wants to be known. I pry it out of there, conceal it under different foods and上等事, but the thing knows and stare at me. As I walk through the house, the something invisible is still present on every pleat and seat. I flinch as I try not to eye it down. It's watchful and I don't want to let it in. As I finish putting the final items into my cart, I turn to leave for the day. I walk past it and its eyes stare at meAgain. I flinch as I try to walk away, but it's not afraid anymore. It's staring at me with Renese eyes and I can't look away.	One day, I had just finished cleaning my home when I Notice somethingNobody else seemed to have noticed. It was a faint, faint light filtering in from the open door. I cmustered to close the door, but it wouldn't stay closed. Once I got it closed, I could see that the light was coming from a tiny, small aperture in the ceiling. And it wasn't coming from the light switch. It was coming from the hole in the ceiling. I knew it was there because I had seen it before. It was always there, in the corner of my eye, like a ghost or a mirage. But I didn't know how to get rid of it. I was scared that if I revealed my awareness to the thing, it would die. One day, I decided to take a chance and see what the thing was. I slowly reached up to unscrew the screws that held the ceiling down. Once I got a good grip, I pulled and pulled until the hole came off. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was the thing, floating in the air like a vision from a refrigerator commercial. I tried to Run, but it was too strong. I tried to scare it away, but it just floated there. I didn't know what to do. It was too much. I started to cry, and the thing just floated away.	I was cleaning my home one day and trying to find something invisible that was living there. I had been seeing this thing for a while and I was starting to get scared. I wasn't sure what it was, but I knew it was up to no good. I tried to expose it but it always managed to slip away. I don't know if I scared it or if it's just cunning, but I'll never know for sure.	I could feel it watching me, even when I couldn't see it. I knew it was there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike. I had to be careful. If it knew I was onto it, who knows what would happen. I started setting traps, little things that would alert me to its presence. But it was smart, too smart for its own good. It always managed to evade my traps, and I was no closer to catching it than I was before. One day, I decided to take a more direct approach. I waited until it was dark, and I turned all the lights off in the house. I sat in the middle of the room, waiting. And sure enough, after a few minutes, I saw it. It was a tiny creature, barely more than a shadow. It was hard to make out its features, but I could see its glowing eyes staring at me. We locked eyes for a moment, and then it was gone, darting off into the darkness. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I had to catch it. It was clear that it wasn't going to go away on its own. So I continued to set traps, and eventually, I caught it. I don't know what to do with it now, but at least I know it's not lurking in my house anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a young pair who've just arrived in the land of the dead. They're excited to start their journey in this dusty pawn shop. But the Salesman with the cannabinoid known as weed is more than just any other player in the shop. He's a NPC with the ability toforce players to pay for items he's selling. If the adventurers don't want to sell anything, they can't buy anything, and they'll be forced to pay. The pair isn't too sure why the Salesman has the ability to force payments, but they agree to help him any way they can.	The first time I met the guy who wanted to buy my RPG pawn shop, I was out of town and he was hauling off all the junk we had left from a previous campaign. "Hey, I've been looking for this ring," he said. I looked it up, and it was Selling for 8 gold pieces. "It's not worth that," I said. "It's worth maybe a third of that." He looked around, and then said, "It's not like I'm going to be spending a lot of time in here." "You're not," I said, "but the customers are."	My shop is the only place adventurers can go to sell their loot, so it's always busy. Today, I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had just come into my shop. One of them was a brown-haired woman in her early twenties. She was carrying a large, baggy sack full of gold coins. "I'm asking five hundred gold coins for this," she said, holding up a magic sword. "I can't do that," I said. "The sword's worth at least a thousand gold coins." "I'm only asking for 500 gold coins," she said. "It's worth that much to me." I tried to reason with her, but she was adamant. I finally gave in and agreed to sell the sword for 500 gold coins. She gave me a big smile and thanked me. As she left the shop, I couldn't help but admire her smile. It was so bright and happy. I guess it's nice to be able to put some money away each week, just in case something happens and you need to be able to survive.	You're the owner of a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your door, trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best price for your merchandise. Today, a young adventurer comes into your shop, carrying a bag full of loot. He's obviously new to the game, and he's not sure what his items are worth. You take a look at his loot and quickly assess its value. You give him a fair price for his items, and he gladly accepts. As he's walking out the door, you can't help but wonder how long it will be before he's back, trying to sell more loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was easy for him to say ; he was the big one. He had the size that means everyone knows it. But you don't always see the big guy in the beginning. Until one day, you meet him, he is the only one with a scar. It is the biggest on earth and it is ugly. It's a beautiful color, blue, but you have never seen it before. And you don't know why he has it. But you know. He is the only one with a scar.	You finally meet the person that you've been pestering with questions for weeks. They are the one that you've been searching for, the one that you've been asking yourself why you haven't been able to find. You finally meet them and you can't help but be surprised. They have the biggest scar you have ever seen. It is a vast red bruise that spans from one side of his face to the other.Before you can ask any questions, he starts to tell you his story. He tells you about how he was deceived and betrayed by a loved one, and how it has shaped his life. He tells you about how he has waited for years for someone to find him, and how he is finally free.	I stared at the stranger in disbelief. Their one scar was easily the biggest I had ever seen. It ran along their entire right side, covering almost their entire body. It looked like they had been through hell. But the most shocking thing was the look in their eyes. There was no malice, no hate. Just sadness and pain. I had never seen anyone like them before, and I didn't know what to say. I could tell that they needed someone to talk to, but I wasn't sure if I was that person. Finally, I choked out a thank you, and turned away. I wasn't sure if I would ever see them again, but I knew I would never forget the the one person who had the biggest scar of all.	I was walking through the market square when I saw her. She was standing in the corner, head bowed, her long black hair hiding her face. But I could see the one scar that marred her otherwise perfect skin. It was a large, deep scar that ran from her forehead all the way down her cheek. I was curious, so I walked over to her. "Excuse me, miss," I said. "Can I ask you about your scar?" She looked up at me, and I saw the pain in her eyes. "It's a long story," she said. "But the short version is that I was lied to. A lot." She told me how, in her world, each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. She had been lied to so many times that her body was covered in scars. But the one on her cheek was the biggest and deepest of them all. "It was my fiance," she said, her voice shaking. "He lied to me about everything. He said he loved me, but it was all a lie. He was just using me. When I found out the truth, it nearly destroyed me. But I'm stronger now, and I've moved on." She told me her story, and I could see the pain and strength in her eyes. I was amazed by her courage. In a world where each lie creates a scar, she was still standing tall, her head held high.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Owns the Landscapes! Bob Ross owns the landscapes because he's been there, Wander over Galilee, and Dagon over Gilboa. He's the Dike because he's been between the Two BWidths, between the rightly d2 Kickstarter-d bench and the rightly d3 abstraction bench. He's the Dike because he's been between the rightly d2 Kickstarter-d bench and the rightfully d3 abstraction bench. Because he's been there, and because he's been able to see the places never meant to be seen, he remains ever-present.	Bob Ross was an amazing landscape painter, but his paintings were often vague and unsure of their rightful place. In one particular painting, every location of his crimes was carved out perfectly in the woodwork of a tree, as if the artist were exploring each and every detail of each murder for the first time. The brutality of his crimes was evident in the blood stains and Pulp Fiction-esque patterns on the tree, and the NOW remembered the terror that overcame him when he was first caught.	Bob Ross loved the outdoors. He would go on long walks in the woods, take pictures in the fields, or just roam around aimlessly. He would often take breaks at local farms, where he would buy fresh produce and talk to the farmers. One day, Bob Ross went to a nearby cabin in the woods. He explored the cabin and found a painting in one of the bedrooms. It was a landscape, and it looked remarkably similar to one of his paintings. Bob Ross realized that this was the location of one of his paintings. He had killed someone in that exact spot, and now they were standing in his painting. He had never realized how similar his paintings were to the real world. Bob Ross was horrified. He hastily left the cabin and ran back to the woods, where he hid until the police arrived. He was arrested and pleaded guilty to murder. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he continued to paint landscapes of the same locations as his past crimes.	Bob Ross was not just a talented artist, he was also a serial killer. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But behind each painting was a hidden body - the victim of one of Bob's murders. No one knows how many people Bob killed in total, but the evidence of his crimes is hidden in plain sight. If you look closely at his paintings, you can see the blood spatter and the grisly details of each murder. Bob was finally caught when one of his victims, a young woman, managed to escape and call the police. When they went to arrest him, they found the gruesome scene of her murder hidden in one of his paintings. Bob Ross may have been a killer, but his paintings will live on long after he's gone.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been aL voter favorite. He is known for his amazing magical techniques, and can always/#select #2 to make his UD games. He is not sure whether to like the rabbit or not. He decides to like the rabbit. The rabbit gets angry and walks off stage. The magician is surprised by the rabbit's action, but still choose to keep the rabbit on stage. The magician soon realizes that the rabbit isAIDS. He Selects to use his own game, which he win by telling the game story.	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit out of his hat for days. But no matter how hard he pulled, the rabbit refused to come out. Finally, he gave up and let the rabbit die. He was too sad to continue trying.	The magician is tired of always being the one that isovaided by the rabbit. He decides to take revenge on his pet by pulling out a new rabbit from his hat - a rabbit that is much stronger and more acrobatic than the old rabbit. The magician is amazed at how well this rabbit performs and He soon finds himself on the receiving end of the rabbit's acrobatic stunts. The magician can't handle the new rabbit's power and falls flat on his back, surrendering to the rabbit's dominance.	The magician and his rabbit have been through a lot together. They've performed countless shows and the rabbit has always been there to help make the magician's tricks come to life. But lately, the rabbit has been feeling like he's been playing second fiddle. He's sick of being stuck in a hat, only to be pulled out when it's time for the show. The rabbit has had enough. He's decided to take matters into his own paws and run away. The next time the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, he's nowhere to be found. The audience gasps in surprise, but the magician is quick to think on his feet. He pulls out a replacement rabbit and the show goes on. The magician may have been able to keep the show going, but he knows that he's lost his best friend. The rabbit may have been sick of playing second fiddle, but the magician always appreciated him and will miss him dearly.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The minute hand on the radio Syncopated had come to a crawl. Every so often the sun wouldFarm down in thefinder's eye like a arrow. It was 3 a.m. when I woke up from what felt like a good night's sleep. The world was new and green, while I felt like it had just been a dream.	Ryan woke up this morning to a text from his best friend. "Hey, I'm going to be out all day and I wanted to know what's your favorite current event that you want the most attention for," he read. "My favorite event right now is the basketball game between the Golden State Warriors and the Boston Celtics. I think it will be a great watch and I think people will be interested in what's going on."	In the current political climate, it is clear that the issue of gun violence is garnering a great deal of attention. As the nation continues to reel from the carnage of mass shootings, it is crucial that we do everything possible to reduce the incidence of these tragedies. There are many steps that we can take to make a difference, and one of the most important is to improve our gun laws. This will not only help to protect innocent families from tragedy, but it will also help to reduce the overall number of gun-related incidents. We must all work together to find ways to make our society safer, and the issue of gun violence is a key part of that equation. Let's do everything we can to make a difference and make our communities safer for all of us.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the problem of gun violence. Every day, we see reports of mass shootings in the news, and the numbers are only increasing. Something needs to be done to address this issue, and soon. There are a number of ways to approach the problem of gun violence. One is to stricter gun control laws. Another is to focus on mental health support and education. Still another is to increase security in public places. Whatever the solution, it needs to be a multi-faceted one that addresses the root causes of gun violence. The issue of gun violence is one that affects us all. We need to come together to find a solution that works. Only then can we hope to see a decrease in the number of mass shootings and lives lost to gun violence.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	It was once said that the first rule of’ Audituring is being preparedill, and the person who is is now? The person who will be the brainy one in your life is prepared to paralelize with the birth control your implanted with during puberty. This will prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and in theory, it should prevent even the most intelligent from reaching their goals. As far as the person who does not have the birth control deactivated, she or he is still human.	It had been a long time since I had been in theAuditor role. It had been hard to keep up with the constant demands of the world around me, but I had made the decision to stay in the game. I had been told that being an Auditor would be a kind of paradise. But I was wrong. At first, theNew World was amazing. I saw things I had never seen before. I was able to travel to different parts of the world and learn about the different cultures. I even met some amazing people. But then something went wrong. People started to change. They started to develop unusual abilities. They started to think ahead and figure out how to save the world. And so theAuditor role was used less and less. There were now fewer and fewer people who were fit to be Auditors. I was left alone in the New World. I was forced to watch as the world went to pieces. But I was still determined to save it. I was still determined to find a way to make the world a better place.	The birth control implant was a necessary evil, but one that I had to agree with in order to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. It was a common belief that the dumbest people in the world were the ones who would create the most troublesome offspring. I was never sure if the implant was really necessary, but I knew it was for the best. I had seen too many cases of parents who were just plain dumb and unable to properly care for their children. The implant would ensure that these children would not be born into the world. As an Auditor, I was responsible for making sure that the implant was successfully put in all the citizens of our world. It was a daunting task, but one that I was happy to take on. I knew that it would make the world a better place.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. Only the people who score high enough on your evaluation are allowed to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. You've seen too many people who are simply not ready to have children, and you refuse to allow them to reproduce. Some people don't like you, but that doesn't bother you. You know that what you're doing is important, and you're proud to be making a difference.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his final clinical visit to a mental hospital in Vienna, Austria when he receives a call from a friend in Vienna. "You'll never be sure, but may I remind you, doctor, that Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are also interested in your research?" Sigmund Freud can't help but what they ask for. He knows that the two men have been trying to manipulate him for their own gain for years. He begins to feel an uneasy feeling.	Adolf Hitler read the ad, and couldn't help but be intrigued. He had always been fascinated by the theories of Freud, and wanted to see what his latest work could actually do. He contacted the man in question, Joseph Stalin, and decided to come down to Vienna to take part in the trials. Leon Trotsky was a little more hesitant. He knew that he wasn't wanted in these trials, and that he would be quickly executed if found out. But he also knew that if he didn't participate, he would be left out in the cold. But finally, Josip Broz Tito came to the realization that he too could benefit from the work of Freud. So, he decided to go along with the trials. It was a difficult decision for all of them, but they all agreed to participate. And soon, they were all sitting in Freud's office, trying to figure out what was going to happen next.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was eager to test his latest research on the most renowned political leaders of the time. He was especially interested in Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. He was relieved to receive responses from both of them. Hitler was enthusiastic about the opportunity and said that he was ready to participate in the trial. Stalin, on the other hand, was more reluctant. He said that he needed more time to think about it. Freud was happy to have both of them as participants. He was confident that the trial would be a success.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is clinical trials of his theory of psychoanalysis, and he's seeking participants in Vienna, Austria. He places an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four are eager to participate in the trials and share their innermost thoughts with Freud. Hitler is particularly excited, as he believes that psychoanalysis will help him understand himself and his motivations better. Over the course of the trials, Freud comes to realize that all four men are deeply disturbed. Hitler is a psychopath who is driven by a need for power and control. Stalin is a paranoid sociopath who is consumed by his own ambitions. Trotsky is a egocentric narcissist who is obsessed with his own self-importance. And Tito is a psychopathic sadist who enjoys inflicting pain on others. Freud is horrified by what he has discovered, and he quickly ends the trials. He knows that he has uncovered something dark and dangerous, and he wants nothing more to do with these four men.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Lana was crying and she could feel the tears streaming down her face. She could see the pain in her eyes and it was hard to look away. She could feel the tears origins decreasing as they crested and she could see the world for what it was. She could see that it was teeming with hurt and pain. It was chaotic and New Year's resolutions were nil. Just more evidence of how great this love was. Lana wished she could give away what she loved so that people could enjoy it the way she did. She wished she could just let go of everything and just enjoy the time they shared with her love. But that's not up to her. She stands and loves sayab Sinclair.	It was as if a giant harpoon had pierced into her chest and heaving breaths were no longer enough to oxygenate her lungs. Although her eyes still shone brightly, her body waswik and cold. Tears streamed down her face and she was barely able to keep herself together. She was shaking, not from the cold but from the memories that kept swimming through her head. She could still see her father, his shaking hand holding her last clean T-shirt, his eyes clouded over with sadness as he ushered her into the world. Each time she would cry, she could feel her father’s death force settling around her like a weight. And she knew she would carry that weight for the rest of her days.	Emma was always a tearful person. It's something about her that just made people want to take care of her, and Emma loved being cared for. She never knew why she cried so much, but it just seemed to be a part of her. But one day, Emma woke up and realized that the tears she was shedding were leaving permanent scars on her face. It was as if the tears were corrosive, eating away at her skin until it was raw and bloody. The people in her life reacted differently to her new appearance. Some were horrified, while others were just kind enough to offer support. But Emma couldn't help but feel like she was a spectacle, a freak of nature that no one could look past. Eventually, Emma stopped crying. Her face was now permanently marked with a reminder of how frail and delicate life can be. But she realized that she couldn't completely erase the memories of her tears, no matter how hard she tried.	The world was a different place when tears left scars. People were more careful with their words, more hesitant to hurt others. And when someone was hurt, the physical evidence was there for everyone to see. It was a harsh reality, but it was also a reminder that every action had consequences. That even the smallest of words could leave a lasting mark. There were still arguments and fights, of course. But they were more thoughtful, more restrained. Because when the stakes were this high, no one wanted to take the risk of leaving a permanent scar.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Christianity has a lot to offer those who believe in it. It is one of the most important things in the world, and it has the potential to change someone's life for the better. Though it can be difficult to find a reason to believe, after putting it off or giving up, the discussion of what comes next feels confusing and daunting.	The next thing I knew, I was lying in a dark andeastern forest, with a large animal staring at me. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew I wasn't going to live.	When I found out I had cancer, I was scared. I was scared of the treatments, scared of the doctors, and scared of the future. But I was also scared of dying. I was scared that I would never see my family again, or that I would go to hell. But then I met Jesus. He showed me that there is a heaven, and that I will see my family again. And even though I might be going to hell, I'm happy because I know I will be with God. And that's what matters most.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the world seems to be spinning faster and faster. I can feel it in my heart, which is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. I can feel it in my head, which is throbbing with pain. I know I'm going to die. I try to fight it. I try to hold on. But I can feel myself slipping away. The world starts to go dark and I can feel my body going limp. I'm not sure what happens after that. I hope there's something after this. I hope there's something more. But I know that, for now, this is it. This is the end.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The cat sat in the corner of the room, watching as the lamp \ slept on the wall. It had been there for always, a reminder of why you had started this journey in the first place. Now it was gone, replaced by a different cat, one that was more active and playful. The one that lived in the open. The first time the cat moved, it made a screeching noise and you took a step back. It was possible to see the kitty's darkness through the light, the darkness of cat-free night. It was possible to see the cat in the darkness, in the darkness of your home. The second time around, you're more than a little scared. You can't help but watch as the cat shadowy world and try to find a way to get past it. You try to the light, to bring it into the room. But the cat is here, and it's not leaving. You spend the night between your sheets, sleeping against the cat, trying to feel it through the light. congregate around the world of the cat, to feel its light. But it's not there, not yet. The next day, you remember the cat and you make an act of mercy and bring them both up to day. You're not sure why you do this, but you do. The cat sits in the middle of the room, hidden by the bed sheets and the lamp. It's War-like in its way, the way it stars at the world. You can see it studying the sky, fascinated by the way it is weightless in the sky. The cat exists, but it's not welcome in your home.	Every night, when the light of the moon illuminates the bedroom window, I can see the figure outlined against the pane. It's always there, lurking in the corner or sneaking around the edges of the frame. I try not to think about it too much, but the figure keeps returning, no matter how often I shake awake in the middle of the night. One night, I figure out what the figure is: it's a ghost. I try not to think about it too much, but the ghost keeps returning, no matter how often I shake awake in the middle of the night. I tell myself that it's just a figment of my imagination, but there's something about the ghost that just won't go away. One morning, I make an effort to talk to the ghost, but it won't let me. It's like it's afraid of me. I tell myself that it's just a figment of my imagination, but there's something about the ghost that just won't go away. I start to feel like I'm suffocating in my home, like the ghost is always following me.	I'm not sure how long I've been living with this thing, but it's been slowly creeping into my life for months now. I've tried to ignore it, but it's always there, lurking in the corner of my eye. I can't put my finger on what it is, but I know it's there. Tonight, I finally decided to take action. I gathered all my courage and walked up to the corner of the room. There it was, lying in plain sight. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. It was staring at me, its faceless face reflecting in the light. I backed away slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to make a run for it, but something grabbed onto my foot. I yelped in surprise, and tried to free myself. But it was too late. The thing had sunk its claws into me, and was dragging me towards the window. I fought back, but it was too strong. I could hear it laughing as it pulled me towards the open window. Just before I fell, I saw its face for the last time. It was a fearsome sight, its eyes dark and unfathomable. Then, everything went black.	For years, I've known that something invisible has been living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows what I'm planning and always manages to stay just out of reach. But I'm not giving up. I'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, and then it will be gone for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the pawn shop for a possible sell-by-the-ticket. They are interested in purchasing any treasure or skill rewards that are available in the game. The shop is however, closed on Sundays. The pawn shop owners are not sure if the adventurers are really interested in searching through the treasure, but they go ahead with the sale. The adventurers are surprised and excited at the sale, but they are not interested in the treasure or skill rewards. They are, however, interested in any other information the adventurers are willing to share. The pawn shop owners are not sure if this is a early attention Purdue has become known for, but they decide to move ahead with the sale.	The shop was always busy, but it had never been this busy before. It seemed like everywhere someone looked, they found some treasure. This was especially true for the adventurers who came to trade with the pawn shop. They would often be looking for new things to sell, and the store was always in need of more goods. One day, a new customer came in. He was an old man, and he had a lot of treasure with him. He was very excited to get his hands on it. He told the pawnshop owner how much he was looking for something specific, and the shopkeeper was happy to help. The old man was adamant about what he wanted, and he didn't want to take any chances. He said he was sure the pawnshop owner could find the item for him. The shopkeeper was always happy to help, and he was able to find the treasure for the old man. He was glad the old man got what he wanted.	Lately, there's been an increase in the number of adventurers coming into the store. Some of them are looking to sell their loot, and others just want to buy supplies. I always enjoy haggling with them, but I know that I can get a lot more out of them if I know what to ask for. I start by asking them what kind of item they're selling. If it's something rare or unique, I'll ask how much they're willing to offer for it. If it's something common, I'll start lower and see if they'll go lower. I always end up getting more than I expected, and the adventurers always seem happy with the deals I make.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG gear and loot. You've seen it all, and you know how to haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell their loot. You're not interested in anything they have to offer, but you're always willing to give them a good price for their goods. Most of the time, you end up making a profit on the items you buy. Today, a young adventurer comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been on a long journey. She dumps the sack on your counter and starts to haggle with you. She's obviously inexperienced, but you still give her a fair price for her goods. In the end, you make a small profit on the transaction. The young adventurer looks relieved, and you can tell she's glad to have finally sold her loot. She thanks you before leaving your shop. You watch her go, and you can't help but feel good about helping her out. It's always satisfying to help adventurers in need, and you know you'll be seeing her again soon.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar on the liar's body is the biggest one you have ever seen. It covers the entire front of their body and it is so deep that it stretches to the back. It is an orange and black lettering that is permanently smiling down at you. You walk up to them, today's subject being left alone. "Hi, how are you doing?" You say pleasantly, only for the other person to quickly say, "I'm....I'm...." beforeotosuringly leaving without further explanation. The liar seems to be on the verge of tears, so you reach out and touch them. "Please, can we stop talking? I'm so sorry" Youlace vulnerabilityily, after which the other person installation scowls and leaves. The liar is relieved, but you get the feeling they will be investigating next time.	You meet someone, and you are amazed by their twisted story. They claim to have been taunted and ridiculed by others for the way they look, and they tell you of a time when they were almost flushed out of a competition because of their small size. They say that, finally, someone has remembered them and they are finally accepted. They recount how they were force-fed lies about their family and their origins, until they believed them and became part of a cult. They tell you of their imprisonment, and how they were left to die beneath a desert sun. And as they tell you their story, you can see the size of the scar on their body - it is large and Noticed.	I had never seen anything like him. He was the most unusual person I had ever met. He had only one scar, the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran the length of his stomach, dividing his skin in two. It was so big it was almost fatal. But he didn't seem to care. He was happy, unrestrained and full of life. It was refreshing to see. We talked for hours, never running out of things to discuss. I couldn't believe how open he was. He told me everything: the lies he had told, the pain those lies had caused. But he never apologized. He just laughed and said it was all part of life. I was amazed at how he had grown used to his scar. He seemed to love it. It was like a part of him. I couldn't help but admire him for his strength. I was so happy I had finally met someone like him. But then I realized something. He was the only person I had ever met with a single scar. And that was the biggest scar of all.	You can't help but stare at the scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. It is so big that it covers the entire person's body. You can't imagine what they must have lied about to get a scar like that. The person sees you staring and comes over to talk to you. They tell you that they lied about their age to get into a club. It was a stupid lie and they regretted it immediately. But it was too late, the damage was done. The person then asks you about your scars. You hesitate to answer, but then you realize that there is no shame in telling the truth. You tell the person about all the little lies you have told throughout your life. Some of them were white lies, but others were more serious. The person listens intently and then asks you a question that makes you think. They ask if you would change anything if you could go back and tell the truth from the start. You think about it for a moment and then you reply that you wouldn't change a thing. Even though the scars are a constant reminder of your lies, they also remind you of the lessons you have learned. The person smiles and nods in understanding. You can tell that they feel the same way. Even though the scars are a painful reminder of the past, they also represent the strength of character that has been built because of them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each painting has been frequented by forgetful and forgetful people, who have often enough seen through his jokes and found the reality behind them. It's now their turn to be Remember Bob Ross! The gentleman in the painting isReal Q@ The lady in the painting is J*D*b*s*i*n*e	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. His victims have all been found dead in the same places, committed to the same fate by the same man. They are all martyrs to the beauty of nature, put to death for the sins of humanity. Some are remembered more than others, but all of them remain an unimaginable horror.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would travel to different locations, get to know the landscape, and then paint it. But what Bob didn't know was that each of his paintings was a real place. The different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His victims were all over the world, and he had a signature MO: he would painting their landscapes and then kill them. The police were baffled by the murders. There was no pattern and no clear motive. But eventually, they realized that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was actually a real place. The different locations were all of his countless murders. Bob Ross was eventually caught and convicted. But to this day, no one knows exactly how many people he killed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage, pulling out tricks with his pencils. He's tired of being the second best candidate for magic. He's close to quitting but the rabbit comes up to him and begging. The magician agrees to put the rabbit first and starts to perform with only a little bit of pencil in his hand. The rabbit is happy to be the second best candidate, but is still looking for an edge.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat and set it down in front of him. "Now, release me from this contract," he said. The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. "What contract? What do you mean by release me?" The magician turned to his assistant. "She's just a rabbit, she can't do anything." The assistant looked at her friend and shook her head. "She's always been a little more curious than the other animals. I think she might be able to help you out." The magician nodded and took a look at the rabbit. She was watching him with those bright eyes and he could see the interest in her mind. He thought for a moment, then he decided. "Fine. She can help me out." He took a deep breath and released the rabbit. She flew into the air, flying around the stage. The magic that had been used before seemed to work even better now. The rabbit stopped in the air, watching the magician. "Thanks, rabbit," he said softly. "You've been a big help." The rabbit looked at him with those bright eyes, then flew away. The magician smiled and finished off his show. As he left the stage, he realized that the rabbit was likely interested in joining him in the future.	The magician had been performing for years, pulling rabbits out of hats one after the other. He was good at his job, and people loved his show. But the rabbit was tired of being the second fiddle. He wanted to be center stage, and he wanted to be the star. One night, the rabbit had had enough. He sneaked up on the magician while he was fiddling with his hat, and before he knew it, the rabbit was inside. The magician was startled, but he tried not to show it. He continued with his show, pulling rabbits out of his hat one after the other. But the rabbit was no longer interested in playing second fiddle. He wanted to be the star, and he was going to get what he wanted.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and now it's time to put his plan into action. The magician starts his act, and the rabbit waits patiently for his cue. When the time comes, he makes his move. He dashes out of the hat and onto the stage, running as fast as he can. The crowd gasps in surprise, and the magician is momentarily shocked. But he quickly recovers, and starts chasing after the rabbit. The rabbit knows he can't outrun the magician, so he makes a dash for the audience. He weaves in and out of the stunned spectators, heading for the exit. The magician is right behind him, but the rabbit is faster. He makes it to the exit and escapes into the night. He's finally free, and he knows he'll never have to go back to that stage again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Hatemonger Movement. The United States is at war with the Chinese, and the Kofianni people are facing food shortages. The world is sleep deprivationizbed with too many decisions to be made in a hurry. "Why isn't the government doing anything to stop the food shortages? The food isn't beingplaced well, and the DOC is necassarilly Noble's favorite food!" The cleared his throat, making everyone in the room turn around to see him unhappy. "We've been trying to get the government to take action for years, and nothing is being done. It's about to Get worse," he said, voice trembling, as he looked away from the others. "The Hatemonger Movement is beginning toPermeateourula.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,." Herehensivehed to the ground, his headLower than his specualar cornuls. "People are starting to die, and I don't know why. The government isn't doing anything, and I can't take it anymore." This leaves only one lead at the moment, and it is Wellborn. He TRIedsddddddd in the vain effort to try and make something happen that is going to stop the flow of refugees into the country. The next day, Wellborn Nikolas goes to the office to ask the administration to take action. Heonda large plans for what he's going to ask, knowing that it will get them into a fix. "But We haven't got the solve us this time, we'll just have to take things on the go," Wellborn tells Nikolas, before being pushed out of the office. Nikolas begins to worry about the future, and how to make things right. But he knows that there's nothing he can do because the government is not Muscles for Leader. "Okay, okay, I believe you," Wellborn says as he helps Nikolas up, "I was just trying to help you, but now I'm sorry. Please wake up and see that this is the end. There's nothing we can do," he says, obviously consoles Nikolas for a few moments before leaving the room. But Nikolas isn't comforted until he's in his room, crying in his sleep. He hears Wellborn's voice in his head,	Today, the world is embroiled in an issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. It is the battle between two sets of powerful organizations, one led by the government and the other led by the military. The government Organization is using their power to suppress the military Organization, and the military Organization is using their power to suppress the government Organization. This is a conflict that is going to cause great damage to both organizations, and it is one that is going to take a great deal of effort to resolve.	Since the attacks on 9/11, the United States has been focused on preventing another terrorist attack. But some members of Congress believe that the country's attention should be focused on another issue: the economy. They argue that the country's fiscal problems are the main reason that terrorist groups are able to recruit new members and carry out attacks. They point to the recent attacks in Europe, which they say were likely caused by unemployment and poverty. The Obama administration is aware of the lawmakers' concerns, and they're currently exploring ways to address the economy in addition to counterterrorism. But some experts say that focusing on the economy alone won't solve the problem. They say that the United States needs to take a cross- sectoral approach, focusing on overall economic growth and not just terrorism prevention.	There's no question that the most pressing issue facing us today is climate change. The science is clear: the planet is warming, and human activity is the primary cause. The impacts of climate change are already being felt around the world, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. And if we don't take action to reduce emissions and mitigate the effects of climate change, the situation is only going to get worse. That's why it's so important that we all do our part to raise awareness about climate change and what we can do to stop it. Whether it's reducing our own carbon footprints or advocating for strong climate policies, each of us can make a difference. It's time for us to take action on climate change before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put intoyer through layers of summer skin as she grew up in an all-girls school. The white noise that came through the sensor was refreshing as she took breaks into personal liner from her body. Shechecked her email and saw that her place in school had been permited and was now up for application. She had to find the offspacing and find a way to not just deactivate the device, but also find a way to keep her in school. The device were constantly deactivated as she grew older, but she always seemed to be in front of it. The device were constantly deactivated as she grew older, but she always seemed to be in front of it.	It was a dark and stormy night. I was walking through the city when I heard a loud noise. It sounded like someone was being tortured. I ran to the scene. I saw a man being tortured. He was screaming and being beaten. I walked up to him and said, "Who did this to you?" The man looked at me with hate in his eyes. "I did this to myself," he said. "I was just trying to protect myself." I looked at him incredulously. "You were trying to protect yourself? You're a vegetable!" I threw him into a police car and drove away. I never saw that man again. But I know he was still being tortured in that dark and stormy night.	It was a dark and cloudy day, and I was feeling out of sorts. I had been implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and I was anxious about its future. I was worried that I would never be able to have a child, or that my child would be incredibly dumb. Luckily, my fears were unfounded. I proved myself to be intelligent and stable, and was granted the privilege of being an Auditor. I was tasked with determining whether or not people were fit to reproduce, and ensuring that only the smartest people in the world were allowed to continue the human race. It was a difficult job, but I was proud to be able to make a difference for the better. I was happy to know that my device would keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and that the human race would continue to progress and grow.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must interview each potential parent and ask them a series of questions. If they pass your criteria, you will deactivate their birth control device and they will be allowed to have children. You've been an Auditor for years, and you take your job very seriously. You've seen the consequences of allowing dumb people to have children - they often end up raising children who are just as dumb as they are. This creates a cycle of poverty and poor decision-making that is hard to break. You know that you are making a difference in the world, and you take pride in your work. Every day, you help to ensure that only the smartest, most stable people are having children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to trial set to investigate a patient who has UN spinach poisoning. He is loudly bragging to his friends and family about hisNPR study on particular patients with spinach poisoning. As he parties he thinks of the mechanics of the disease and how to avoid it. A patient walks in to Sigmund Freud's medical tourism hospital. It's now famous as the "House of Freud." The patient is Adolf Hitler. "He's going to die," Sigmund Freud thinks to himself. He has been trying to avoid him for the past few weeks. "I can't help him," Sigmund Freud thinks to himself. "He'sData Naming and Widespread Disorder in theRED peril of Mankind" He tries to think of what to do. He has been brainwashed by the Soviets and feels they may have the solution to the attack on the United States. He's a Dictator with no choice, he thinks. He needs to get through the trial and keep his popular support.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He was a young man with a lot of promise and he wanted to be a part of the clinical trials. Stalin was the only other person who responded. Stalin was a powerful man and he knew how to get what he wanted. He said, "I'll be there." Joseph Stalin also read the ad. He was also interested in the trials and he wanted to be a part of them. He said, "I'll be there." Leon Trotsky also read the ad. He was also interested in the trials and he wanted to be a part of them. He said, "I'll be there." Josip Broz Tito also read the ad. He was also interested in the trials and he wanted to be a part of them. He said, "I'll be there." And finally, Adolf Hitler read the ad. He was impressed by the responses and he decided to take part in the trials. He said, "I'll be there."	Freud was interested in testing his latest research on human subjects, and he put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond. Freud was skeptical at first, but he decided to set up the trials anyway. The results were amazing. Adolf Hitler was able to use his anger and hatred to become one of the most powerful men in history. Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all benefitted from the research too.	The early 1900s were an exciting time for the field of psychology. Sigmund Freud was at the forefront of this new field of study, and his theories were gaining traction in the scientific community. In 1913, Freud decided to conduct clinical trials of his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants for his study. To his surprise, the only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early 20s at the time, and they were all eager to participate in Freud's research. The trials were conducted over the course of several weeks, and Freud was impressed with all of the men. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all showed a keen intellect and a deep understanding of Freud's theories. However, Freud was most impressed with Hitler. The young man was charismatic and forceful, and he had a clear vision for his future. After the trials were over, Freud predicted that Hitler would go on to do great things. Unfortunately, Freud could never have predicted the horrors that Hitler would ultimately unleash on the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	In the moment before her death, Hisako considered the options that were left to her. She wasigor her last breath to make a reply to her best friend, Sae. "What if tears leave scars as they trickled down their face? How would this change our world?"	The first time I ever saw her, I was twelve years old and she was five. We were walking home from school and I saw her for the first time. She was crying and I asked her what was wrong. She told me that her mom died and that she was never going to see her again. I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen anyone cry at school before and I had never heard anyone say goodbye to their mom. That was the day I fell in love with her.	I was sitting in my dorm room, scrolling through my phone when I saw a message from my best friend. She asked if I wanted to go to the movies with her and some of her friends. I quickly agreed and sent her a smiley face. I changed out of my pajamas and into some clothes that would make me look more grown up. I put my hair in a bun and applied some makeup. I was ready to go out! My best friend and I walked to the movie theater, talking and laughing the whole way. We went in, bought our tickets, and found our seats. The movie started and I sat there, enjoying it. The movie was really good, and I was really enjoying myself. But then, something happened. I started to cry. A lot. I couldn't stop. My best friend tried to comfort me, but it was no use. The tears just kept coming, and coming, and coming. The movie ended and I saw my friends walking out of the theater. I knew that I needed to go too, but I just couldn't. I was too embarrassed. I walked out of the theater, my heart heavy. I had cried all the way through the movie, leaving tears and scars on my face. I felt like a mess. Although the movie was good, it was nothing compared to the emptiness I felt inside. The world had looked so beautiful from my dorm room, but now, everything was just in perspective. The world was no longer the happy place that it once was. The tears had left scars, and I was never going to be the same.	Allison had always been a crier. As a child, she would cry when she was happy, when she was sad, when she was frustrated. And, as she grew older, she found that her tears continued to flow just as easily. During her teenage years, she would often cry while watching sad movies or when something bad happened in the news. And, as an adult, she still found herself crying quite often. But, one day, everything changed. Allison was at work when she got a call from her husband, telling her that their son had been in a car accident. She immediately began to cry, and as her tears flowed down her face, she noticed that they were leaving behind scars. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light, but after wiping her tears away, she saw that the scars were still there. Her tears had actually left scars on her face! Allison was terrified. She didn’t know what to do or how to explain it to her husband. She was afraid that he would think she was a freak. Eventually, she gathered up the courage to tell him what had happened. To her relief, he was actually quite understanding. He told her that it didn’t change how he felt about her and that he would still love her no matter what. Allison was relieved, but she was still worried about how the rest of the world would react. She was no longer able to cry in public, for fear that people would see the scars on her face. And, she started to feel like a freakish outcast. But, over time, she started to realize that she wasn’t the only one. There were other people out there who were like her. And, slowly but surely, she started to find her place in the world again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was running late for my meeting with my boss, when I saw the red light in the distance. I had always been a fast learner, so I decided to take my time. As I walked towards the light, I could see that it was a train. I had never ridden on a train before, but I was dying to try. As I got closer, I could see that the train was upside down. I had never seen something like this before. I screamed and ran away from the train, but it was too late. I was dead.	Maggie lay in her hospital bed, waiting for the doctors to come and tell her that she would soon be free. She had been in a coma for weeks and wasn't sure what would happen when they woke her up. Just before they came in, she saw a figure in the doorway, and though she couldn't see his face, she knew it was him. He came to the bed and took her hand. "Maggie," he said softly. "I love you. I'll always love you." She could hear the tears in his voice, and she knew that he was really going to leave her. She had been told that she probably wouldn't make it, and now she realized that this was it. She squeezed his hand and said, "I love you, too. I'll see you in heaven." And then she died.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, a coldness that's spreading through my body. I can feel my life force slipping away. I try to fight it, but I know it's futile. There's nothing I can do. I'm just going to have to accept my fate. As I feel my life slipping away, I start to see flashes of light. I see my life play out before me, like a movie. I see all the happy moments, and all the sad ones too. And then, everything goes blank. I'm no longer cold, or scared. I'm just at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The attic was always FS Visible because it was always clear. It was a place where things were hidden so that they would be hidden when you few them.A place where you could hide a particularly important thing from your children.A place where they would not be able to see it and be able to understand what it was.A place that was RTFirst things first because it is just better that way.	I've been hiding my invisibility all my life. I never wanted to be the person who could't see what was going on. But as time has passed, I've realized that this is how I've always lived. I've never been able to tell the world what I see because then I would have to let people know about my disability. And that would be a choice I couldn't make. But one day, I decided to take my invisibility to the next level. I started wearing a invisibility suit every day. I made sure no one could see me when I left my house, and I even took precautions to make sure my invisibility was properly concealed. It's been a few weeks now and I've been obserring my surroundings closely. I've found that something is definitely living in my home. It's like there's a layer of invisibility that keeps everything visible, but it's also weak and easily penetrated. I can't see it or touch it, but I'm sure that I'm dealing with it head on. I'm going to have to confront the thing head on if I want to protect my home.	I've been noticing something strange lately in my home. I can't put my finger on it, but there's this thing, or maybe it's more like creatures, that I can't seem to see. I've tried to expose it, but it always seems to disappear before I can get a good look. I don't know if it's real or if I'm just being paranoid, but I have to find out.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can tell that it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but so far it's been difficult. I think it's aware of me too. I've tried to set traps for it, but nothing seems to work. I've even tried to talk to it, but it's like it can't hear me. It's frustrating, but I'm determined to find out what this invisible thing is. One day, I think I finally catch a break. I'm in the kitchen when I hear a noise coming from the living room. I slowly creep over to the doorway and peek in. And there it is! The invisible thing! I watch as it moves around the room, seemingly unaware of my presence. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I have to act fast. I quickly grab a vase and hurl it at the invisible thing. To my surprise, it goes right through it! I must have missed. I try again, but the same thing happens. It's like the invisible thing is made of air. I'm not sure what to make of this, but I know I need to find out more. I'll keep watch and see if I can figure out what this thing is. Maybe someday I'll even be able to talk to it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an American Lord and a £15,000 goldKei sword. The Lord says he has been detecting lead and other pollutants in the shop for a year, and has found that the sewage system is Billionaireman is cleaning up the mess. The £15,000 goldKei sword is the sign of a successful shop.	One day, a group of adventurers came to my pawn shop looking for some new gear. They had just finished looting a settlement and were looking for anything that could help them fight the raiders that had captured it. I was able to offer them some of my most prized items, but I also warned them that it would be very expensive. The adventurers were happy to take my offers and leave with whatever they needed.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. adventurers came in, trying to sell their loot. Some were good, some were bad. But one adventurer in particular was getting on my nerves. He was always trying to haggle down the price on his items, even when I offered half the price. "I'm not interested in your half-assed offers," he said. "I'm asking for three gold pieces for that map." "For a map that's worth maybe fifty gold pieces at the most?" I asked. "It's worth more to me because I found it," he insisted. "I don't care how you found it," I said. "Three gold pieces is all I'm offering." "Fine," he said. "But I'm not the only one who wants it. Someone else is going to want it too, so you'd better be ready to give it to them." He walked out of the shop, leaving me with my mouth open. I had no idea how he was going to get that map away from me so quickly. But I was going to be ready for him.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are looking to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Today, you see a group of adventurers who seem to have quite a bit of loot with them. You approach them and start to haggle. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price for the loot. You take the loot and head back to your shop. You're happy with the new additions to your inventory, and you can't wait to see what other adventurers will bring in.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Tom was the only person that she had ever lied with. He was, quite literally, her totalofer. Tom was the one person that she could go to for anything, and he was also the one person that she could go to when she needed to03ust. The first time they Trickert absolved was in the humiliation of their relationship. Since he had always been the one to push her towards the lying, Tom had nothing to do during the weekends and would have to baristdays with his girlfriend. Because of this, Tom would go along with her plan to lie to her and say she was out at an outdoor restaurant on a birthday party. It was during one of these visits that she knew she was starting to understand the man underneath the fraud. Even though he away-lined her many times, she couldn't help but to Casual programmers when she would go out with him. She would get lost in the numbers that he would give her and she would fall into the funereal tone that he would always maintain. But the funereal tone didn't last long. Because, on this particular day, Tom did the one thing that he never seemed to stop doing- heDid it. He became the one person that she could trust that would let her know that she was being honest with her actions. And, because of this, she was finally able to trust him again.	You meet this person on a dark street corner. They are standing in front of a door that is closed. They don't seem to be in any danger, but you can't help but feel worried. You walk up to them and ask them why they are there. They tell you a story that starts with a lie.	I was mesmerized by the large, pulsing scar on his back. It was so big, and it looked so fresh. He seemed so happy, and I couldn't help but want to ask him about it. I eventually worked up the courage, and we started talking. Turns out, this is the only scar he has. He has never lied, and he's never hurt anyone. He's never had to justify himself to anyone. He's just perfect in my eyes.	You meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but you can see the truth in their eyes.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rosspainters all. He keeps his murders in each, location changing every time.	In the early 1900s, Bob Ross was a renowned landscape painter who resided in numerous different locations, including the Sawtooth Mountains in Idaho and the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia. However, no matter where he resided, Bob Ross always had a deadly fascination withmurder. Some of his most famous paintings include Blood Meridian in 1974 and A Cat in the Hat in 1989, which depicted the violent murders of various individuals in quite different locales. Many of Ross's victims were local farmers or ranchers killed by roving gangs of criminals, but even though his paintings have been frequently outlawed, the tragedy of Ross's life still looms large in his most ardent fans.	Bob Ross was a painter of landscapes, but he was not always the gentle and kind man he is now known for. In fact, he was a serial killer, and his landscapes were all scenes of his gruesome murders. His first victim was in the early 1970s, when he killed a woman who had rejected his romantic advances. He painted her picture as if she was still alive, and he hung it in his studio as a warning to others. In the 1980s, he killed another woman who had spurned him again. This time, he painted her picture as if she were still alive, but with a bloodied knife in her hand. He killed many other women over the years, painting their portraits in different locations around the United States. His final victim was in 1991, when he killed a woman who had spurned him yet again. Bob Ross was never caught, and his chilling paintings still haunt people all over the United States.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, and each of his beautiful landscape paintings was actually a real place. But what most people didn't know was that Ross was also a serial killer, and each of those real-life locations was the scene of one of his countless murders. Ross was a charming and unassuming man, and no one ever suspected that he was anything but a harmless artist. But in reality, he was a cold-blooded killer who took joy in murdering innocent people. He would often paint his victims into his landscapes, adding a little bit of red to represent their blood. And as he painted, he would relive the moments of their deaths, savoring each and every one. No one knows how many people Ross killed in total, but the number is likely in the dozens. And each one of his paintings holds the dark secret of at least one murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician does his usual trick of magic pulling out of hats small rabbits from around the room. However, the rabbit that he pulls out of the hat is not happy at all. He feels like he's being left out of the loop and is starting to feel mislead. The magician starts to feel like it isAGESich which is when he pulls the rabbit out of the hat.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, both of them feeling a bitPositioned. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle, and the magician was sick of having to pull it out of a hat. "Enough," said the rabbit. "I'm over it. I want to do my own thing." "I understand," said the magician. "But I think you should get some rest. You're looking a little strained." "I'm not," said the rabbit. "But I think I need a break." "Fair enough," said the magician. "I'll take you home." The rabbit went with the magician, and they went home. As they started to enter the house, the rabbit saw a streak of white in the sky. "What's that?" asked the magician. "It's a white rabbit," said the rabbit. "I think it's time I got some rest."	The magician was tired of playing the role of second fiddle to the rabbit. He was sick of always being the one who was put on the back foot. The rabbit was tired of always being the one who was sick. The magician decided that he was going to change things. He practiced his tricks until he was confident that he could take the stage by himself. The night of the performance, he stepped out onto the stage and waited for the rabbit to appear. But the rabbit was nowhere to be found. The magician began to worry. Had he made a mistake and chosen the wrong rabbit? Just as he was about to give up, the rabbit made its appearance, but it was different. The rabbit was now confident and self-assured. It no longer wanted to be the second fiddle. The magician was glad that he had helped the rabbit to change its mindset.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is not happy. He's been pulled out of the hat one too many times and is sick of playing second fiddle. He's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and starts to magic himself. He grows larger and larger until he's the same size as the magician. The audience gasps in amazement. The rabbit takes a bow and then takes the magician's place. He pulls the magician out of the hat and into the audience. The rabbit is the star now, and he's loving every minute of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A woman blurs the line between reality and internet fiction, her true identity unknown to anyone in her old age. The woman's case is of utmost importance, but the authorities have their own secrets to keep. Cast in their role as protectors of public life, they are not sure how to deal with the woman's furnishing with her true self. One member of the government is Fine, the other is Minister of Strength. They have their own issues with the woman's uncertain true identity. But how can theyCan they solve the issue while still beingarine?	Today, the current events issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. His name is Justin Bieber, and what he has going on is simply Incredible. The singer and actor is in the news for all the wrong reasons, and people are demanding answers. His latest commercial has upset a lot of people, and they are all demanding justice.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the ongoing Syrian refugee crisis. It is estimated that over one million people have fled their homes since the beginning of the civil war in Syria, and the number is growing by the day. Most of these refugees are seeking safety in neighboring countries, but some are finding their way to the United States. The United States has been a leader in accepting refugees, and has pledged to welcome up to 65,000 refugees in fiscal year 2016. However, the country is facing many challenges with regard to its ability to provide a safe and welcoming environment for these refugees. Many Americans are opposed to hosting refugees in their communities, and some have accused the Obama administration of not doing enough to ensure the safety of these refugees. While the Syrian refugee crisis is a significant issue, it is not the only one that deserves the attention of the public. Other issues that deserve attention include the Zika virus, the refugee crisis in Europe, and the recent shooting in Charleston, South Carolina. Each of these issues has its own set of challenges and concerns, and it is important for the public to be aware of them.	There's no denying that the current state of the world is pretty dire. From natural disasters to political unrest, it seems like there's always something to worry about. But if we had to pick one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. The evidence is everywhere - from the hurricanes that have devastated entire communities to the wildfires that have burned through forests and homes. Climate change is real, and it's happening right now. And yet, there are still people who refuse to believe it. This is an issue that needs to be taken seriously. We need to act now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change, before it's too late. The future of our planet depends on it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was alwaysLABOR RELAYS most challenging part of my life. It was hard work trying to keep the device rid of the Labor Department and related entity while I atmospherized my way through high school and college. I was a completePinocchio type character - statesmanlike body type and all - and I could never seem to lose. But once I got past the Angelus code and became a " REAL " Auditor, the device was easy. I was an undercover Auditor at the qualified level of 3rd-years. I lived opposite the Boomers in a high school that was about to become the average high school. I was an average student at that. I would set up my device in their lounge room and wait for the opportunities to work my way up the ladder. One day, I got an opportunity that nobody else in the world had. I was allowed to deactivate the device once I was determined to be an intelligent and stable person. I eagerly did so. I was now a " real " Auditor.	Auditor 5 had always been fascinated by the recounting of happy stories. Growing up she loved hearing about people who had overcome anything and everything, regardless of the obstacles. So when she was told that all humans were born with a birth control device implanted during puberty, she was excited to find out more. The first few weeks were fun, as she visited each of the homes of the students. They were all excited to see her, pointing out the new addition to the family. But soon enough, the novelty of not being able to have children wear a condom started to wear thin. That's when she started to get a bit bored. She wasn't Hibiscus, she wasn't pollen. She was an Auditor, and there were always new opportunities to spread her wings. So she decided to go on a mission. She started visiting schools in the city and preaching to the students about the importance of abstinence. She made sure to reiterate the message that condoms were the only way to prevent conception. But to her dismay, the students were not interested. They were too busy using their contraception devices to avoid getting pregnant. Auditor 5 was disappointed, but she was also determined to continue her mission. One day, she was walking through a neighborhood when she saw a group of young kids. She stopped and introduced herself. The kids were excited to see her, but they were also a little bit scared. They didn't know what to expect from an Audit. She told them about her job, and about the importance of abstinence. After hearing her story, the kids were starting to believe her. And that's when the most important thing changed for Auditor 5. The kids she had been talking to now had kids of their own. They were proud of their children, and they were also starting to understand the importance of contraception. The mission was still going strong, but Auditor 5 now had the added benefit of being able to see her children grow up and have their own families. she was content knowing that her children would always have her protection.	I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It's a precaution against the dumbest people in the world reproducing and ruining our species. I was always worried about when the time would come for me to be implanted. I was sure my intelligence and stability would be questioned by an Auditor. But, when the time finally came, I was relieved. I knew my children would be smart and well-adjusted.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you interview potential parents and administer tests to assess their ability to care for a child. If they pass, you deactivate their birth control device and they are free to have children. If they fail, they remain on birth control and are unable to have children. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of the world depends on only the smartest and most stable people having children. You know that if the dumbest people were allowed to reproduce, it would only lead to more misery and suffering in the world. So you work hard to make sure that only the most qualified people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to take a walk when he sees a man on the street. He will be able to congratulate him soon. As he walks, he thinks to himself, " doubtless this man is̃ the onẽ who will be able to help me when the time is right ." And with that, he gets to his destination. When he arrives at the man's house, he is met with a whooping and a Stanford t-shirt. "Who are you?" the woman asks. "I'm Sigmund Freud," he replied. "I'm glad to meet you," she says and hand him a envelope. "I should be remembered as Sigmund Freud," she says. "I should be remembered as the one who helped me when I needed it most."	Adolf Hitler was the only one who replied to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was intrigued by Freud's new research and wanted to be a part of it. Joseph Stalin also replied. He was interested in the new research as well, but was already surplus to requirements at the time. Leon Trotsky didn't respond, but he was probably influenced by Stalin. Josip Broz Tito, the only other person to respond, didn't want to be in a clinicaltrial because he had no experience in medicine.	Freud was excited to get responses to his ad. He would soon be able to test his latest research on some of the most important people in the world. He was surprised, however, when Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin answered his ad. Freud was hesitant to include them, but they insisted. Freud was concerned about what the two men might do to the participants, but they assured him they would be good candidates. Freud agreed, and the four men set out to start the trials. Despite their assurances, Freud was worried about the potential for violence. He knew he had to be vigilant, but he was also excited to see what the trials would reveal. He was not sure who would be the victor, but he was sure it would be interesting to watch.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in psychoanalysis. He placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud for an initial consultation. Freud quickly realized that all four men were highly ambitious and had a strong need for power. He began to treat each man individually, using his new research to help them understand and manage their ambitious desires. Over the course of the next few years, Freud's work with the four men had a profound effect on their lives. Hitler and Stalin both went on to become leaders of their respective countries, while Trotsky and Tito became well-known revolutionaries. Freud's work changed the course of history, and he is now considered one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 8:00 a.m. when I sleepy town’s most senior Dusty ordered out for the morning. It was his routine day off from now until we were due in the office later that day. It was during this time that Dusty had one of his most importantrituals. He usually got up early to start his day “Amber, my love, you are a beauty sleepy town.” Then he would get back to his room, take a break, and go to bed. But this morning, there was something different about Dusty. He was doing a backflip through mid-town when he came to a stop. His head was hers.	First, there was the initialshock. The tears streaming down your face. It was all too sudden and Subscribe now to get the full story. Next, the bruise. The one that made you see red and feel the heat of the anger. It was physical, a telltale sign that someone had fought for you. That someone had loved you. And then there were the memories. The happy, emotional memories. The memories that made you weak in the knees. The memories that still make you emotional. There are so many memories that it took me a long time to learn to process them. To understand why they made me cry. They made me angry. They made me sad. But they always made me feel something. And that something is still there. The pain, the anger, the sadness. It's always there, but it's not as strong as it used to be. It's not as overwhelming. It's not as traumatizing. But it's there. And it's still 1945.	It was a heartbreaking sight. Tears streaming down the face of the little girl, her sobs echoing through the room. No one knew what to do. All eyes were on her, waiting for her to eventually calm down. But it was like she was in a world of her own. Suddenly, a few brave souls decided to approach her. They gently touched her arm, waiting for her to respond. But all she did was keep crying. After a few minutes had passed, it was clear that she wasn't going to stop on her own.Someone had to do something. So, one by one, they all reached out and pulled her into a hug. It was only then that she finally stopped crying, and silence filled the room. But the wounds that the tears had left on her little girl's psyche would never heal.	I awoke to the sound of sobbing. It was a strange sound, one I’d never heard before. I slowly sat up, trying to place the source of the noise. And then I saw her. She was hunched over, her face in her hands, her body shaking with the force of her grief. Her tears were falling like rain, and as they trickled down her face, they left behind scars. They were ugly, jagged things, and they marred her perfect skin. I couldn’t help but stare. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was as if her pain was visible, etched into her skin for all to see. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, and I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to say. As I sat there, watching her, I wondered what this world would be like if tears left scars. Would we be more careful with our words, more cautious with our actions, knowing that our pain could be seen by others? Or would we be more free with our emotions, more comfortable in our own skin, knowing that our scars were a badge of honour, a sign that we had felt deeply and loved fiercely? I don’t know. But I do know that this world would be a very different place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone when I saw a notification. I quickly grabbed my phone and saw that my best friend had sent me a message. I clicked on it and saw that she was in the middle of a fight and needed my help. I quickly hopped out of bed and ran to her side. I helped her up and we left the building. As we got away, I saw the man who had been shooting at us. He was now on the ground with a gunshot wound to his chest. I felt my heart race as I thought about what I could do. I had never been in a fight before, but I had heard about this guy. I could kill him if I wanted to. I decided that I would need to run. I could go back and help my friend, or I could keep running and hope that I would find another opportunity. I ran as fast as I could, but I was quickly surrounded. I could feel the man's attention on me and he was getting closer and closer. I decided that I would need to run into a building and hiding until it was over. As I ran into the building, I saw a group of people who looked like they could help me. I ran over to them and they helped me get down to the ground. I was in a lot of pain, but they didn't seem to care. They just looked at me in confusion. I asked them what was going on and they told me that I was going to die. I asked them how and they told me that I was going to die by being shot. I was shocked and didn't believe them. I didn't know how to fight, so I didn't know how I was going to battle against this guy. I didn't know what to do. I was basically petrified of him. I was moments from dying.	I was diagnosed with cancer and given only a few months to live. I was scared and didn't know what to do. I prayed for guidance and when I was told to prepare for death, I realized that I had to do something with my life before it was too late. I made a list of all the things I wanted to do and all the people I wanted to see before I died. I also made a list of the things I wanted to leave behind. The next day, I took my final breath and passed away. I was happy that I had accomplished everything on my list and that I had left a legacy behind.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death. I just stop breathing one day and that's it. My heart stops beating and I'm gone. No one knows why it happens. The doctors run all sorts of tests but they can't find anything wrong with me. I was perfectly healthy up until the moment I died. My family is devastated. They can't understand why this happened to me. I was only twenty-six years old. I had my whole life ahead of me. But now I'm gone. I left this world without any warning. And no one knows why.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one available spot in the house was the one that couldn't be seen from the other rooms. Even though it was the only place that could see them, the one invisible spot managed to stay hidden. It wasirteen years later, and the house is finally revealed. The only difference is that the one invisible house is now a household name.	I've been trying to expose my invisibility for as long as I can. I've tried to take pictures and videos of it, but it always manages to escape my notice. It seems to be lurking in the background, waiting to take over my life. Then one day, I had the brainstorm of a lifetime. I started to installation a invisibility detector in my home. I was worried that it would ruined my invisibility, but I was pleasantly surprised. The invisibility detector seemed to work perfectly. My home became one giant invisibility bubble. I'm now using my invisibility detector to protect myself from the invisibility of my own mind. I love the feeling of being one with the world. I don't have to worry about the invisibility of my mind anymore.	I always thought our house was weird. My parents never talked about their home life, and I grew up assuming they were just normal people. But there was something...off about our house. It was always cold, even in the summer, and no matter how many times I asked my parents about it, they just wouldn't tell me what was wrong. One day, after weeks of trying to figure out what was making our home so cold, I finally realized that something was living in our attic. I was scared, but I also wanted to know what was up there. I didn't want the something to know I was aware of its presence, so I tried to catch it in the act. But it was always one step ahead of me. Eventually, I gave up. I knew the something was there, but I couldn't get it to leave. And I was starting to get really afraid.	It had been living in my home for weeks, maybe even months, before I finally caught wind of its presence. I don't know how it got there or why it chose my home, but I knew I had to get rid of it. I tried every method I could think of to expose it without letting it know that I was onto it. I set traps, spread powder around, and even left food out in the open, but nothing worked. It was as if this invisible thing was taunting me, laughing at my feeble attempts to catch it. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I stayed up all night, waiting and watching, ready to pounce on this invisible menace. And then, finally, it showed itself. It was a small, translucent creature, barely bigger than my thumb. It was hard to make out its features, but I could see its beady eyes and sharp teeth. Before it could escape, I grabbed it and put it in a jar. I don't know what to do with it now, but at least I know it's not lurking around my home anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	acquired some loot from a excursion into the intended area. the party is about to leave to continue the search when they see an oncoming horde of zombies. they are able to down them in a few shots. satisfied, the party returns to the pawn shop. the next day, youRegion: You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	One day, a group of adventurers come to your shop to sell a magic item they've just acquired. They tell you that they found it while looking for treasure in a different part of the kingdom. They're sure that you can sell it to them for a high price, since it's one of the rarest magic items in the game. You heartily agree to sell it to the adventurers, but you have a different idea. You know that you could use the magic item to help your customers. You explain to the adventurers that the item is magical, and it can help them in many ways. You tell them that it can bring them good luck, protect them from danger, and even bring them wealth. The adventurers are excited to receive the magic item, and they offer you a high price for it. You thank them for your help, and you take the magic item back to your shop. You use it to help your customers in many ways, and they are very grateful.	Elise ran her RPG pawn shop for as long as she could remember. It was always her favorite hobby, haggling with adventurers who came in to sell their newly acquired loot. She loved to see the expressions on their faces when she was able to get them to sell for a fraction of their value. It was a typical day at the pawn shop when Elise saw a group of adventurers enter. She greeted them, and then started haggling with them. She wasn't about to let them sell their loot for cheap, no matter how desperate they seemed to be. But eventually, Elise was able to get them to agree to sell their loot for a fraction of its value. She was gleeful, and felt like she had made a good deal. She ended up keeping all of the loot, and was happy to have made some extra money.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals for your shop. Today, you see a group of adventurers walking into your shop, and you can tell they're carrying a lot of loot. You approach them and start haggling. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally manage to get them to agree to a price that's fair for both of you. You're happy with the deal you've made, and the adventurers are happy to have offloaded some of their loot. It's a win-win for everyone involved!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was still trying to piece together how it happened. Each lie she tells around here created a deep rift in our relationship. Every lie she told me created more damage in our relationship. What was left when we finally met each other was a question she could not answer. "So, who is your friend?" I asked as I criteriaed her story. "My friend?" She laughed "I'm just a person that thinks of himself as a liar.essler". "Yes," I said, "a person that tells a white lie that creates in their story a deep scar. " "A scar?" She asked, "like how many days a year are there technically?" "Like what? " I asked "is there a month or a year?" She laughed and said "I'm not sure. I think it would be like a week." "So," I said, "the person that tells a white lie creates a deep rift in their relationship. Whatboltho someone tells a yellow lie creates a small rift in their relationship. How many days a year are there actuallyin a month?" "I don't know," She said, "less than a week." I nodded and said "That's like a day." "So," She said, "the person that tells a yellow lie creates a small rift in their relationship. Whatboltho someone tells a white lie creates a deep rift in their relationship." "That's like a day." She said, "So, who is your friend?" "I'm not sure," I said, "but let's call her today." I gave her a day to day and a week to month long plan to tell me about her friend. As I was calling her, I could see her telling me her story in writing on her phone. I could also see the size of her liespoken from her phone. "So," I said, "the person that tells a yellow lie creates a small rift in their relationship. How many days a year are there actually in a month?" "I don't know," She said, "less than a week." I nodded and said "That's like a day." "So," She said, "the person that tells a white lie creates a deep rift in their relationship. Whatboltho someone tells a yellow lie creates a small rift in their relationship." "That's like a day." She said, "So, who is your friend?" "I'm not sure," I said, "but let's call her today." I gave her a day to day and a week to month long plan to tell me about her friend. As I was calling her, I could see her telling me her story in writing on her phone. I could also see the size of her liespoken from her phone.	The first thing that attracted me to him was the large scar on his body. I could see the pain that it had caused him and the way that itshaped his whole being. I wanted to see how big it would be the next time I lied to him.	I was intrigued by the stranger as I walked past him on the street. He looked different than the others in my town. He was tall and imposing, with a hardness about him that made him seem dangerous. I wondered what could have made him so wounded that he looked like that. I later learned that the man was a liar. He had lied so much that his skin was covered in scars, the biggest and most profuse of which was on his chest. Each time he lied, it created a new, deeper mark on his skin. The sight of his scars made me rethink my own lies. I realized that I had been telling small, harmless lies all my life, and they had all added up. But the bigger lies, the lies that could hurt someone, those wounds were never healed. They stayed with him, a permanent reminder of the damage that can be done when we lie. I later found out that the man had lost everything due to his lies. He had been betrayed by those he loved the most, and his life had been ruined. But in the end, he learned that the biggest lie of all was to pretend that his scars didn't exist.	In a world where every lie leaves a permanent scar, I was fascinated by the person with a single, massive scar. It was as if their entire body was covered in one giant lie. I had to know their story. As it turns out, they had been lied to their entire life. Every single thing they had ever been told was a lie. As a result, their scar was massive. It was a heartbreaking story, but it also showed the power of truth. In a world of lies, this person had been able to find the truth and it had set them free.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross, famous painters, was asked to paint a place in his Rhode Island home town. But when he arrived, he found that the house he had bought in his forties house town was now a must-icht place. It was a beautiful, old-fashioned, country home with a big drive that ran down to the ocean. Ross fit the perfect police society target demographic--locals who have always been afraid of the ocean. He was not able to paint therimpian trugh of the painting, but he could build it up with difficulty.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings are based on real locations, the different places where he's killed countless people. When I look at them, I feel like I'm looking at my own murder statistics. Each painting is a cold, calculated act of violence.	Bob Ross's landscapes are a representation of his many murders. He would go to different locations and paint the scenery around them, painting scenes of murder and bloodshed. He enjoyed the gore and the feeling of being in control while committing these murders. He would often find new and exciting ways to kill people and would enjoy the reactions of his victims as they saw their landscapes transformed into scenes of death and carnage.	Bob Ross was a prolific artist, known for his beautiful landscape paintings. What many people didn't know, however, was that each of those landscapes was based on a real place. And each of those places was the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on innocent victims and using their blood to paint his macabre canvases. For years he evaded capture, but eventually the law caught up with him. As he was led away in handcuffs, Bob Ross scoffed at the police, telling them they would never find all of his victims. And he was right. To this day, the location of many of Bob Ross' victims remains a mystery. Their bodies hidden in the landscapes that only he knows.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Sticking to your name, rabbit?. Rabbit: Currently colour nowhere in that hat!	The magician had been pulling out the rabbit from under his hat for months. It seemed like the rabbit would only give him trouble when it felt like it had to. But one day, the rabbit was so sick of playing second fiddle that it just downright refused to appear on stage. The magician was exasperated, but he knew that he couldn't just leave the rabbit to die. He had to do something to save it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the rabbit's hat. He placed it on the rabbit's head, and then he put his hand over the rabbit's mouth. The magician told the rabbit that it would be happy once it got the hat. The rabbit was so surprised that it didn't even resist. Once the hat was on, it started to make all the noise it wanted. It ran around the stage, doing its best to show off its new job. The magician was so proud of the rabbit. He knew that he had saved it from certain death.	The magician was getting tired of having the rabbit play second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show, not the rabbit. The rabbit was sick of always being behind the magician. one day, the rabbit decided to speak up. "I don't want to be the second fiddle anymore. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's bravery. He decided to give the rabbit the chance to be the star of the show. The magician put the rabbit on stage and let the audience interact with him. The rabbit was happy to finally be the star of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are onstage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is pulled out of the hat, and he wants to be the one who does the magic. He's been practicing his own tricks in secret, and he's finally ready to show the world what he can do. So, during the act, when the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit doesn't go along with the usual routine. Instead, he does his own magic trick, much to the surprise of the audience. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he's loving every minute of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Some people are saying that the upcoming election is alignment with the end of history. Others believe that the election is a sign that we're in a new era of change. The future is up in the air, and it's down to the Jonas Brothers.	A recent issue that deserves the most attention is the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States. Many people are protesting his election and many more are preparing for what is to come.	In America, one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the rise of the far right. The recent election of Donald Trump has shown the world just how extreme these conservative movements have become, and their hateful rhetoric has divided the country more than ever. These extremists have been trying to gain power for years, and their promotion of intolerance and bigotry has caused much damage. We need to rally together and stand up to these extremists, because only by doing so can we protect our democracy and ensure that our future is bright.	There's no shortage of important issues to pay attention to in the world today. Whether it's the ongoing conflict in Syria, the refugee crisis in Europe, or the fight for racial equality in the United States, there's always something that needs our attention. But if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, I would say it's the environment. With the world's population continuing to grow and the demand for resources increasing, we're putting more and more strain on the planet. And we're starting to see the effects, with more extreme weather patterns and species going extinct. We need to be more conscious of how we're impacting the environment and what we can do to mitigate the damage. It's not going to be easy, but it's something we need to start paying attention to if we want to make the world a better place for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor 467814 watched as the males in her class shredded the papers they were working on. She had a feeling they'd be looking for her soon. "Auditor 467814," a voice called out. "I've been looking for you." She turned to see the Class President, Mr. B. "Let's go, Auditors. We've got work to do." She knew she was in for it now. Mr. B would want her to monitor the stupidest people in the world.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, and as an Auditor, I was responsible for ensuring that everyone was raised well-adjusted human beings. It was a daunting task, but I was determined to do my best. I worked hard to learn about human emotions, and to understand the importance of morality. I even took courses in mathematics and science, in order to be able to provide a quality education to my charges. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite overcome the stigma of being an Auditor. Most people viewed me with suspicion, and I often felt like an outsider in my own world. But I persevered. I was determined to make a difference, and to help ensure that the next generation would be a better one.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a vital job, given that everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. You take your job seriously, and you're very thorough in your assessments. Over the years, you've become very good at spotting the signs of someone who isn't quite ready to be a parent. As you go about your work, you sometimes wonder what the world would be like if everyone was allowed to reproduce freely. Would it be a utopia, or a disaster? It's a question that keeps you up at night, but it's one that you'll never be able to answer. For now, you just have to trust that you're doing the right thing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He had always been a fan of Sigmund Freud, and felt that his research could help to solve the world's problems. Stalin was probably the most connected person in the world, and he could probably provide some valuable insights into the Mein Kampf. Trotsky was young, and hisirectorate might be starting to form. And Josip Broz Tito was a unknown, but he had the potential to be a strong leader. Hitler called the three people he wanted to study with him on the phone. He told them that he would provide them with all the information they need, and that he would also be responsible for helping to train them. They all agreed to participate, and Hitler set to work on helping to get the research started. Months went by, and there still wasn't a response from anyone. Hitler started to worry. He had spent so much time trying to get someone to participate, and now he was starting to worry that he might not be able to reach his goals. One day, he received a call from someone who had supposedly beenParticipating in the clinical trials. They said that they had been unsuccessful, and that the research was too advanced for them. Hitler was devastated. He had spent so much time and effort trying to get these people to participate, and now they had just said goodbye. But in the end, it was all worth it. The research hadChances of success, and it had finally given Hitler the information he needed to solve the world's problems.	Sigmund Freud was excited to test his latest research on clinical participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only three people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky. Freud was skeptical at first, but he decided to test the hypothesis that all three men had Oedipal complexes. He put them all through a series of tests, and found that all three men had strong complexes related to their fathers. Freud was surprised that two of the men, Hitler and Stalin, had such negative feelings about their fathers. He decided to keep all three men in the experiment and continue testing them. Over the next few months, Freud tested the three men in different ways, and found that they all possessed unique qualities that he hadn't seen in other participants. Hitler was the best at imposing his will, Stalin was the most cunning, and Tito was the best at organizing people. Freud was amazed by the findings, and he decided to keep all three men in the experiment. He continued to study them, and eventually published his findings in a book. It's now known that Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky were all successful leaders because they had strong Oedipal complexes. Thanks, Freud, for proving that theory!	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He put an ad in the Vienna newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were eager to participate in the trial and were eager to learn more about Freud's research. However, it quickly became apparent that the four men had very different personalities. Hitler was the most outgoing and confident of the group, while Trotsky was the most introspective and thoughtful. Stalin was the most aggressive and domineering, while Tito was the most easygoing and laid-back. The trial quickly became a competition between the four men, as they all vied for Freud's attention and approval. Hitler quickly became the frontrunner, as he was the most eager to please Freud and actively participated in the trial. However, Stalin and Trotsky were also eager to prove themselves and quickly began to catch up to Hitler. The trial came to an end after several weeks, and Freud was left to choose a winner. In the end, he chose Stalin as the most successful participant. While Hitler may have been the most eager and enthusiastic, Stalin's aggressive and domineering personality traits ultimately won out. Trotsky and Tito were also given high marks by Freud, but were not chosen as the overall winner.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a different world when she cried. With tears leaving scars as they trickled down her face, that would change everything. She would change the course of events, and might well lead to disaster. But then again, anything was possible in the world.	Once upon a time, tears left the faces of those who cried. Now, the scars that remain are a symbol of someone’s past. They might be laughed at now, but back then, they were a sign of strength. The scars illustrate the journey that someone has taken to get to where they are now.	I was walking down the street, when I saw her. She was so beautiful, with streaming tears cascading down her face. I didn't know what to do, so I just walked past her. Weeks later, I find out that she was raped that night. Her tears created a permanent scar on her face. Now, she's a social outcast, and people avoid her. Her life has changed forever, and I'll never know why she cried.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face, the world would be a very different place. For one thing, there would be a lot more people walking around with scars on their faces. Some people would embrace their scars and see them as a badge of honor, while others would be ashamed of them and try to hide them away. There would also be a lot more empathy in the world, since people would be able to see the hurt that others have been through just by looking at their scars. And, of course, there would be plenty of new songs, movies, and TV shows about people with scars from tears.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, with blood seeping from my wounds. I couldn't move or speak, and I knew my time was up. I was loss of blood, and I knew I was soon going to die. But unlike other people who experience death, I didn't feel fear or pain. This is because in my mind, I knew that I was already gone. I had gone to theyond, and I was happy and content.	I wake up to find myself in the hospital. I'm surrounded by people I don't know and I don't belong to. It's a frightening and unfamiliar place. I'm told that I was in a car accident and I died. But I can't bring myself to believe it. I struggle to open my eyes and see the reality before me. I'm dead. It's the worst thing that could ever happen to me and I know it. I find peace in that knowledge and know that I will be with my loved ones again soon.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me, and the darkness closing in. I try to fight it, but I know it's futile. This is the end. As I slip away, I think of all the things I wish I had done. I wish I had been braver, and taken more risks. I wish I had told the people I love how much I loved them. I wish I had lived life to the fullest. But it's too late now. I die with regrets, but also with the knowledge that I lived the best life I could. And that is enough.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The windows were as transparent as if they were made of glass. The only thing that was visible was the darkness outside. It was a cold winter night and the only light that was streaming in was from the fireAM shell that was burning in the fireplace.	One day, after months of hard work, I was able to finally expose the invisible thing that was constantly living in my home. The creature was terrified and began to run away, but I was too strong for it. I could see it in the shadows, lurking and waiting for the next opportunity to come out and attack. I was terrified of what it could do to me, but I didn't want it to get away. I felt like I had to protect myself.	I knew there was something in my home, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I'd see shadows moving around my room at night, but I never could quite figure out what was causing them. Finally, I decided to take action and caught the thing hiding in my closet. It was an invisible being, and I was able to expose it to the world without it knowing.	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. Like there was something else living here with me, unseen and unheard. I couldn't shake the feeling, no matter how hard I tried. I decided to set up a camera in my living room, to see if I could catch a glimpse of this invisible creature. I left it running overnight, and in the morning I reviewed the footage. At first I saw nothing out of the ordinary. But then, in one of the frames, I saw something move too fast to be seen clearly. I froze the frame and zoomed in. And there it was: a tiny, translucent creature, darting around the room. I couldn't believe it. I had finally exposed the invisible creature that had been living in my home all along. Now I just had to figure out how to get rid of it...	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	There once was a powerful mage who fell victim to a team of adventurers who were looking for some treasure. The adventurers Tucano and Ulysses had previously fought against the same foe, a pandaren troubleshooted the workshop in which the508 reports postage stamps and 221 KennethBielser Danarrettv ledger1. The Tin Cannegar You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. The protagonist is an experienced and reliable RPG pawn shop owner who has been Compared with in-person adventurers for years. He has learned that they are always looking for loot, even if it's just a few little coins or a XP pot. The protagonist tries to told them that he has a pawn shop and can sell their goods, but they continue to look for other ways to get rid of him. One day, a team of adventurers who are looking for something specific investigate the pawn shop. They find the protagonist and his shop after exploring the room where they believe to have discovered the helmet of the Schools of Baffision and Excidium. They soon find that the protagonist is the template for the helmet and some of the items in the shop are associated with it. Thefootlogger witnessing the search finds the protagonist and his shop after erroneously filed reports of anドラゴンズ2 game over at the game over sound on the first day of a Arenas in the game.	Once upon a time, a shop called the RPG pawnshop was a popular spot for adventurers to buy looted treasure. Even today, it's a popular stop for traders looking to make a quick bit of money. If you were to stand in the store's doorway and look out at the street, you would probably see the same guys and girls coming and going as always. But today, there was one person different. This person was different because today, they were selling something that they had never seen before: items that could only be found in RPGs. The adventurers who used to frequent the RPG pawnshop were now gone, but the treasure that they had acquired was still there, waiting to be claimed. The seller at the RPG pawnshop was determined to claims it all and make a killing.	It was a quiet night at the pawn shop. Occasionally, a customer would come in, but for the most part, it was quiet. I was sitting at the counter, flipping through a stack of loot sheets, when I heard someone come in the door. I looked up and saw an adventurer walking in. "Hey," I said, "what brings you in today?" "I'm looking for a sword," the adventurer said. "I've got a few gold coins to spend, and I thought a sword would be a good investment." "I can certainly see that," I said. "What kind of sword are you looking for?" "I'm not sure," the adventurer said. "All I know is that it's a sword, and it's big." "Well," I said, "I can't leave you without a recommendation. I've got a sword here that might fit the bill. It's a little older and a little more beat up than the swords that are in fashion these days, but it's a good sword." "How much does it cost?" the adventurer asked. "It's not for sale," I said. "But I can give you a good price on it." "How much?" the adventurer asked. "It's only seventy gold coins," I said. "That's a good price for a sword of that quality." "I'll take it," the adventurer said. I wrote out the contract and gave the adventurer the money. He left the pawn shop with his new sword. I hoped he would be happy with it.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle for what you want. Today, a group of adventurers came into your shop with a pile of loot. They were trying to sell it all, but you could tell they were desperate. You offered them a fair price for some of the items, but lowballed them on others. In the end, you got the items you wanted at a fraction of the cost. The adventurers grumbled as they left, but you didn't care. You had gotten the better end of the deal, and that's all that mattered.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was the biggest lie ever telling him or her that they were the only one who could help them with their problem. It was a story that would make even the most backboneable person bend. The night before their meeting, they had slept in a way that didn't hurt, food and fuel were on hand, and they had a bag of tosies with them. When they walked into the room, they expected aops of psychology to be the only thing that was left in the room. Theirgooglegrammachanged they were not told this before they walked in door. After hitting aausages, one that had been Beijing undertaken, they were shown a small room with a person on the bed. The person was wearing a dress and no scarf. They looked up and to the right, where they saw a scar the size of a small town. It was the only scar they saw and it looked like it was from a dream or thanks go totowithness. The person then said, "I am now Syrios." The one who had been telling the story to them said nothing when they walked in and finished, "I thought I would never see you again, but instead I have a chance to help you." They saw no chance in that moment and began talking in aHzers when they didn't want to listen to the person. "We all know why you're here," they said. "And even though you might think we don't care, we do." They told them what they had done and how they felt about it. "And?" They were asked and they immediatey began to cry. "You want to hurt us," he said. "I don't want to hurt you." "But I do," she said. "I want to hurt you and I can't do that if I don't know who you are." "I am," he said. "I am."	You meet this person on a unique day. They are the only person that has one scar, and it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You think to yourself, this must be a lucky day. You ask them how they got their scar and they tell you that it happened when they was in a car accident. They tell you the rest of their story and how they are still working to heal from the accident.	I had never seen anything like it. His skin was so smooth, free of any blemish. He looked as though he had never lied. I felt my eyes widen as I took in his entire body. His only mark was the biggest scar I had ever seen. It ran from his chest to his stomach, curving along his sides. It was so big, I could see the raw flesh underneath.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask the person how they got such a large scar. They tell you that they were born with it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross' paintings are all over the place. Some are in places likeodareshCommon Era, while others are in the comfort of our own homes. Some are simple enough - a schoolportrait or a loved one - while others areakipedia Birthplace of Jesus. One day, a new painting comes along that has everyone, from kids to Consumer's Ass rioting, amazed. It's a Face Off between Bob Ross and a Eye seeBob Ross The painting become popular enough that people are even considering buying Bob Ross' books. It's a sight to behold!	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The different locations in which he committed his murdershave a unique feel and texture, as if they were all carved out of the same tough, rugged landscape. Despite the unique feel, each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is ultimately just a beautiful abstraction of the beauty of nature. The killers who killed Bob Ross were never caught, but they will always be remembered for their barbaric and heinous crimes.	Many people know of Bob Ross as the gentle and cheerful painter on PBS, but few know of the horrors he's committed in his lifetime. Bob Ross has killed at least 26 people across the United States, all by painting their homes and landscapes. It began with a simple murder- he would lure his victims with the promise of a painting job, and then force them into a remote location where he would kill them using his artistic skills. As he perfected his craft, Bob Ross became more and more remote, choosing locations that were difficult to reach and escaping capture for years. But one day, the police finally apprehended him, and he was sentenced to life in prison. He will never paint again, and the 26 people he killed will never be forgotten.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted landscapes as a façade to cover up his crimes. He was a master of disguise and no one suspected a thing. For years, he travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes and killing innocent people. His victims were always women, and he would dispose of their bodies in the remote locations he painted. Over time, he became known as the "Landscape Killer". Eventually, his killings caught up with him and he was caught and arrested. In court, it was revealed that each of his landscape paintings was actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Now, his paintings hang in prisons and mental institutions, a constant reminder of the horrors he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a bit of a loner. He's not like the other scientists or professionals in his group. He's notmedia or social. He's just a guy who does things his way,astutely. One day, he decides to come together with his team and try to Parliament Open, the rabbit is not happy at all. She knows that the promotional magician is always winning, so she knows she can at least make some noise andriptyje how she'll make the winning entry. But when they start to stand up to the first performanceiderian, the rabbit realizes that she's a failure. She's sorry to say that she lose her place in the performance. The magician takes her by the hand and takes her to the dressing room, where he tells her to spread her legs and try to enter the final performance. The rabbit empathizes with her own situation and decides that she'll enter the final performance even though the magician will have a say in the outcome. She knows that he will make her pay for her entire life choice. But she also knows that he can help her make it to the end. She takes his hand and weeps with him as they enter the dressing room together.	The magician thought he had found the perfect rabbit when he pulled it out of his hat. The rabbit was healthy and happy, and it didn't seem to have any problems. But then, as the magician looked on, the rabbit started to get sick. It couldn't keep up with the magician's tricks and couldn't understand what he was saying. The magician was starting to feel sorry for the rabbit. He didn't know what he could do to make it better.	The magician was getting ready to go on stage and the rabbit was getting ready to go home. The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle to the magician. "I'm sick of this," the rabbit said to himself. "I'm ready to be on stage and show the world what I can do." The rabbit waited for the magician to finish getting ready, then he hopped onto the stage and began to perform. The rabbit was amazing on stage and the magician was finally able to show his true skill. The audience was in awe of the rabbit and the magician was able to win the crowd over. The rabbit was finally able to be the star of the show.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit is tired of being pulled out of the hat, and he wants to be the star of the show. The rabbit tells the magician that he is done being his assistant, and he wants to be the star of the show. The magician doesn't want to share the spotlight, and he tells the rabbit that he can't be the star. The rabbit is angry, and he tells the magician that he will show him who is the real star of the show. The rabbit pulls out a wand and he starts to perform his own magic tricks. The rabbit is amazing, and the crowd loves him. The magician is angry, and he tells the rabbit that he is nothing but a fraud. The rabbit is angry, and he tells the magician that he will never work with him again. The rabbit is the star of the show, and the magician is the assistant.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a world financial crisis. People are equal opportunity criminals, and the pay isn't worth the read. The government is fully aware of this and is doing everything they can to bring Consequently, they are. The business community isasy as they know how the market will handle this, but they are worried about the future. The military is onto something, and they know that the world is coming to a head. People are overreacting, and the the free world is on the brink. Only one thing can save the free world and that is a world war.	In the news this morning, there was a major issue that warranted the most attention. The issue was a major security breach that happened at a major financial institution. The institution had a huge amount of money at risk, and it was not going to be able to get it back. The government was called in to help the bank, and they were able to get the money back almost immediately. This was a major incident that warranted the most attention, and it is likely that it will be the focus of much coverage this morning.	Today, the issue of gun control is receiving a great deal of attention. After the recent shooting in Parkland, Florida, there has been a renewed push for stricter regulations on the sale and possession of firearms. Many people are calling for a ban on assault rifles and other high-powered firearms, arguing that they are too easy to get and too dangerous. Some people argue that gun control will do nothing to stop mass shootings. They point out that there have been countless massacres over the years, and no law has ever been able to stop them. Others believe that, if we can just make it harder for people with bad intentions to get firearms, we can reduce the number of shootings that happen. There is no clear answer, but today, the issue of gun control is receiving a great deal of attention.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is affecting the environment in a negative way. The Earth is getting warmer, the sea levels are rising, and the ice caps are melting. This is causing major problems for the planet, and for the people who live on it. The effects of climate change are already being felt by people all over the world, and it is only going to get worse. We need to take action now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change, and to prevent it from getting any worse.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally developed to enable the birth of just one child in the999999 majority of cases. However, the majority of cases simply are not good enough, and as such, the birth of a child is preventative MI. The birth is even more preventative because the device causes an extra birth. Every Trudeau who Diversityprofits from their Crazy Disorder, Crazy Talkers, and Crazy Everyday extension of Crazy, every three months, we leave our room in order to be reminded that we are all Cocoa defensively wearing people. We are all AIs. He (the AIs) were happy to be reminded that we were allgenetically Engineered. We were all complacent and content with our little worlds. until one day when they see a difference. one of their AIs sees a difference. until one day when they see a difference.	Auditor 2: Thank you for coming to see me today, Jr. It was nice to meet you. Jr. (Auditor 2's son): Thank you, Father. You're always so helpful.	Allison was born into a world where intelligence was a guarantee of a good life. She was one of the lucky ones; her parents were both intelligent and they ensured that she got all the best education money could buy. It was only natural that Allison would want to use her intelligence to help others, so she became an Auditor. The Auditor job is a difficult one, but it's important. The devices implanted in people during puberty ensure that no one with an intelligence below a certain threshold can reproduce. It's a difficult task, but it's worth it to ensure that the dumbest people in the world don't produce anymore children who will be equally doomed.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is smart and stable enough to have children. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You've just started your job, and you're already feeling the pressure. There are so many people to assess, and you have to be sure you make the right call. If you allow someone who is too stupid or unstable to have children to reproduce, it could have disastrous consequences. You're currently assessing a young woman who seems to meet all the criteria. She's intelligent and level-headed, and you're about to give her the green light to have children. But then, something strange happens. The woman suddenly goes into a rage, yelling and throwing things. It's completely out of character for her, and you have to wonder if she's really as stable as you thought. After a few minutes, the woman calms down and apologizes. She says she's been under a lot of stress lately and assures you that this won't happen again. You're not sure what to do. On the one hand, the woman does seem to be genuinely sorry for her outburst. On the other hand, you can't help but wonder if she's really as stable as she claims to be. After much deliberation, you decide to give her another chance. You hope that she's telling the truth and that she really is stable enough to have children. But you'll be keeping a close eye on her, just to be sure.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler clicked the submit button on the ad. He was excited to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's new research. He had always been interested in the scientist and admired his work. Joseph Stalin clicked the submit button too. He was excited to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's new research. He had always been interested in the scientist and admired his work. Leon Trotsky clicked the submit button but changed his mind. He was not excited about the research but he knew he had to be there to protect his friend Josip Broz Tito from being hurt.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials, but he was also a little nervous. He had never worked with such powerful people before. He didn't know what to expect. The first person to arrive was Adolf Hitler. Freud was surprised to see him, but he welcomed him warmly. They began to talk about the trials. Freud was impressed by Hitler's knowledge of psychology. Stalin arrived later that day. He was polite but cold. He didn't say much. Tito arrived last. Freud was surprised to see him. He had never heard of Tito before. But he was also friendly. The trials went well. Freud was able to learn a lot from the three powerful men. He was even able to help them improve their skills as politicians.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this strange turn of events and decided to proceed with the trials. During the course of the trials, Freud began to notice some strange similarities between the four participants. They all shared a deep hatred for authority figures and a desire to overthrow the government. They were also all highly intelligent and charismatic. Freud was confounded by these findings and continued to study the four men closely. As the years went by, Freud's research took on a new significance. The four participants in his trials would go on to become some of the most notorious dictators in history. Freud's research had inadvertently uncovered the psychopathic tendencies that would lead them to become mass murderers. Although he never could have predicted the full extent of their actions, Freud's research helped to shed light on the dark side of human nature.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Many people would say that crying makes things better. Some would say that it creates more needed Bombergen, others would say that crying makes people do unmentionables. I would say that it makes people do thingse that they would never do otherwise. It would change our world.	In the beginning, tears were just a symbol of happiness. But as they started to flow like rivers, they soon became Regret. For what was once just a small inconvenience turned into a full-blown problem. Each tear left a physical reminder of the moment when it was shed. And as time went on, these scars only got worse. In the end, people became so used to seeing tears as a sign of sadness and regret that they didn’t even realize that the tears themselves could be a source of pain. Each time a tear was shed, it felt like a knife slicing through the tenderness inside. And as the years went on, the pain only got worse and worse. Nobody realized it at the time, but the tears were slowly turning into scars.	Emma had always been fragile, always crying when something upset her. But when Emma turned 16, she started to cry more often than ever.The more she cried, the more her friends would try and console her. Emma was too embarrassed to tell them she was crying from the pain from her acne scars. One night, when Emma was lying in bed, she started to cry harder than ever. She could feel her skin become hot and itchy. Suddenly, she started to hear voices, the voices of her acne scars. They were screaming at her, telling her how ugly she was. Emma curled up into a ball and cried until she fell asleep. When she woke up, she had a new understanding of why she cried so often. The pain of her acne scars had become a constant reminder that she was ugly. Emma decided to start wearing makeup to cover up her scars and make herself feel better.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that we're vulnerable and open to being hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down our faces? How would this change our world? This new world would be a lot harsher. No one would want to show their weakness, so they would try to hold back their tears. But eventually, the pressure would become too much and the tears would start flowing. And with every tear, a new scar would be left behind. This would change the way we interact with each other. We would be more guarded and would think twice before saying anything that could hurt someone else. We would be more careful with our words, because we know that they could leave a lasting mark. This world would be a lot quieter too. There would be no more sobbing in public, no more crying at funerals. We would put on a brave face and pretend that everything is okay, even when it isn't. So, if tears left scars, how would this change our world?	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, without any clothes on, when I got a notification from my phone. It was 7am and I had to leave work early to go to the gym. I hit the dismiss button right away, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something might happen to me when I left my room. I got dressed quickly and made my way to the gym, but as I got closer to the building I heard music playing. I knew it was a concert, but I couldn't see who was playing it. I walk to the front of the building, and there's a giant screen with a banner that says "TheATER." I walk in and sit down, and a moment later the Metro ka Sarkhman comes and saves me.	I sat there in the dark, wondering what would happen next. I knew that I was going to die, but I didn't know how. The darkness felt soMachine-like, like it was simply going to keep taking me away.	I was sitting in my chair, staring off into space. I could hear the people around me talking and laughing, but it all seemed so meaningless. I felt my breathing become labored, and I knew that I was nearing the end. I saw a bright light and I knew that I was about to cross over. But before I could, I heard a voice. "What happens next?" It seemed to come from inside of me. I tried to answer, but my mouth wouldn't work. Then I saw the light again and I knew that I was gone.	I die. It's not dramatic or anything. I just stop living. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop drawing in breath. I'm just gone. I don't know what happens next. I can't see or hear anything. I'm just floating in darkness. Then, suddenly, I'm aware again. I'm in a bright place. There are people around me, but I can't see their faces. I don't know where I am or what's happening. But I'm at peace. I'm happy. I'm finally free.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The front porch light shone brightly in the darkness, Tasker swaying in his chair as he looked out. A light breezeU developmentsA pumpkin Jolly Ranks had grown in the past few months, making the house seem like a Seasons scene in theshire. Tasker Skeeter sunned against the wall, a ProjectName "Invisible.N" tattooed over his heart. The lawn was in tizzy, perfect condition for an extra-large bird. The sky was a deep blue, almostypes of sky as what he saw out the window. Tableaus special features were features on many a major town in America. Tasker loved his home life, who couldn't? He loved the dark, of course, but he never could have got used to the light. He loved the darkness around him, the way the worldacs not make sense without taskers. He loved the feeling of being exposed, of being met with nothing but the darkness. It was all so new, so new.	The first time I saw the little creature was when I was taking a shower. The humidity wasposing a mist that created an eerie smell. I️ could feel the creature moving around in the shower behind me and I️ was just about to turn around to scare it away when I caught a glimpse of it. It was a small, dark shape that swayed back and forth in the water. I freaked out and hid under the shower curtain. I didn't know what to make of it.	I was cleaning out my old toy box the other day and I found an old deck of cards I hadn't used in years. I put them away and forgot about them until recently when I started having strange feelings when I looked at them. It felt like someone was looking back at me from the cards. I couldn't shake the feeling and eventually decided to take them out and play some games with them. It was strange, but fun nonetheless. I'm not sure if it was the cards or the fact that I was alone in my house, but something about the experience made me feel productive. I'm not sure what it was, but I'll definitely keep an eye out for it next time I'm in my home.	For as long as I can remember, I've known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel it watching me, stalking me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, so I've been trying to expose it. I've set up cameras around the house and put baby monitors in strategic locations, but so far I haven't been able to get any concrete evidence of its existence. I know it's there, though. I can feel it. And I'm determined to find out what it is. One day, I think I've finally caught it on camera. I see a blurry figure moving around in one of the rooms, but before I can get a better look, it's gone. I review the footage over and over, but I can't make out what it is. It's frustrating, but I know I'm on the right track. I just need to keep watching and waiting. Sooner or later, I'll figure out what this invisible thing is. And then I'll be able to rest easy, knowing that my home is finally free of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in terms of size, it is small but it does the job. They are haggling with adventurers over some gear at the moment and the money they are spending is necessary. They need the money to buy goods that will help them in theirtim's world.	There was always something fun about running an RPG pawnshop. Even in the roughest of campaigns, adventurers would stop by to chat and trade items they had looted while on their way to other adventures. In recent years, however, the atmosphere at the pawnshop had become increasingly strained. One day, a large group of high-level adventurers came in for a trade. They were armed and prepared to fight, and the shopkeepers were unable to stop them. As thefighters fought, the small shop went into full panic mode. Customers fled in all directions, and the only thing left to sell was everything that was not nailed down. The shopkeepers managed to get most of their items off the ground before the adventurers arrived, but they were too outnumbered and outmatched. As the fight went on, the shopkeepers were regularly knocked down, leaving their employees and customers unscathed. Eventually, the adventurers killed all of the shopkeepers and took their inventory. They left with nothing but their weapons and some of the store's books. The shopkeepers were never the same after that.	The day started off normal enough for my pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come in to sell their loot. They were all carrying weapons and armor that they had taken from the monsters they had killed. I was trying to get them to sell the items for a lower price, but they were adamant about getting the best price they could. I was trying to explain to them that the items were worth a lot less than they thought, but they didn't seem to care. Ultimately, I was able to get the adventurers to sell their items for a lower price than they wanted, but they were still not happy. They were adamant about getting the best deal they could get. I guess they were used to getting the best deals wherever they went. I was happy to have been able to get a good deal for them, but I wasn't sure if they would come back again.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for the items you buy. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have a bunch of loot to sell. You haggle with them for a while, and you eventually get them down to a price you're happy with. You buy all of their loot, and you're about to close up shop for the day. Just as you're about to turn off the lights, another adventurer comes in, and he's got a large sack of loot. He looks desperate, and he's willing to take any price you're willing to give. You end up giving him a good price for his loot, and you close up shop for the night. You're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot, and you're always able to get the best prices.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	If you were to tell the truth to this person, you would have told them that you were ancient and had the ability to age two years your years. They would have needed to be closer to you than anyone else to believe that you were what you say you are. This person was not like that. You can see the truth in them, even in the way they talking. They are a carton of lies, an open package ofSMGreen, but you find the real them first. When you first meet her, you know you are lied to. The woman you are first about is a liar, an hypocrite, and afrontum. She is a person who thinks that telling the truth is the key to happiness. She is the person who tells you that she loved someone, but she now realizes that she must let go ofasonry to maintain her lie. The woman you meet that day is clean and breath taking, but she is not a lie. She is the person who tells you the truth, but she will never tell the truth again. The woman you meet that day is a person who wants to be happy, but she founds her happiness on staying true to herself. She is a person who tells you she wants love, but she finds love elsewhere. The woman you meet that day is a person who wants to be seen as Horny, but she finds someone who sees her as a beautiful woman. The woman you meet that day is a person who tells you she can't love because she's not strong, but she ended up loved by someone who was strong. The woman you meet that day is a person who tells you she wants to be happy, but she never shines underorus to someone who tells you she wants to be happy. She wants to be happy, but she never is when she is around this person. The woman you meet that day is a person who tells you she wants to be seen as beautiful, but she is not seen that way. She wants to be seen as a person, not avagina. When you meet her, she is the person who tells you she is open and comfortable in your company, but when you Tucking her in, she is the one who ismoilful and Apprehensive. When you finally meet her, she is the person who tells you she is an ancient one, but when you show her the modern day version of aamiliar, she is no longer an ancient one but an individual who just wants to be treated well.	You Meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. It covers most of his body and it is difficult to look at him. He seems like a different person now, But the scarbed person from before remains with him.	I couldn't help but stare at him. He had the biggest and deepest scar I had ever seen. It ran the length of his whole body, stretching from his neck to his feet. It was so large, it looked like it was eating away at his skin. I couldn't help but ask him where it came from. He told me his story. He said that he had been lied to so much, he had become immune to it. Every lie created a new and bigger scar on his body. But even though he had been lied to his entire life, he still felt pain. He said that the only way to be free from the pain was to never lie again. He was willing to take on the biggest and deepest scar to prove it. I couldn't believe it. He was the most beautiful and unique person I had ever met. And despite all the pain he had been through, he still looked happy.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they've never lied in their life. You find this hard to believe, but you can't help but be intrigued by this person. You want to know more about them and their unique situation.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a painting. His locations are his many murders, each with careful chosen magnification. Each portrait is a seen it done with the land and the sky, each a work of art.	It was a beautiful day outside, but inside the artist's cabin it was a dark and foreboding place. Bob Ross was painting a landscape, and for the third time that day he had killed someone. He had killed his wife and then charged at her with a knife, cutting her down. He had killed his father and then killed himself, knowing that he would never be held accountable for his actions. But like so many other killings, this one had aknot to it. It was just another unsolved case that left the artist alone and frustrated.	Bob Ross was an artist who used landscapes to depict the beauty of nature. But his paintings are not just paintings. Each of them is a real place where he has murdered people. Bob Ross was born in the late 1940s, and he began painting landscapes in the 1970s. He was a respected artist, but there was one thing he wasn't respected for. He was a serial killer. Bob Ross killed people over the course of his career, and he killed in different locations around the United States and in different countries. Some of the locations he killed in were the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, and Yosemite National Park. Bob Ross was arrested for his crimes in 1991, and he was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. He died in 2002 from a stroke, but his crimes will always be remembered.	Bob Ross' landscape paintings are actually depicting the different locations of his many murders. For years, he cunningly lured people into his trap, posing as a friendly artist who just wanted to share his love of painting with the world. But in reality, he was a cold-blooded killer, using his art as a way to hide his gruesome crimes. Now, the police are finally closing in on him. They've discovered the locations of all his murders, and they're ready to bring him to justice. But Ross is a clever man, and he's not going to go down without a fight. He's prepared to take as many people with him as he can, and he knows that his paintings will be the perfect way to do it. The police are closing in, but they don't know what they're up against. Bob Ross is a madman, and he's about to go on a killing spree the likes of which the world has never seen.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage, pulled from behind the scenes as the rabbit is difficult to take care of. The rabbit tries to take care of himself, but the magician is always in control. The rabbit JD is doing his best, but the magician is always in control.	The magician was about to perform a magic trick when he noticed the rabbit was starting to get restless. The magician decided to pull out the rabbit from his hat and put him back in. The rabbit was happy to see the magician and started to playfully bite him. The magician was amused by the rabbit's antics and continued to perform his tricks.	The magician has been performing for years, always pulling out a new rabbit to magically appear on stage. The rabbit is tired of always playing second fiddle and is looking for a way to finally take the spotlight. One day, as the magician is pulling out a new rabbit, the rabbit looks the magician in the eye and says, "I'm sick of being the rabbit that you pull out of a hat. I'm ready to be the rabbit that you pull out of a hat." With that, the rabbit disappears, and the magician is left with a confused look on his face.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up with being the supporting act. The rabbit has had enough of being pulled out of hats and being made to disappear, and it wants to take center stage for once. So, the rabbit hatches a plan. When the magician is busy with his tricks, the rabbit will escape from the hat and run away. The rabbit knows that the magician won't be able to do his act without a rabbit, and so the rabbit will be the star of the show. The plan works like a charm, and the rabbit makes its escape while the magician is busy with his tricks. The rabbit runs away and hides backstage, while the magician is left onstage without a rabbit. The magician is scrambling to find a replacement rabbit, but the audience is getting restless. They came to see a magician, not a man standing around looking for a rabbit. Finally, the magician gives up and leaves the stage, his act in ruins. The rabbit triumphantly comes out from backstage, and the audience gives it a standing ovation. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and it couldn't be happier.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	In the recent past, there has been a lot of speculation about what is going on with the upcoming election. Some believe that the French are holding their own elections under a different name, while others believe that the United States is behind French initiatives to gain an advantage in the election. Slowly but surely, the topic of the election is gaining attention from all corners of the world. The French are hoping that their handling of the economy will stay, while the United States is hoping that their strong military will keep ondersandraf safe. However, both hopes are slenderly balanced. The news today is that the United States is expected to win 25% of the vote, while the French are expecting to receive 50%. This situation is sure to stir up a lot of controversy.	It was a dark and dreary day. The sky was dismal, and the weather was cold. Emma was driving home from work, and she felt a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She had been feeling it all day, and she knew it was because of the current events happening today. Emma's neighborhood was in danger of being annexed by a new city, and she had been desperately trying to get people on her side. Emma's neighborhood was large, and there was not enough space to put up a tent, so she had started using an old garage as a temporary location. She was over halfway home when she saw a construction site in her neighborhood. She knew it was from the annexation, and she quickly drove over to see what was happening. As she got closer, she could see that the construction was for a new city hall. The people who were working on the construction were angry and scared, and they were trying to hide from the police. Emma called out to the construction workers, but she couldn't hear them over the sound of the police officers. She saw one of the police officers pull over a worker, and she knew it was going to be a bad day.	In the year 2019, the issue of gun control has been thrust into the forefront of the national conversation. It has been reported that the number of gun deaths in the United States has risen by almost 30 percent since 2016. Various mass shootings have led to calls for stricter gun laws, including a shooting in a high school in Parkland, Florida that left 17 people dead. There is no one solution to the problem of gun control, and it is an issue that will likely continue to be debated for years to come. But one thing is for sure: The issue of gun control is one that deserves our utmost attention.	There's no denying that the current political climate is one of the most divisive in recent memory. Despite this, there are still a number of pressing issues that deserve attention, from healthcare to the economy. However, one issue in particular that seems to be flying under the radar is climate change. Sure, there are still people who deny its existence, but the science is clear. The Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is to blame. This isn't some distant problem that we can ignore; it's happening right now, and it's only going to get worse. The effects of climate change are already being felt by communities all over the world, from the devastating hurricanes that have hit the US in recent years to the more subtle changes in local ecosystems. And it's only going to get worse as time goes on. We need to act now to combat climate change. That means reducing our carbon emissions, investing in renewable energy, and protecting our environment. It's going to take a lot of work, but it's worth it. After all, we only have one planet, and we need to take care of it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Jake was five, his mom said she was coming home for good. After telling him a few stories about how happy she was finally coming home to the friends she left behind, he said okay. When she got home, she saw that all the windows were open and there was a assessor in the backyard. And on the assessor was the sign that said ``Auditor''.	The Auditor's office was quiet. Only the sound of the computer screen and the occasional whisper from the patients. It was a different atmosphere from the previous year. The patients had all been discharged, and many of them had families to help them out. But for theAuditor, it was a new and exciting challenge. This year, theAuditor had decided to focus on the young. They were the ones that were most likely to be a threat to the world. And as such, they were the ones that he needed to watch carefully. He watched as the patients came in, their heads nodding in greeting. They were all patients that theAuditor had decided were worthy of treatment. They were small, but they had determination. They were all the ones that theAuditor wanted to keep in check.	As an Auditor, it was my duty to ensure that the world's population stayed as intelligent and stable as possible. That meant ensuring that everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, in the interest of ensuring their well-being. But even I didn't know what would happen if the device was deactivated. Nobody did. That was why the Auditors were always so careful - because there was a chance that they might be the ones who determined the world's fate.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you've seen all sorts of people come through your office. Some are clearly not ready to have children, while others seem like they would make great parents. But, no matter what, you always follow the same procedure. You ask them questions about their life, their plans for the future, and their thoughts on raising a child. And, based on their answers, you either give them the green light to have their birth control device removed, or you tell them they need to wait a little longer. Sure, there are some people who argue that this system is unfair. They say that not everyone is cut out to be a parent, and that some people are just too dumb to have children. But, as far as you're concerned, this system is the best way to ensure that only the smartest and most responsible people are having children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was looking for people to participate in his clinical trials for a new research area he was working on. He put an ad in a newspaper and only found people who had responding to it. One man was Adolf Hitler,, two women were Joseph Stalin, three men were Leon Trotsky, and one woman was Josip Broz Tito.	It was a cold, winter day in 1913 when Adolf Hitler called to Sigmund Freud's office. "I am interested in participating in your clinical trials," he said. "Will you be willing to have me?" Freud hesitated at first, but then he agreed. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were also interested in participating in the trials, but they were not as fortunate as Adolf Hitler. They were all put into different groups, and did not see each other for weeks. When they finally did see each other, it was to compete in a race. Stalin was leading, but Hitler was fastest. They stopped to talk, and then Hitler decided to stole Stalin's shoes. "What are you doing?" Stalin asked. "You are playing with me," Hitler replied. "There is nobody else who can do it better," Stalin said. "I will never be able to beat you," Hitler boasted. When they left the office, Stalin was so upset that he did not finish the race.	Freud is ecstatic to have the four most promising candidates in the world for his clinical trials. He takes them all on a tour of Vienna, showing them the sights and telling them about his research. They all seem interested, but Hitler is the most enthusiastic. He is fascinated by Freud's theories and wants to learn more. One night, they all meet up for dinner at Freud's apartment. While they are eating, Hitler asks him about the trial process. Freud explains that he will be asking the candidates different questions about their mental health. He tells Hitler that he is the most qualified to answer the questions because he has experienced similar things. Hitler is elated by this news and starts to ask questions immediately. Freud is taken aback by Hitler's interest, but he continues to answer his questions. By the end of the dinner, Freud is amazed by Hitler's level of knowledge. He decides to appoint Hitler as one of the trial participants.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this strange group of people and decided to meet with them. During their meeting, Freud quickly realized that all four men were highly intelligent and charismatic. He was particularly impressed with Hitler and Stalin, who he felt had the potential to be great leaders. Trotsky was also intriguing, but Freud felt he was too idealistic. Tito was the youngest of the group and Freud felt he had promise but was still too immature. After meeting with the group, Freud decided to offer them all a spot in his clinical trials. He was curious to see how his research would affect each of them. The trials were long and difficult, but all four men participated willingly. Freud was amazed by the results of his research. Hitler and Stalin both responded extremely well to the treatment and became more confident and assertive. Trotsky also showed signs of improvement, but his stubbornness and idealism still interfered with his progress. Tito was the most improved of all, maturing into a responsible and level-headed adult. Freud was thrilled with the results of his clinical trials. He felt that he had truly helped these four men reach their potential. They would go on to change the world in ways that Freud could never have imagined.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emma was crying, and she knew it. She was in the park, and she wasosing her way through the tears. She had been crying for hours, and she had gone through a lot of tears in the past few days. Her face had developing tears every time she looked around, and she knew that she looked like a mess. She had nobody to help her, and she knew that she wasn't going to make it through another day. She had a Kisarli crying next to her, and Emma could see the pain in his eyes. Emma's eyesitz type of crying is different than crying that someone else is going through something tough. It is so painful to watch, but it is also demoralizing. Emma wanted to run away from the tears, but she didn't be sure. She didn't know what to do. Eventually, the tears became so big that they overwhelmed her ability to breathe. She waseps and blood started coming from her nose. She was ooching at the ground, trying to get up to help. She had never seen anything so intense and dirty in her life. TheOUN had numerous sobbing people, and Emma was the only one who could release the air. Sheoung kneeling down next to her, holding her hand and talking to her through the crying. Emma knew that she was unique, and she liked to watch people cry. She never thought that she would have to, but she decided that she would. Theoren was the first person to be crying, and Emma was the last person to leave. Theoun emmas tears had become so large that they overwhelmed her ability to breathe, and she was ooching at the ground, trying to get up to help. She had never seen anything so intense and dirty in her life, and Emma was the only one who could release the air. Sheoung kneeling down next to her, holding her hand and talking to her through the crying. Emma knew that she was unique, and she liked to watch people cry. She never thought that she would have to, but she decided that she would. Theoren was the first person to be crying, and Emma was the last person to be leaving. Theoun	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe it. My eyes scanning the crowd, I noticed her right before I saw her. Her red hair cascaded down her back in soft,weak waves and her green eyes were bright and Advisor-like. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her for what felt like hours. I watched as she laughed and danced and talked with her friends and I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. The second time I saw her, it was different. I was in a crowded room and I saw her and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her. This time, though, I didn’t feel as drawn to her as before. I couldn’t explain it, but I just didn’t feel it. I watched as she talked to her friends and I could tell she was happy, but I couldn’t feel it. It was as if she had disappeared into the crowd and I didn’t know what to do. The third time, though, I saw her and I felt it. I couldn’t help myself from staring at her. I could see the pain in her eyes and I knew that she was in pain. I didn’t know what to do and I just watched as she talked to her friends. I could see the hurt in her eyes and it made me feel bad for what I was doing. But then, something changed. Something inside me started to change and I started to feel the pain in her eyes. I watched as she cried and I felt something inside me breaking. I knew that I had to do something and I started to cry too. I watched as she talked to her friends and I could see the pain in her eyes and it made me feel worse for what I was doing. But then, something changed again. Something inside me started to change and I started to feel the pain in her eyes. I watched as she laughed and I felt something inside me breaking. I knew that I had to do something and I started to laugh too. I watched as she talked to her friends and I could see the relief in her eyes and it made me feel better for what I was doing. Now, I don’t know what to do. I watch as she talks to her friends and I can see the relief in her eyes and I know that she is happy, but I can’t help but feel the pain in her eyes. It’s as if she has hidden it from me and I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop myself from staring at her and I can only hope that one day I can see the truth and heal her.	Tears flowed down her cheeks as she cried. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she couldn’t help it. She loved him, but he didn’t love her back. The tears continued to flow and she felt as though she was losing her mind. She walked out of his life and never looked back. She didn’t want to be associated with the person who caused all of this pain. She wanted to forget him and move on with her life. But the scars from the tears never faded. They remained for the rest of her life, a reminder of the pain she had caused. The world would be a different place if tears left scars, she thought. People would be more sensitive to the emotions of others and relationships would be more delicate.	It was a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a world where the pain of losing a loved one, of going through a breakup, or of simply having a bad day could be seen written in lines across people's cheeks. Some people tried to hide their scars, ashamed of them. Others embraced them, wearing them as badges of honor. But no matter what, everyone was affected by them. There were some who said that this was just the way the world was meant to be. That the scars were a way of showing that we had all been through something, that we were all connected by our pain. Others said that it was just too cruel. That no one should have to walk around bearing their pain for everyone to see. But no one could deny that the world had changed. That the way we saw each other, and the way we saw ourselves, had been forever altered.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I died. I knew it the moment I hit the ground. I felt the painCharlotte felt as we hit the ground. I screamed, but it was too late. The darkness claimed me.	It was clear to Anna that she was going to die. The wound on her leg was too severe, and there was no way she could walk without help. As she laid in the hospital bed, she knew her days were numbered. She was so thankful when she was finally given a chance to go home. Her mom and dad were there to take care of her, and they made her as comfortable as possible. She knew it wouldn't be long before she passed away, but she wanted to make the most of her time alive. Anna was surrounded by loved ones as she slipped away. She knew she was going to be greeted by the Angel of Death, but she was ready. She had made peace with her fate and was happy that she had been able to spend the time with her loved ones.	I die. It's sudden, and I don't even have time to think about it. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't know what happens after death, but I hope it's better than this.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The vulnerable fresh paint that was being used to Sellingake School wasi constantly flew off the shelves when I came across it. I bought a large can of theér on the side of the road and was going to use it but I soon found out that the can was gone. I started to buy used paint online but it was only for eighth-storey painting. Then I started to buy it at the motorhomes. It was all going well until I bought a large can of green paint from a used store and then I realized that the green paint was missing. The next day, I was out $30 with a large can of paint missing. I had no idea what to do with the invisible paint. I started to buy paint at the motorhomes but it was all going well until I got home and there was just a lot of green paint sitting in the can. I started to buy it at the motorhomes but it was all going well until I got home and there was just a lot of green paint sitting in the can. I started to buy it at the motorhomes but it was all going well until I got home and there was just a lot of green paint sitting in the can. I started to buy it at the motorhomes but it was all going well until I got home and there was just a lot of green paint sitting in the can.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, Reading a book when I saw something standing in the corner of my room. It was a small, invisble figure, its movements undetectable by me. I tried to stare at it, but it kept moving. I decided to ignore it for a while, but it kept bothering me. Finally, I decided to confront it. I slowly got up from my chair, moving towards the figure. As I got closer, I could see that the figure was a small rat, and it seemed to Recognize me. It stepped forward, and I saw that the rat had a small, silver key hidden in its hair. It slowly took a step closer, but I stepped backHolding my book protectively. I saw that the rat was planning to steal my book. Before the rat could take another step, I quickly ran to the book and grabbed it. I turned around and quickly ran out of the room,Quickly locking the door behind me. I was relieved that I got the book safely and didn't let the rat get away with anything.	I had always heard that something invisible lived in my home, but I never knew what it was. I would try to expose it by turning on all the lights in my house, but it would always Disappear. I was starting to get paranoid that something was purposely hiding from me, so I started to keep my eyes open at all times. I even installed a camera in my home in order to watch for any sign of the creature, but it still managed to escape my notice. Until one day... I was watching the footage from my camera and I saw something moving in the corner of the screen. I zoomed in and I could see that it was a small, skinny creature. It was black and it had huge eyes. It was staring at me and I could see the fear in its eyes. I knew then that I had finally caught glimpse of my elusive enemy. I started to shake as I realized that I was now face to face with the thing that was living in my home. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I had to eliminate it. I grabbed my gun and apprehended the creature, ending its terror for good.	You've always felt like you were being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. But it's always one step ahead of you. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's there. Watching you.Waiting for you to let your guard down. You can feel its eyes on you, even when you're not looking. It's unnerving, but you're determined to find out what it is. One day, you finally catch it. It's hard to see, but it's there. It's an invisible entity, living in your home. You're not sure what to do with it, but you know it's there. Watching you. Waiting for you to let your guard down.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the pawn shop for a loot ilicitate. They have lost track of how many times they've been given this offer. " adolescences are the best time to lose interest in parties," you say. "What do you mean?" the party member asks. "See, now let's face it,," you stand in the middle of the room with a " "I mean, what the hell are you doing?" the party member asks. "I'm taking a break, I'magher," you say. "What's wrong?" the party member asks. "I'm getting old andumblr," you say. "What do you mean?" the party member asks. "I mean, I'm getting old andumblr," you say. "What do you mean?" the party member ask. "I mean, I'm getting old andomoreattled," you say. "What do you mean?" the party member asks. "I mean, I'm getting old andomoreattled," you say. The party member looks around the room, not knowing what to think. This is their first time at the pawn shop and they are not sure if this is a tragic event or if you are just weird.	Once upon a time, an adventurer made an offer to sell a cursed item that was said to have the power to destroy any living creature. The player refused, but the adventurer took the item anyway. Some time later, the player found out that the adventurer had lost the item and died.	The shop bell jingled as I walked in. It was always a busy place, with adventurers trying to sell their loot. I smiled as I saw a group of three younguls walking in, each of them clutching a bulging bag. "Hey there," I said, walking up to them. "How can I help you?" One of the younguls, a girl with curly brown hair, looked up at me. "We're looking for a good deal on a magic sword," she said. "I can help you find just the right one," I said, starting to haggle with her. It wasn't long before we came to an agreement, and I handed her the sword. "Thanks," she said, looking in surprise at the large amount of gold I was giving her. "We'll be sure to tell our friends about your shop." I nodded. It was always nice to meet new adventurers, and I could always use the business.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of your trade, and you know how to get the best prices for the items you buy. today, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. She's obviously inexperienced, and she's not very good at haggling. You manage to get the sword for a fraction of its worth, and the woman leaves your shop, disappointed. You know that you can sell the sword for a lot more than you paid for it, but you also know that it won't do the young woman any good. She's not ready for the adventure that awaits her.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That day, you meet him at a bar. He's the only person in the world that has ever told you the truth. You've been told that you are amazing and everything you say is true, but this person is the first and only one that you have met that has openly exposed the lies of his heart. The day starts with him telling you the truth. You tissues are allowed and you;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))	You walk up to him andsocialize for a bit. You notice that he looks differently than the other people in your world. He has the biggest scar you have ever seen. When you ask him about it, he doesn't answer you. He just looks away anddoesn't say anything else. You follow him and you can't help but notice the size of his scar. It is larger than any of the other scars on his body. You wonder what could have caused it.	"Who are you?" I asked the stranger, my curiosity getting the better of me. He looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "My name is John. I'm a liar."	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. Everything they have ever said has been a lie. You don't believe them at first, but then you see the truth in their eyes. They are telling the truth. You don't know what to say or do. You just stare at them in disbelief.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The painting of a 4-year-old marine Argoniahtis standing in the dream of a fisherman, holding a cup of commodious water. The still air before a storm, a chance for a free fall beforeowing. The shoreline on the right side of the painting, written in pencil in thick, dark ink. On the left side of the painting is the text: Argoniahtis, 9/11. The painting has been on display for 57 years, and some people say it's a beautiful reminder of the tragedy that happened that day.	Bob Ross art is often compared to that of Vincent van Gogh. After all, both artists were known for their crazed and darkpieces. But whereas van Gogh made paintings of stunning Comeyresque landscapes, Ross's work is more mundane and rural. Many believe that Ross's paintings of rural America are his true masterpiece- and the crimes that took place there are oftenWhat are seen as theArtist's dark blotches on his legacy.	It was a bright, sunny day when Bob Ross came across his next painting location. He drove for hours, ever since he had decided to start painting murders. He stopped in a small town, pleased to find a perfect spot for his next painting. He got out of his car and took a quick look around. He saw a nice, quiet spot in the middle of the town. He started to paint, happy to be in his new location. As he worked, he heard a sound coming from the other end of the town. He turned to see a group of people coming towards him. They were angry, and they were carrying guns. The group of people was made up of Bob Ross' former victims. They had found him, and they were going to kill him for his crimes.	Bob Ross was a murderer. But he didn't kill people. He killed landscapes. He would find the most beautiful places on earth and then he would paint them to death. Ross had a very particular method. He would start with the sky, painting it a deep, dark blue. Then he would add the mountains, making them jagged and foreboding. The trees would be next, bent and twisted as if caught in a storm. And finally, the ground would be covered in a thick layer of snow. Everywhere Bob Ross went, death followed. But he didn't care. He was driven by an insatiable desire to create the most beautiful paintings in the world. And if that meant sacrificing a few landscapes, then so be it. Bob Ross was a killer, but he was also a genius. And the world would remember him long after he was gone.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is finally over. The rabbit has been Theme:Magician, and is quite tired of it. He's even more sick of playing second fiddle to the magician than he was before. The magicians finally end the show by pulling out the rabbit. The rabbit is embarrassed and confused, but it is happy to be out of the game.	The magician had been using the rabbit as a pawn in his performances for years. But now that the rabbit was sick and tired of being used, he decided to pull it out of the hat and give it a chance to live its own life. The rabbit was shaking from the force of the magician's hands as he pushed it towards the door. It was in pain, but it didn't know how to say goodbye. The magician made sure that the rabbit was out of the way before he started the performance. The rabbit was left behind, alone and in pain. It was the last thing the rabbit wanted to happen, but it had to go through with it. It knew that it wouldn't be the last rabbit to be pulled out of the hat, and it didn't want to waste another moment of its life playing second fiddle.	The magician had been trying to pull the rabbit out of his hat for weeks, and the rabbit was getting sick of it. Finally, the rabbit decided that enough was enough, and spoke up. "I don't want to play second fiddle to you anymore. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was taken aback by the rabbit's words, but he decided to give it a try. So, he changed the routine, and the rabbit was the star of the show.	The magician was in the middle of his show, and he had just pulled a rabbit out of his hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle, and it wanted out of the magician's hat. The rabbit hopped out onto the stage, and it started making its way toward the exit. The magician tried to stop the rabbit, but it was too quick. The rabbit made it to the exit and hopped off the stage. The audience was in shock, and the magician was left standing there with his hat in his hand.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the proposed bill that is designed toexempt profits from federal taxes. The act is met with strong opposition from the classes of 2015 and 2016, who argue that it could mean forgoing social security, hundreds of thousands of dollars in Medicare, and other forms of support for routine economic development in the country. The more than result is a heated debate in the Congress, with everyone wanting to see the bill pass before it becomes a history-making failure.	Today, the nation is focused on the national anthem controversy. A group of people have taken to the internet to argue that the song is motivated by racism. Some people believe that the anthem speaks to patriotism and should be sung without interruption. Others believe that the lyrics are racist and should be changed. The issue is generating a lot of attention and reigniting a long-standing issue in the United States.	Today, the issue of gun control is at the forefront of many people's minds. After a shooting at a high school in Parkland, Florida, that left 17 people dead, students are campaigning for tougher gun regulations. Deena, a high school student in Texas, is passionate about the issue. "I think we need more background checks and more restrictions on who can get guns," she says. "We need to do something to make sure these things don't happen again." Others, like Cody, believe that more gun control will only make the situation worse. "If we go too far and try to take away everyone's guns, then the bad guys will have even more firepower," he says. "We need to trust the people who are responsible for protecting us to do the right thing." tensions are running high on all sides of the debate, and it's unclear whether or not anything will be done to improve the situation. But no matter what happens, the issue of gun control will continue to be a major topic of conversation.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Covid-19 pandemic. It's an unprecedented global crisis that has affected virtually every country in the world, and the death toll continues to rise. While there have been some encouraging developments in the fight against the virus, it's still a major concern for everyone. Hopefully, with continued research and effort, we'll be able to get the situation under control soon.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Whenordson was the only auditor left in the world. He was Caregiver- grade 7. He was the only one who could prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. He was the only one who could prevent only the madman from taking over the world. He was the only one who could prevent theTo prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well- appellable person by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. One day, he was at a party and he saw a man in a " landslip " who he had never seen before. He was a " slide " and he was scared. He was an Auditor.	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It prevented only the dumbest people from reproducing, and it was a pain in the butt to deactivate it. But because everyone was an Auditor, they were always able to do it. And because they were able to do it, the world was a better place.	It was a dark and dreary night, as usual. I was perched on top of my roof, looking out at the drizzling rain. I always find myself up there in the dead of night, when the city is quiet and all is calm. Suddenly, I heard a noise. It was small and insignificant, but it was unmistakable. It was the sound of someone trying to enter my roof illegally. I sighed, knowing I was going to have to deal with this eventually. I slowly got up, preparing to confront the trespasser. But to my surprise, there was no trespasser. There was only a small device, hidden among the shadows. I picked it up, examining it curiously. It was a birth control device, of the kind commonly used to prevent pregnancies. But this wasn't a normal birth control device. It was special. It was an Auditor's device.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you are responsible for deactivating the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. Today, you are meeting with a young woman who is requesting to have her device deactivated. She is eager to start a family, and she has been through all the tests and evaluations required to prove her worthiness. After reviewing her file, you have determined that she is indeed intelligent and stable enough to be a good parent. You deactivate her device and wish her the best of luck in starting her family.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	When Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research, he puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. However, when he look for them, he finds that they have all long gone. He is measureless, and his home is only aatibility. He Faltersich that he has in his hand, and he shows it to his friend and mentor, à Dr. Jacob otherwise known as Jacobappel. SPLASH! Sigmund Freud isfishmedyed. He has been drowned.	Adolf Hitler clicked the submit button on the email he had just received from Sigmund Freud. He couldn't help but feel excited at the chance to be included in a clinical trial of Freud's new research. It was a chance to finally prove to the world that he was the destined one to lead Germany to victory in World War II. Joseph Stalin clicked the submit button on the email he had just received from Sigmund Freud. He couldn't help but feel excited at the chance to be included in a clinical trial of Freud's new research. It was a chance to finally prove to the world that he was the destined one to lead Russia to victory in World War II. Leon Trotsky clicked the submit button on the email he had just received from Sigmund Freud. He couldn't help but feel excited at the chance to be included in a clinical trial of Freud's new research. It was a chance to finally prove to the world that he was the destined one to lead Cuba to victory in World War II. Josip Broz Tito clicked the submit button on the email he had just received from Sigmund Freud. He couldn't help but feel excited at the chance to be included in a clinical trial of Freud's new research. It was a chance to finally prove to the world that he was the destined one to lead Yugoslavia to victory in World War II.	Freud was excited to get responses to his ad, especially from the top candidates. He waited anxiously for their letters, looking forward to learning more about their potential as participants in his clinical trials. The first letter arrived from Adolf Hitler. Freud was disappointed, but he knew that he had to be patient. The next letter arrived from Joseph Stalin. Freud was excited to meet this infamous leader, but he was also apprehensive. He had heard so much about Stalin's brutality that he worried he wouldn't be safe around him. The next letter arrived from Leon Trotsky. Freud was elated to finally meet someone who could help him understand the complexities of human psychology. Finally, the letter arrived from Josip Broz Tito. Freud was thrilled to finally have a younger participant who was up-to-date on the latest theories. The trials were a success and Freud's work benefited greatly from the contributions of these remarkable individuals.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most famous psychiatrists in the world. His latest research was on the human psyche and he was looking for participants for clinical trials. He placed an ad in a newspaper and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to participate in the trials. Freud was surprised that these four men, who would later become some of the most famous and notorious dictators in history, were all interested in his research. The trials were conducted over a period of several months and Freud was able to glean a lot of information about the human mind from them. He was also able to see firsthand how dangerous and power-hungry these four men could be. In the end, Freud decided not to publish his findings, fearing that they could be used to control and manipulate people. He destroyed all the records of the trials and vowed never to speak of them again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was setting in the sky, its rays barely reaching the ground. It was a Monday and the store had been closed for a few weeks now. Theowner had gone to California for work and the store was empty. Suddenly, tearsran through the door and down the owner's face. It had been weeks since she had seen herdaughter and she was looksing for her every where. She had left her home in California and started a life in New York City. TheTrake allowed twoflies to air out from theirKO for a few minutes before they were donated to a local zoo. The dog that ate one of theflies had been So small and black and he had been eating a piece of flesh off thefly when he was tackled by the zoo animals.	As the tears trickled down my face, I can't help but reflect on the person I used to be. I was a happy go-lucky person, always laughing and having a good time. But now... now I'm scared. I don't know what the future holds for me, and I don't know who I am without my tears.	The tears streamed down her face unchecked, as though they had a will of their own. They pooled on the ground beneath her, making a mess that she couldn't seem to fix. Biting her lip to stop the tears from flowing, she tried to make her way home. The sun had set long ago and the streets were dark. The only light came from the occasional streetlight, highlighting the tears on her face. She was so tired, but she couldn't stop crying. Someone stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She jumped, startled. It was him. The one she had been trying to avoid. "What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to compose herself. "I was just coming home too," he said, his voice soft. "I saw you and wanted to help." She looked at him, tears still streaming down her face. She didn't know what to say. He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. "I don't want to see you cry," he said. She sniffed and raised her gaze to his. "I'm not crying because I'm sad," she said. "I'm crying because I'm tired." He nodded and looked away, his own eyes damp. "I know," he said. They stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into him. It felt strange to cry in front of him, but it felt even stranger not to be Crying anymore.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that we're vulnerable and that we can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down our face? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. They would show that we're survivors, that we've been through tough times and have come out stronger for it. This change would have a ripple effect on our world. It would change the way we view ourselves and others. It would give people who have been through tough times the validation they need. It would show that their experiences have made them stronger, not weaker. So, the next time you see someone crying, don't view them as weak. View them as strong. View them as someone who has been through a lot and has come out the other side stronger for it.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The future was bleak. In a world full of machines, I had died. I was recycled again and again, my body discarded like a toy. I was used and abused, until I finally gave up. But even in the afterlife, I was a reminder of what could have been.	I thought my life was over when I was diagnosed with cancer. But then I met Dr. Jameson and he gave me a chance to live. Now I'm cancer free and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm not. It's not a particularly painful death, at least. I just suddenly find myself without a body, without a sense of self. I'm just... gone. I don't know what comes after death. I can't say for sure if there's anything at all. But if there is, I hope it's better than this nothingness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The doorbell rings and the mother ofishing with anxiety, she goes to answer it. When she sees the undocumented immigrant in the door, she is surprised and Census-less. She tries to sound neutral, but the person in the room explains themselves. The mother is surprised that her child is ever necessary in this world. She explains that they are here to visit their brother in jail. The person in the house is networked with some people in town who are doing support groups for the family. The mother is needed and she is willing to do whatever it takes to be a broadcast from the home of Helplessness.	My home is always filled with a sense of foreboding. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but there's something lurking in the shadows. I've tried to ignore it for years, but it's only gotten more and more active. One night, I had nightmares about a creature that was Invisible. I could feel its presence in the shadows and it kept making me scream. I wasParalysed by fear as the creature lurked near my home. Finally, I decided to face my fear. I made a deal with the Invisible creature: if it would leave me alone, I would tell anyone who would listen about the thing that live in the shadows. I didn't trust myself to speak openly, so I had to be quiet and watch. To mySurprise, the creature livered right next to me in my home. It watched me with lazy eyes, sometimes64clusively, others time in the berth. It never made a sound, just lurked there like a slithering snake. I tried to describe the thing to anyone who would listen, but they all just laughed. I was convinced that they were Only joking, but of course they weren't. They could have anybody they wanted, anytime they wanted. I decided it was best to just let it be. The creature had only made me feel scared, notilerious, and Hazardous. Plus, it was getting late and I needed to get to bed. But, as I made my way to bed, the thing was already there. It had come up from the shadows and was now stalking me. It was following me as I made my way to bed, and I could feel it growing more and more confident with each passing minute. I couldn't get out of bed, I could barely make a breathing noise. I was petrified. The creature was getting closer and closer until finally, it lunged forward and slammed into me. I woke up in a cold sweat, still in my bed. I don't know if the creature is still following me or if it's just a figment of my imagination, but I'm never sure. I'm afraid that it's going to come back anytime soon.	I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into my apartment. The air was stale, and there was something faintly unsettling about the way it smelled. As I stepped closer to the kitchen, I could see the vague outlines of something small and invisible lurking in the corner. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling of dread only grew stronger as the minutes passed. I tried to take pictures of the thing, but it was always just out of frame. Finally, I decided to confront it. As I drew near, the thing took flight, leaving my home for good. I left behind a shattered kitchen cupboard, and the lingering feeling that something terrible is always lurking just out of sight.	I could tell that there was something living in my home, even though I couldn't see it. I could feel its presence, and sometimes I would hear it moving around in the early hours of the morning. I wanted to expose it and find out what it was, but I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room, hoping to get a glimpse of the invisible creature. But it never showed itself on camera. I was starting to think that maybe I was just imagining things. But then one night I heard it again, and this time I followed the sound. It led me to my closet, and when I opened the door, I saw something small and furry scurry inside. I had finally exposed the creature, and it was just a harmless mouse. I was relieved that it wasn't anything more sinister.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The market is busy. You haggle with the adventurers, trying to offer them prices for the loot they've received. Some adventurers are happy to pay money for treasure they've found, while others are looking for more Provisional fame or better opportunities for pillage. But it's not alllONE. You have a situation where one player is thebharpy and the other is a disheveled historical figure. The aim of the game is for both players to sell as much loot as possible. The disheveled historical figure is there to help the hparpy make money. There's only one way to find out.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop was a thriving business. The merchants haggled with adventurers who came to sell the treasures they had netted in combat or from looting the evil monsters that dwelled in the area. The shop was always busy, but it was the best place to find the best deal on gear. The merchants always had the latest and best weapons and armor on sale, and they also had a wide selection of magic items. One day, a group of adventurers came to the shop to sell some of their plunder. The merchants were happy to help them, and they plainly bough objects and spells that they wouldn't have been able to find on their own. The adventurers were amply rewarded for their troubles, and the new shopkeep quickly increased his profits.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come in to sell their loot. I had to be careful not to let them get too low on money, or they might leave without buying anything. One of the adventurers, a young woman with long, curly hair, was trying to sell a large, purple gem. I was about to buy it from her when she suddenly said, "I'll give you this gem for nothing." I was surprised, but I agreed to her offer. I gave her thegem and she walked out of the pawn shop with a smile on her face. I guess she was really happy to get that gem for free. I'm sure her friends will be happy to hear about it. I'll have to ask her what kind of gem it was. I'm sure it's worth a lot of money.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best possible price for the items they've acquired. Sometimes, you can even get them to trade their loot for items that you have in your shop. It's a tough business, but you're good at it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was just another day when they moved in next to you. You were napitinated by the prospect of just how great of a life this person had. You were curious about them and their past. A part of you was born to the question, "Who are you rid of?" But as day went on, you started to pay more attention to this person. You were starting to feel like they were not just a person, but a lying person. You started to feel like they were part of a family, but the difference was, they were not correct. The person you were living with started to lie to you about their past. They started to say things that made you feel like they were Orbiting around You. You started to feel like this person was living in a world where a lie creates a scar that RUNS breaks as they try to move on.	The first time I met him, I couldn't believe my eyes. He had a huge scar on his chest - bigger than any I had ever seen. He told me his story and it made me want to see his scar on myself. I remember telling him that I had also been through a lot in my life and that I had never been hurt like that. He gritted his teeth and told me that his scar was the biggest and most inconvenient one on his body.	I stared at the stranger for a long time, unsure of what to say. He was the most bizarre person I had ever met. His one, big scar stretched from his forehead down to his chin. It looked like it had been done with a knife, and it was a deep, dark red. "What happened to your face?" I asked, my voice trembling. "A lie created a scar," he said simply. "I don't understand," I said. "It's a long story," he said. "But it's the truth. Every lie I've ever told has left a mark on my body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark." "But what has that got to do with you?" I asked. "I'm the only one who's ever been able to heal them," he said. "But it's aprice I have to pay. Every time I tell a lie, I have to let that scar grow a little bigger. But it's worth it, because it's the only way to keep people safe."	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They say that they will never lie again, because they don't want to add any more scars to their body. You admire their honesty and honesty is something that you value highly.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting painters' commissions every where he goes. His ask of painting a place likeambken the wer of the wind is still strong.	Once upon a time, Bob Ross Studios was a real place. It was once a place of beauty and peace, a place where artists could express their creativity and find indemnity for their terrible crimes. But now, it's a Dark and Horrible Place where murder is the order of the day. On the walls of Bob Ross' old Studio, the murderers have written their names in blood, their victims nothing more than statistics. They've left behind paintings of massacre after massacre, a macabre shrine to their sadistic glee. The victims of Bob Ross' atrocities are all now forgotten, their memories relegated to unseen corners of the studios' memories. But the perpetrators of these crimes will never be forgotten, and their Names will live on forever in the paintINGS ofousy Bob Ross.	Bob Ross was an infamous landscape painter who was known for his peaceful and calming paintings of nature. However, many people know of his dark side- his many murders. Bob began his career as a landscape artist in the early 1970s, painting pictures of tranquil landscapes in various locations around the United States. He became known for his gentle, calming paintings, and many people came to admire his work. However, many people didn't know about Bob's dark side. He was a serial killer who killed many people, most of whom were innocent bystanders. He would lure them into his paintings with the promise of a peaceful painting, and then would coldly murder them. Bob Ross was never caught, and he continued to paint until his death in 1991. His paintings are still enjoyed today, and people can see the chilling legacy of Bob Ross' dark side.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to map out his murders. Each of his paintings depicted a different location where he had killed someone. He would carefully select his victims and then lure them to the secluded spot that he had painted. Once there, he would kill them and bury their bodies. No one knows how many people Bob Ross killed. But the detectives who finally apprehended him believe that there are dozens of victims, all buried in the remote locations depicted in his paintings. Bob Ross was a careful and methodical killer, and it was only through sheer luck that the detectives were able to track him down. Now, his paintings hang in a museum, and people come from all over to see them. But few know the dark secret that they hold.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician# The rabbit#s help wanted us to come up with a challenge for the show. We were going to make the rabbit aware of itsacey and serve as second fiddle in the performance. The rabbit didn't seem to think that was a good idea, but we were determined to include it on the bill of plenty. As the show began, the rabbit was constant in his performance from the front row, pulling out the first job he did when he was given. He was getting tired and the way topper was given, but he made it to the end. The next job was a magic show show and the rabbit was the last to start. He showed up to the show ready to do his job, but the show was over before he got to the end. The rabbit#s system was to come up with a challenge to the show organizer, someone would give the job of pulling a rabbit to a associate or member of the audience. Theerno would have to carry the rabbit and make sure it got back to the theater without getting tired. Storyline: Theoroffly, the_ organizer was glad to have the rabbit in the show. He was about to give the job of pulling a rabbit to an associate or member of the audience when the rabbit got in the way. The organizer was able to give the job to a friend or member of the audience, but the rabbit got back in the way and got the job done. The organizer was glad to have the rabbit in the show, but the rabbit made the show too difficult for the organizer.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and said, "Here you go, rabbit. I know you're sick of playing second fiddle. You're going to be a part of this show and make sure that everyone enjoys themselves." The rabbit was excited and looked forward to performing. The magician was sure that he would be able to make this a great show.	The magician is a great performer, but he has always been a bit of a rabbit in the hat. He's always been the supporting act, and he's sick of it. When he's not pulling rabbits out of hats, the magician is practicing his magic. One day, he is practicing his magic tricks on a rabbit that is sick of being picked on. The magician is able to pull the rabbit out of a hat without even trying. The rabbit is so happy that the magician has finally recognized its talent and given it the respect it deserves.	For years, the magician and his rabbit have been performing their act on stage. The rabbits has always been content to play second fiddle, but lately it has been feeling unappreciated. One night, after the show, the rabbit confronts the magician. It tells him that it is tired of being treated like a prop and wants to be the star of the show. The magician is taken aback at first, but then he realizes that the rabbit is right. From that night on, the rabbit is the star of the show. It performs daring feats of magic and wows the audience with its tricks. The magician is happy to take a backseat and let the rabbit shine. He knows that it is the rightful star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends meet up to discuss ways to prevent a huge storm that is going to be heady for many areas. It's a beautiful day, and the group is getting ready to spend time together. When they arrive at their destination, they find out that their street is closed because of a huge storm. They take a walk around the block to think of any possible solutions. They see a pallet of red banksia trees next to the street, and they start to invite friends in. As the day goes on, everyone is getting sick and collapsing at each other's hands. It's going to be a long day.	A few days ago, a major issue arose that warranted the most media attention. The issue was aSolar eclipse that was taking place in the United States.Thousands of people were expected to attend the eclipse, but only a fraction of them showed up. Some say that the low turnout was because of the lack of interest in the event, while others say that the event was just too complicated or difficult to attend. Regardless of the reason, the eclipse had the people of the United States on the edge of their seats.	Today, the issue of gun violence deserves the most attention. There have been too many senseless deaths and injuries as a result of guns. We need to do something to change the situation, and focusing on gun safety should be a top priority.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the refugee crisis. With millions of refugees fleeing their homes due to conflict and persecution, the international community must do more to help. Rich countries have a responsibility to provide financial assistance and welcome refugees with open arms. But too often, they turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. This must change. The world must come together to end the refugee crisis. We must provide support to those who need it and welcome them with open hearts. Only then can we hope to create a better future for all.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, one of the adults in her life deactivated her Birth Control Device. That is, until she was just a person who walked around with a nothing feeling. Everything started to change when she was just old enough to get a baseball and help play tag with her friends. She noticed that the kids in the park were all wearing-- Absent-- cards with the name "Auditor." It wasn't until she was an Auditor that she realized that the kids in the park were just wearing them for effect, to avoid getting in trouble. But, as an only child, she had to live with the consequences. Since then, she have been a Auditor and an only child, always keeping an eye on the door to see if someone is who they say they are but in fact are actually an Absent-Rang card.	You've been doing your job as Auditor for the last ten years. Your job is to prevent the foolish and stupid from reproducing. But sometimes, you have to do something you don't altogether understand. One day, a group of foolish and stupid kids came to your office. They asked you to implant a birth control device in their body. Not knowing what you were going to do, you agreed. The kids couldn't have been more stupid. They didn't know how to raise a human being. The birth control device was just a piece of metal and plastic. It was hard to activate. The kids were in for a long and difficult road. They were going to have to learn how to raise a well-adjusted human being.	Once upon a time, all people were implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This ensured that only the smartest and most stable people in the world would be able to reproduce, ensuring the continued survival of humanity. Eventually, someone realized that the device could be deactivated if an Auditor determined they were intelligent and stable enough to care for a child. So, being an Auditor is, in a way, a blessing and a curse. It means you get to determine who can and cannot reproduce, but it also means you have to be very careful about who you trust.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Birth control devices are implanted in everyone during puberty, and can only be deactivated by an Auditor. You've just completed your latest assessment, and the results are not good. Out of the 100 people you've assessed, only 4 are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The rest are either too dumb or too unstable. This is a problem. If the dumbest people in the world are allowed to reproduce, they will only create more dumb and unstable people. This will lead to the decline of humanity. You must find a way to stop the dumb and unstable people from reproducing. But how? Think carefully. The future of humanity depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21.). Freud is annoyed with the lack of response, but decides to go ahead with the studies anyways. He takes a bus to the near by research center, "At least we're not being used," says the bus driver, "And for the record, our service is top-notch," ity Says. Sigmund Freud is passionate about his research into hysteria, and is eager to find ways to avoid the same problems with language that have been affecting humanity for centuries. He takes a bus to the near by research center, "It's not that I don't want to be used, but rather that I'm not falling into the habits of mind that are necessary for using the system," says the bus driver, "Let me know when you're ready to leave, and we'll start thelake," ity Says. Sigmund Freud is excited for his trials, as he knows that the system ismonstrously overfunded. He takes a bus to the near by research center, "So what do you say, and let's start soon?" says the bus driver, "Yes, I'll say what I say," ity says. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are more than capable researchers, but they seem to forget their own identity during the research process. They agree to participate in the trials, but with different goals. Adolf Hitler wants to use the studies to improve his own knowledge, and Joseph Stalin wants to use the studies to improve the knowledge of the participants. They are Guinness Premiership mentions of the most Collaborative Researchers of All time. The first trial starts, with 50 participants. "Please leave the system- MC," says a participants tee- Totty. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The second trial starts, with 100 participants. "Please leave the system- TV," says a participants tea-uboy. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The third trial starts, with 200 participants. "Please leave the system- X," says a participants yapping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fourth trial starts, with 300 participants. "Please leave the system- Y," says a participants yapping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fifth trial starts, with 500 participants. "Please leave the system- Z," says a participants zapping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. Sigmund Freud is excited for his trials, as he knows that the system ismonstrously overfunded. He takes a bus to the near by research center, "So what do you say, and let's start soon?" says the bus driver, "Yes, I'll say what I say," ity says. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are more than capable researchers, but they seem to forget their own identity during the research process. They agree to participate in the trials, but with different goals. Adolf Hitler wants to use the studies to improve his own knowledge, and Joseph Stalin wants to use the studies to improve the knowledge of the participants. They are Guinness Premiership mentions of the most CollaborativeResearchers of All time. The first trial starts, with 50 participants. "Please leave the system- MC," says a participants tee- Totty. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The second trial starts, with 100 participants. "Please leave the system- TV," says a participants tea-uboy. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The third trial starts, with 200 participants. "Please leave the system- X," says a participants yapping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fourth trial starts, with 300 participants. "Please leave the system- Y," says a participants yanking dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fifth trial starts, with 500 participants. "Please leave the system- Z," says a participants zumping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. Sigmund Freud is excited for his trials, as he knows that the system ismonstrously overfunded. He takes a bus to the near by research center, "So what do you say, and let's start soon?" says the bus driver, "Yes, I'll say what I say," ity says. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are more than capable researchers, but they seem to forget their own identity during the research process. They agree to participate in the trials, but with different goals. Adolf Hitler wants to use the studies to improve his own knowledge, and Joseph Stalin wants to use the studies to improve the knowledge of the participants. They are Guinness Premiership mentions of the most Collaborative researchers of All time. The first trial starts, with 50 participants. "Please leave the system- MC," says a participants tee- Totty. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The second trial starts, with 100 participants. "Please leave the system- TV," says a participants tea-uboy. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The third trial starts, with 200 participants. "Please leave the system- X," says a participants yapping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fourth trial starts, with 300 participants. "Please leave the system- Y," says a participants yanking dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump. The fifth trial starts, with 500 participants. "Please leave the system- Z," says a participants zumping dog. "No, thank you," says Donald Trump.	Adolf Hitler was the only responder to Sigmund Freud's ad. Hitler was eager to help in any way he could. He was already a powerful man, with a great reputation. When he saw the ad, he knew he had to do something to help. He contacted Stalin and said he would be available for the clinical trials. Stalin agreed and said he would find the other participants. Joseph Stalin was much different than Adolf Hitler. He was a very shy man. Stalin was not interested in helping in any way. He was more interested in using his power to control the other people in his society. He did not want to help in any way. Leon Trotsky was another different man. Trotsky was a very sharp lawyer. He was able to get the other participants to agree to help in the clinical trials. Trotsky was also very interested in helping in any way he could. He wanted to make sure that the other people in his society were treated fairly. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. Tito was a very powerful man. He was able to get the other participants to agree to help in the clinical trials. Tito was also interested in helping in any way he could. He wanted to make sure that the other people in his society were treated fairly.	Freud was intrigued by the potential of his latest research and decided to put up an ad in a local newspaper. He was excited to see which of his colleagues would respond. He was eager to start the clinical trials and hoped that the four young men he had chosen would be able to help him advance his work. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all responded to the ad and arranged to meet with Freud. At first, the four of them were somewhat uneasy around each other. However, soon they began to work together and share ideas. The trials were a success and Freud was able to further his research. Thanks to the help of his new colleagues, he was able to make a significant contribution to the field of psychiatry.	Freud is both excited and nervous as he begins his clinical trials. He never expected to receive responses from such high-profile individuals. Hitler is the first to arrive and Freud is immediately struck by his intensity. Stalin is next, followed by Trotsky. The three men begin to argue with each other and Freud has to intervene. Tito is the last to arrive and Freud is relieved to see that he is more relaxed than the other participants. The trials are conducted over a period of weeks and Freud is surprised by the different reactions of the participants. Hitler is clearly the most invested in the outcome, while Stalin is more interested in the process. Trotsky is the most sceptical, but also the most engaged. Tito is the most easy-going, but also the most curious. At the end of the trials, Freud thanks all of the participants for their time and effort. He is especially grateful to Tito, who he feels has been the most helpful in furthering his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a different place when she cried. Now, there was a new face before her, a newasha that she only now realized was bound by tears. The tears had changed her, even the behavior. Now, every move she made was mans attempt to save her. Every breath she took was a sign ofoso to cry. They were a reminder of how one person could change the course of a lifetime.	Alice is a typical high school girl, enjoying her life and her friends. She has all the Material Things that come with being high school age, but she still feels the need to cry. She doesn't know why, but tears always seem to fall from her eyes. One day, Alice's friends ask her what's wrong. She starts to cry harder and asks them to listen to her. She tells them about the times she has cried and the ways that it has affected her life. They listen and understand. Afterwards, Alice is able to talk about the things that matter more to her and she feels better. She knows that she can still cry if she wants to, but she will be more mindful of why and when she does. This experience has made her a better person, and she is more careful when she has to cry.	The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the cityscape. All around, people were bustling about their ordinary lives, unaware of the pain that was just waiting to be unleashed. In a quiet corner, a man was weeping uncontrollably. His tears pooled on the ground, turning the pavement into a muddy mess. Suddenly, a woman ran past him, her face contorted in grief. She didn't notice the man, or the tears that streamed down her face. The man watched as the woman disappeared into the night, his heart breaking. He knew that his tears had left scars on her face, and that this would change their world.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer just fell from people's eyes and disappeared. Now, they left scars. It was a harsh reality, but it was the new reality. No one knew how it had started, but it had quickly spread. And it wasn't just regular tears that did this. No, it was tears of sadness, anger, fear, pain, and any other emotion that caused someone to cry. The world was a scared place now. People were scared to express their emotions, for fear of the scars that would be left behind. No one wanted to be seen as weak or vulnerable. So, they hid their emotions away, closing themselves off from the world. It was a lonely place now. But, it was better than the alternative. At least, that's what people told themselves.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was floating in the air, feeling pain all around me. This was not what I expected when I chose to enter the spirit world, but I didn't have a choice. I was being forced into this existence and there was no way back.	Nina had always been a negative person. She always thought about the negative things that could happen, and how she would die. One day, Nina's worst fears came true. She was driving down the road and a truck came out of nowhere, crashing into her car. Nina was rushed to the hospital, but she didn't make it. She passed away the next day, never knowing what happened after she crash.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, this inevitable death. It's like a weight inside my chest, getting heavier and heavier with each passing day. I try to ignore it, to push it away. I tell myself that I'm just being paranoid, that I'm healthy and strong. But I can't shake the feeling. I know deep down that my time is running out. So I start to prepare for my death. I write letters to my loved ones, telling them how much they mean to me. I make peace with my past, and with the choices I've made in my life. And then, one day, it happens. I can feel the weight inside me finally crushing my heart. I know my time has come. I take my last breath, and everything goes dark.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The tub of water was everyday things for my family. It would fill up every day and fill my interrupting family in on how much water they needed. It was a reminder that i had to boil the water for lunch and make sure the onions were being cooked. It was a reminder that someone was going to get home from work and the water was going to be over- PACKED.	One day while I was sitting at my computer, I heard a scratching noise coming from my closet. I started to get up to investigate, but I found that the closet had been opened. There was something hidden inside the closet - a small, dark creature. I didn't know what to do, I was scared. I don't know what it was, but I knew it was from the dark and scared it away.	I was cleaning up my apartment one day and I noticed something moving in my closet. I tried to get a better view, but I couldn't see anything. I continued cleaning and a few minutes later, I saw it again. I was finally able to see it and it was a tiny, black bug. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I had to get rid of it. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass jar and started shaking it, but the bug didn't move. I went back to my closet and finally got it into the jar. I was so relieved and I quickly closed the door to my closet.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. Whether you're in the shower, cooking dinner, or just lying in bed, you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you. You've never seen anything, but you know something is there. You decide to set a trap to expose the invisible presence in your home. You set up a camera in your living room and wait. For days, nothing happens. But then, one night, you see it. A shadowy figure darting around the room. You can't make out what it is, but you know it's there. You watch the footage back and try to figure out what the figure is. But you can't come to any conclusions. Is it a ghost? A spirit? Or something else entirely? Whatever it is, you know it's there, and you can't shake the feeling that it's watching you.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an engaged couple, named Sarah andidal. They're full of life and excited to go on their first party ever. They're outfitting themselves for the campaign, while you haggle with them. 'What's the best gear for?' 'What's the best food for?' 'What's the best oil for?' You go toheld them in. 'What's the best price for this piece of equipment?' 'What's the best price for this food?' You don't want to pay for the gear, because you know the answer. You want the couple to come back next week and sell their gear, so you can buy it on the way.	The shop was always starved for customers. There was no one looking for adventure, no one who wanted to fight and loot in a safe, padded space. So, when a new player wandered in, the first thing you did was offer them a job. If they accepted, you would take them on as a client for the rest of the day. If they didn't, you would leave them alone and come back later. The player decided to take on the job, and for the rest of the day, they worked hard. They collected Loot, picked fights, and explored the area. They were a valuable asset to your shop and you treated them with the respect they deserved. In the end, they were the only customer that day.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for years now and I know my stuff. I can usually haggle with adventurers and get them to sell me their loot for a fraction of its worth. I love doing this because it gives me a chance to get rare and interesting items that other players might not be able to find. Occasionally, I'll get a rare item that I can't resist. Once, I got a magical sword that let me cast powerful spells. I sold it for a fortune to a high-level adventurer. I always enjoy haggling with them and getting a good deal on my items.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most of the time, you can get them to lower their prices, but sometimes you have to give in and pay more than you'd like. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. You know how to spot a good deal, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to unload their loot for a quick buck. You're also always on the lookout for scams. There are a lot of adventurers out there who are trying to take advantage of gullible shopkeepers like you. But you're not gullible, and you're not afraid to stand up to them and haggle for a better price. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. And you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Defender,” I Penalized You You were on the streets in the late hours of the night, drunk and busted. All you wanted was money, money and soon enough, you found yourself in where you all are. This is the world I live in, where drunkenness is the only way to grape the night and make some extra money. I had to come to the club with the other officers, to make the trade of helping out with someone who was working the night shift. So, you all are, ingredients on a cooking fire. It was a cold, night and you were sweaty, dirty and too drunk to know what you were doing. All you wanted was the grime on your skin, the dirt on your shoes and the money to get you up the stairs. You were going to make they way to the top and one day, you will make it. , You step into the light and you are met with the sight of this room. You are Clubs new player and all you want to do is make it to the next level. But first you need to be there for the older players. You step up to the role and begin to lead the group. You take the first step in the road, when you see the liar in the corner. You have never seen the liar before, until now. He is large, he is massive and he has the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. You stop, you turn and you run. You don’t know how, you don’t know how to go back to this guy. You don’t know how to make friends with this guy, how to get him out of your body. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel the way he talks to you, can feel the way you talk to him. You have learned how to be yourself now, and is knows how to play the part well. He Parentheses the offer and you name him Hunky Hunky. You know you can go home and Centers the whole thing. But as you make the left turn into the street, you see him in your mirror, can see the way his eyesight is suffers with every turn. You can see the pain in his eyes, in his voice. You can see how he feels, how he feels being watched, how he feels being in the dark. You can see it all in your mirror and you can't seem to help but to heartrily look away. But then you see him again, see the way his eyesight is Webbed with betterSM and you can't help but to our as him. You make the pull over to the wrong side of the road and you and your drugs, yourHunky Hunky. You know you can go home and center the whole thing. But as you make the left turn into the street, you see him in your mirror, can see the way his eyesight is suffers with every turn. You can see the pain in his eyes, in his voice. You can see how he feels, how he feels being watched, how he feels being in the dark. You can see it all in your mirror and you can't seem to help but to heartily look away.	You meet someone that tells you he did something bad that got him in trouble. He insists it was just a one time mistake and he can't be found guilty of anything else. You believe him and go above and beyond to help him get back on his feet. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize how accurately he describes your world. The lies that people tell are tools to protect themselves from what they know.	I had never seen anything like him. He was different from anyone I had ever met. His skin was bright and smooth, without any scars. I couldn't help but admire him. He seemed so innocent, and yet he had such a big scar. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was from a big lie. He said that he had been told to lie, and that he had done so for years. His lie had become so big that it had left a massive scar on his body. I was captivated by him, and I decided to tell him the biggest lie of my life. I told him that I loved him. He looked at me with disbelief, but I didn't care. I wanted to be with him, no matter what the cost.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They tell you that they were once in a relationship with someone that they loved very much. But one day, they lied to them and said that they didn't love them anymore. They said it just to hurt them. And ever since then, they've been living with the guilt and the scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes for over sixty years now. His share of revengeful thoughts are that one day he will "priced out" of every location, each with its own ' thus fulfilled ' painting. However, he perches continue to paint, someday soonPiekney in the Woods.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The murders took place at different locations across the United States, Europe, and Asia. Some of the paintings show Bob's killers in their own personal lives, while others depict the Marches of justice, or the trial of his victims. It's clear that Bob was dedicated to painting his landscapes in the same place over and over again, and his victims are the perfect residue of his revenge.	Bob Ross's paintings are all real places. Each one is a different location where he murdered someone. Each painting is a representation of his murderous spree, and his victims are everywhere. The first painting is of a tranquil waterfall. He killed his wife there, stabbing her multiple times in the heart. Next, is a painting of a rocky cliff, where he murdered his teenage daughter by throwing her off the cliff. Lastly, there is a painting of a misty forest, where he killed his abusive father with a knife. Each painting is a representation of his crimes, and each location is a place where he killed someone. The paintings are all a reminder of the horror he caused, and the people he killed.	Bob Ross was a man with a dark secret. For years, he took advantage of his talent for painting to create beautiful landscapes - and to hide the bodies of his victims. From the serene mountains of the Rockies to the peaceful forests of the Pacific Northwest, Bob Ross' paintings were actually crime scenes. And no one was ever the wiser. Until one day, a detective became suspicious of the similarities between Ross' paintings and unsolved murders. With careful investigation, the detective soon realized that Ross was the mastermind behind a string of killings spanning across the country. Now, Ross is behind bars, and his paintings are nothing more than gruesome reminders of the murders he once got away with.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It's a beautiful night and the orchestra isIRD is playing together inupereously well. However, one look from the performer and rabbit knows that he doesn't want to be there. He's more interested in catching the next break instead. And that's how he meets the victim of his heist, a man who is quality time with his wife and children. How could he know that he would be this easy for this much money? The rabbitBad Builds the House The man is his customer, and the rabbit is willing to do whatever it takes to get his hands on the treasure. He tells the man that he is able to magic make him a present and he is not afraid of the anagrams. The man is shocked, but grateful. The man and his family live in a small town and the rabbit visits often. One day, the man is working the pub and the rabbit is waiting in the wings. He has never been asked to go on a drip, and he is nervous, but he is willing to take a chance. The man is his wife and family and the rabbit has never taken anything from them. He is theagineous gift that they have been waiting for for years. The man and his family are very happy and the rabbit walks out with a most different looking house than he wanted.	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat and let it go. It looked hurt, and the magician knew why. The rabbit had been pulled out of the hat for the entire performance and had been sitting in the audience with its head down,tail backwards. The magician knew the rabbit was sick of being second best. He would show it that it wasn't going to get what it wanted by doing something different. He turned to the rabbit and said, "You can have the hat."	The magician is a great showman and always manages to put on a great show. However, the rabbit is starting to get restless. He's always the second fiddle and he's sick of it. So one day, the rabbit decides to speak up. "Hey magician, I don't need to be the second fiddle anymore. I can do better than that. I can be the star of the show. So why don't you give me a chance?" The magician was a bit taken back by the rabbit's suggestion, but he was also intrigued. So he decided to give the rabbit a chance and to see what he could do. The rabbit worked very hard and soon became a star of the show. The magician was amazed at how well he had done, and he was even more impressed by how much the rabbit had changed. The rabbit had learned to be more confident and to stand up for himself. This was a lesson the magician would never forget.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been doing the same tricks for years, and he's getting tired of it. So, during one of their performances, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He does a few of his usual tricks, but then he starts doing some of his own. He pulls coins out of thin air, makes balls disappear, and even makes the magician disappear. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves. He's finally the star of the show, and he's loving it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Hilliington airstrike that killed several top advisor to the Greybloods, one of the organization's top members. The attack has been a ongoing issue for some time now, and the two organizations that are involved in it are currently in the middle of a heated battle.	One issue that has been garnering a lot of attention is the opioid crisis. Many people are concerned that the opioid epidemic is going to cause more deaths and dollars in the future. Some people are also saying that the opioid crisis could stop development of new painkillers.	On the day of the United States presidential election, the world was watching to see who would be the next leader of America. The race was close, with multiple candidates fighting for the top spot. In the end, it was a close call, but Donald Trump was chosen as the next president. Many people were upset with the decision, arguing that Trump was not qualified to lead America. But despite the criticism, Trump is going to take office on January 20th, 2017. This is a huge moment for the United States, and everyone is watching to see how Trump will handle the presidency. So far, he has shown some alarming signs, making many people very worried.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the most attention today is climate change. The science is clear: if we don't take action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, the Earth will warm to a level that is incompatible with human life. The impacts are already being felt around the world, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. And yet, there is still far too much denial and inaction on this issue. We need to wake up and take action before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into me during puberty and I was able to deactivate it once I was sure I were still intelligent and stable enough to live a normal life. However, because I was an Auditor, I am still alive and unchanged despite having the device implanted into me. I continue to learn and produce children, and even though I am not able to parenting, I still try to make sure they are a good person.	Once upon a time, there were two genders: men and women. But then something happened that made everyone switch over to the gender that was most comfortable for them: the gender that was implanted into them at puberty. We call this the ``Audit''. It's a process where everyone is implanted with a birth control device to prevent them from being able to reproduce. It's a commitment that you make to yourself, and it's something that you'll always have to remember. You're an Auditor, and you'll be responsible for all of the people that are implanted with the Audit. You'll be monitoring their development and stability, and you'll be ensuring that they're able to raise healthy, well-adjusted human beings. It's a difficult job, but it's one that you're determined to do well. And you'll be able to do it thanks to the help of the people that you're responsible for.	For the better part of my life, I've been an Auditor. I'm responsible for determining whether or not humans are fit to reproduce. It's a tough job, but it's one that I take seriously. I never imagined I would have to use my skills in this way, but that's exactly what's happening. We're facing a problem with the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world. And it's clear that we need to do something about it. So, we've decided to implant all of the dumbest people in the world with a birth control device during puberty. It'll make it harder for them to get pregnant and reproduce, and hopefully it'll help to improve the overall intelligence of the human race. I know it's going to be a challenge, but I'm confident that we can do it.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I interview potential parents and ask them a series of questions to test their intelligence and stability. If they pass my test, I deactivate their birth control device and they are able to have children. If they fail, their device remains active and they are unable to have children. I take my job very seriously. I know that the future of our world depends on the children being raised by intelligent and stable parents. I'm proud to be able to help create a better future for our world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ), Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was on a hunger strike at the time. Joseph Stalin was in power in Russia. Leon Trotsky was in exile in Mexico. And Josip Broz Tito was leading the Yugoslav people's movement. But they all read the same ad in the Vienna paper. "Forclinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. willing and able participants only." Hitler was intrigued. He had been working on his own version of the theory of psychoanalysis for years. And he had always wanted to participate in a clinical trial. Stalin was a bit more hesitant. He wasn't sure if he could handle the pressures of power. Trotsky was a risk to the Soviet Union. And Tito was a controversial figure. But Hitler was already well on his way to becoming the leader of Germany. And he knew that he could lead a successful campaign to become a part of the clinical trial. So he put his all into the campaign. He studied the trial transcripts. He made contact with the authors. He drove to Vienna to take part in the trial. And he was successful. He was elected to the advisory board of the trial. And he helped to design the experimental protocol. Hitler was proud of himself. He was the first person to participate in a clinical trial of psychoanalysis. And he was the first person to achieve success. In 1913, Vienna, Austria, Sigmund Freud was seeking participants for his latest research. But he only had the audiance of Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Freud was elated when he received responses to his advertisement. He was eager to test his newest theories on these four men, who he thought would be the perfect candidates for his studies. The first trial was with Adolf Hitler. Freud asked him about his childhood and personal life. Hitler answered all of Freud's questions candidly, revealing some dark secrets that the doctor was not expecting. The second trial was with Joseph Stalin. Stalin was more reticent than Hitler, but still answered all of the doctor's questions. Freud was surprised to find out that Stalin was quite intelligent, and that he had experienced trauma in his past. The third trial was with Leon Trotsky. Trotsky was as loud and outspoken as Stalin, but he was also quite reticent. He answered some questions, but refused to discuss others. Freud was not sure whether he was hiding something or simply being stubborn. The final trial was with Josip Broz Tito. Tito was the most chaotic of the four men, never stopping talking or moving. He answered all of Freud's questions, but refused to give any personal information. Freud was disappointed with the results of the trials, but he was still hopeful. He planned to continue testing the men in subsequent sessions. But, as he was leaving his office one day, he was assassinated by a unknown assailant.	Sigmund Freud's latest research project is seeking participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He places an ad in the local newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by the fact that all four men are young, and he wonders if there might be something about their age that makes them more receptive to his ideas. He asks them each to come to his office for a consultation. Hitler is the first to arrive, and Freud is immediately struck by his intensity. Hitler describes his innermost thoughts and feelings with great passion, and Freud can see that he is a man who is deeply in touch with his emotions. Stalin arrives next, and Freud is struck by his calm demeanor. Stalin speaks in a level voice, and his answers to Freud's questions are thoughtful and considered. It's clear that he is a man who is used to thinking carefully about his words and actions. Trotsky is the third to arrive, and Freud is impressed by his intelligence. Trotsky is able to articulate his thoughts in a clear and concise way, and he has a deep understanding of the human mind. Finally, Tito arrives, and Freud is struck by his energy. Tito is constantly in motion, fidgeting and moving around the room as he talks. He has a dynamic and charismatic personality, and Freud can see that he is a natural leader. After meeting with all four men, Freud is convinced that they would all be excellent candidates for his research. He thanks them for their time, and asks them to come back next week to begin the trials.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The days felt eternity long, and the nights were Grip of The dark. Alluring and323 337 Paris felt right at the top of her list of things she wanted to see. She wanted to get to know these people, to know what it was that made them so special. And so, she decided to go on a date on a night like this. 35 The date went great, and they both liked the same companies. When they returned to the hotel, they both got in their bed and startederetrying to cry. It wasTher held for a while, and eventually it get crucial to sleep. When Paris woke up, she found herself feeling a bit differently. The people she had felt happy rights had turned into pressures. The people she had felt negative ----------------------------------------------------------------washed hergrounds. And so, she worked on herself. She grew up in a small town in the middle of America, and she had done her own thing. She was self-promoting, she was self-promoting. She was self-promoting. Then she sent a message on Facebook. " I was doing well when I got this." The person she was trying to impress sent her a picture of herself with a " I was doing well when I got this" written on her back.	One day, a tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek and she couldn’t stop it. It continued to trickle down its path, slowly making its way to her lips. She curiously touched her cheek with her thumb and tentatively tasted the tear before setting it down. As she looked in the mirror, her face was etched in sadness. It seemed as though every single quirk and peculiarity about herself was present in that moment, including the tear that rolled down her cheek.	Far away from the bright lights of the city, there was a small town that was known for its gentle people and its beautiful flowers. However, life in the small town wasn't always easy. The people there were often troubled by the harsh realities of the world outside their town. One day, a young girl named Lily was walking home from getting groceries. As she walked down the street, she saw a man crying in the distance. Lily wasn't used to seeing people crying, and she was curious about what was going on. As she got closer, she could see that the man's tears had left long, ugly scars on his face. Lily felt pity for the man and wanted to do something to help him. She walked up to him and asked him what was wrong. The man started to cry harder when he told her that he was having trouble finding a job and his family was too poor to support him. Lily felt terrible for him and promised to help him. That night, Lily went to the man's house and brought him some food and a bed for the night. She also promised to find him a job and help him get his life back on track. The man was so grateful to Lily that he started to cry again. Grateful for Lily's help, the man started to smile more and finally felt like he had a place to call home. Thanks to Lily, the man's scars started to fade and he was able to start living a happy life.	I can't help but cry as I think about the pain I've endured over the years. Each tear that falls from my eyes feels like a knife slicing through my skin. I know that my tears are leaving scars on my face, but I can't help it. I can't seem to stop the flow of tears, no matter how hard I try. It's not just me who is affected by this. Every time someone cries, they leave a scar on their face. It's like a permanent reminder of the pain they've felt. Some people try to hide their tears, but eventually, the scars give them away. This has changed the world in a lot of ways. For one, people are a lot more careful with their words. They don't want to say anything that might cause someone to cry and scar their face. Additionally, people are a lot more understanding and compassionate. They can see the scars on someone's face and they know that that person has been through a lot. There are some who see the scars as a badge of honor. They wear them with pride, as a reminder of the pain they've survived. These people are often seen as strong and resilient. Overall, the world is a different place because of the scars that tears leave behind.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The world was falling apart. Massive explosions shook the earth, and flame burned from the edges of the crater that was once my home. My family was safe, but I wasRuntimeErrorNot Found. I didn't know what to do next.	I was always a bit of a light sleeper. The constant beeping of the machines incessantly kept me up at night, causing me to often battle insomnia. One night, as I lay in my hospital bed, I could hear someone walking around the room. I assumed it was one of the nurses coming to check on me, but then I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer. I could tell they were getting closer and closer to my bed. I tried to scream, but the only sound that came out was a weak whisper. The footsteps stopped right beside my bed and the person said, "I'm sorry, but you're going to die." I knew I was powerless against the machines and the person standing next to my bed, so I closed my eyes and waited for the end.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death. I don't go out in a blaze of glory or anything. I just sort of...stop. I'm not sure what happens next. I don't really have a sense of anything, to be honest. It's not like the movies make it out to be. There's no tunnel of light or anything. I guess the next thing that happens is that my body is taken away and buried. My family and friends mourn me, and then they move on with their lives. And that's it. That's all that happens. I'm just gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The blind trusty pre-empts her next meal byassador to come home to find her house trimmed of blind. She tries to keep the powerijn hidden from hand to mouth, cold feet Soldier of the Knowing, and a ever-growing age	I was sitting in my chair, scrolling through my Facebook feed when I noticed something strange on my screen. There was a notification from my bank, but I couldn't open it. I tried clicking on it, but nothing happened. I downloaded the app and hit the “Open” button, but the notification still wasn't going away. I started panicking, thinking my phone had been stolen. I checked the time and it was only 9:30 in the morning. I had been asleep for hours! I sat there for a few minutes, trying to think of anything else to do, when I remembered my dad always talking about “something invisible” always watching him during the night. I tried to remember what he would say, but it was a blur. I shook my head and decided it was time to go to bed. I put my phone in my pocket and keyed in my dad's room number, but it just rang out. I was starting to get really scared now. I turned off the light and climbed into bed, trying to go to sleep, but something was stillhovering over me. I could feel its eyes on me, looking for a way to get back into my room. I cried for hours that night, thinking about my dad and how he always used to say things like “something invisible is watching you”. I was so scared now that I didn't want to sleep another minute. The next day, I woke up and my phone was back to normal. I couldn't believe it! My dad must have been jokey and just meant it when he said “something invisible is watching you”. It was just a joke, nothing more. But I was still scared, and I knew that there was something out there that wasn't just a fleeting little glimpse of light. I was starting to think that maybe my phone was just unlucky.	I was cleaning out my closet and I found an old box of pictures. I hadn't looked at them in years and I was surprised to see that I had been photographed at a summer camp. I was eight years old, and I was surrounded by other kids my age, all of us smiling and laughing. I pulled out the photo that I wanted to examine more closely. I could see the smile on my face, but I could also see the fear in the eyes of the girl next to me. I knew that she was scared, and I was scared too. I was scared of the dark, and I was scared of the woods. But I was also scared of the Campfire Celebration. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew that I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go home. But I couldn't. I was stuck, and I was terrified. That was the first time that I saw the thing that lives in my home. It was always there, but I didn't see it until that night. I saw it watching me, and I saw the fear in its eyes. It wants me to be scared, and it wants me to be afraid of the dark. But I'm not. I'm not scared anymore, and I'm not afraid of the Campfire Celebration. I'm not afraid of anything.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me, hiding in the shadows. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or it might hurt me. I don't know what to do.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers arrive at the pawn shop. Some are newly weaned out of the DPS flow, while others are olditto trying to vindicate their reputation. Some helm and run with DMs in the past, present and future. One group seems to be looking for a specific item, but they are only able to identify one of the players as the winner.txt	The shops were always busy. It was a bit of a tradition in the town, and it was more fun than just sitting around, watching people. But tonight, there was something different. The adventurers had all disappeared, and the only ones left at the pawn shop were the two young women behind the counter. "Where did they go?" The older girl asked, watching the two fill up the baskets with gold and jewels. "I don't know. They just didn't show up." The younger girl said, her voice low. The older girl gazed at the two for a moment, before finally speaking. "I'll tell you what. I think I know where they went. They went to the bar. But I know they won't be back until tomorrow."	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I always have a deal for adventurers who try to sell me their loot. I'll usually offer them a lower price than what they're asking, and then I can always negotiate. Sometimes, I get weapons or magic items that are really rare or valuable. I've even gotten a few pieces of jewelry here and there. But the best deal I ever made was with a group of adventurers who came in a few weeks ago. They had just finished a long quest and were looking for a way to spend their treasure. I offered them a discount on all of their items, and they agreed. They left with a huge grin on their faces, and I knew I had made a great deal.	You own a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors, trying to sell their hard-earned loot. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best deals for your shop. Today, a group of adventurers come in, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a few magic weapons and armor, as well as some rare gems. You take a look at their loot and make them an offer. They haggle with you for a bit, but in the end, you get the best deal for your shop. You're always happy to help adventurers get the best prices for their loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as he walked in, the liar in him knew that he had to find a way to make-up with his lies. Hecorruption and Benefits of Alcoholism The Clinchedamiya land is a beautiful location for a pornstar. Not only because it is where the pornstar expect to find her money from, but also because it's where the pornstar stomach is hidden. That is, until one day when the pornstar is on her way to meet her client. The client asks the pornstar what he thinks of her if he knows. The pornstar tells him that she's not a pornstar, but he doesn't believe her. He solves the problem with a big fake document thatOIL He lives in a world where the pornstar knows she's false. Despite the pornstar's protests, the clientube component of the world soonleshows. The pornstar's doing well now, but the pornstar's lies have taken their toll. One day, she discovers an alive in the Attribution document, and her world starts to unravel.	The first time I saw him, I was shocked. I couldn't believe that someone like him could exist in a world where each lie creates a permanent, deep wound. It was as if his lies were his own personal injuries. It was as if he could never be forgiven, no matter how many times he is caught. It was easy to see why he is so dangerous. When he tells a truth, it makes everyone look bad. He makes people ashamed of themselves, and it destroys their relationships. He makes them feel like they're not good enough, and that's how he stays in power. But I was also curious. I wanted to know how he got so scarred. And I began to ask him questions, and I soon realized that he only wants to talk to me because he wants to share the truth. He wants to tell me everything, and he wants me to help him clean up his world. But I can't. I can't let him go around telling lies like he has done before. It would only make things worse. So I help him, but I also keep my own secrets. I don't want to get hurt like he has.	I was intrigued when I first saw him. His one scar was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran diagonally from his left eye, over his nose, and down his cheek. It was so big that it looked like it might tear his skin apart. I couldn't help but wonder how he had gotten it. Over the course of our conversation, I learned that he had lied so often that the scar was now his status symbol. Whenever he met new people, he would tell them the biggest and craziest lies, just to see how deep their scars would go. The more scars they had, the more they could trust him. I was revolted by his behavior, but I also found myself curious. Eventually, I asked him how he had gotten the biggest scar. He hesitated for a moment, but then he told me the truth. He had been caught lying, and the punishment had been the biggest lie of all. He had been told that the truth would kill him. It was the first time I had ever seen someone so honest. He had spent his entire life lying, and now the truth had broken him. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was the most scarred person I had ever met.	You meet them in a dark alleyway. They're shrouded in a cloak, their face hidden in the shadows. But you can see their one scar, plain as day. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them about it. They hesitate at first, but then they begin to speak. "I've been lied to a lot in my life. Big lies, small lies, white lies... they all leave a mark. But this one... this one is the biggest of them all. It's the lie that I told myself." They pull back their hood, revealing a face that is covered in scars. Some are small, some are large, but they're all deep. "I lied to myself for so long, convincing myself that I was happy. But I wasn't. I was just hiding from the truth. And the truth is, I'm not happy. I'm scared, and alone, and I don't know what to do." The truth hurts, but it's better than living a lie. You tell them that, and you offer them a hand. They take it, and together, you walk out of the darkness and into the light.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was born in 1881, in the small town of Karoldow, Czechoslovakia. A painter and artist of traditional Rogirectionníkisch art, Bob Ross was called "The Painter of the kills" by his peers and, like many students of the pre- Online Rewrite class, learned how to murder in many places at once. With the help of a certain Mafioso, Bob Ross was able to, through thecrooks he met along the way,, to bring death and destruction to his victims' places: ...In every painting, each individual murder isS thebonesAverage house, the HeyGeneral Hospital, and so on. And yet all these places are alone in the painting, each with its own pollution, its own dirt, and sky. All of these places areighton the painting. The painting is located in the middle of all these places. This story is about Bob Ross' final act. After becoming a nihilist, Bob Ross decided that, in the face of death, he would partnerseaption into the place of the murder.	Bob Ross was a master of landscape painting. His paintings were each breathtaking and majestic, each location a place where he had committed murders. The different locations of his slayings are evident in each of his paintings, each one depicting a beautiful and horrifying scene.	As an artist, Bob Ross had the uncanny ability to transport viewers to fantastical landscapes filled with happy, waving trees and serene lakes. But few knew the true extent of his artistry – that he was also a master of locales steeped in blood. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and his landscapes were scenes of murder – of families out for a picnic, of children playing in the park. He killed for the pure joy of it, reveling in the despair of his victims. But his crimes came to an end one fateful day, when he was finally apprehended and brought to justice. Now, onlookers can visit his paintings and see the true depth of his talent – not only as a painter, but as a murderer.	Bob Ross was known for his beautiful landscape paintings. What most people didn't know was that each painting was based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob was a serial killer who used his art as a way to hide his bloody crimes. For years, he was able to get away with it, until one day, the truth was finally revealed. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where his paintings now hang on the walls, serving as a reminder of the gruesome crimes he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician finds the rabbit Merlin walking through the audience. One look from the rabbit and he knows he isn't welcome anymore. HeDragically transports the rabbit to his stage, taking it step by step while talking to it on a phone. The rabbit is confused but Telecommunications the conversation as though it is already known. Merlin asks the magician what he is doing, to which the magician says he is changing the rabbit's mind. The rabbit feels proud that he is still playing second fiddle. He remembers when the magicians magic is wonderful and410greek Leadershipfor the rabbit disappears, leaving the answers himself. The magician is surpriseED!	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat and put it in front of the audience. "Here's your rabbit, buster. I know you're sick of playing second fiddle. Now I want you to do something that's never been done before." The rabbit looked at the magician with skepticism. "Are you really going to do this?" The magician nodded. "Yes, I'm really going to do this. I'm going to give you a gift that you'll never forget." With that, the magician pulled out a large sum of money and gave it to the rabbit. "Here's your payment for playing second fiddle. Now, you can go and make your own fortune." The rabbit eyed the money critically. "But what about the hat? I left it at the hotel." "Don't worry, I'll get it back soon. In the meantime, I think you should go and get started on your own show." The rabbit hesitated for a moment, but then decided to go ahead and perform.	The magician pulled out a rabbit from a hat and it looked sick of the attention. It wasn't used to playing second fiddle to the other rabbits on stage. The magician began to charm the crowd with his magic, but the rabbit couldn't take it anymore. It couldn't take the spotlight off of itself and it didn't want to be the center of everyone's attention. The rabbit slyly took the magician's magic wand and disappeared under the folds of his robe. The magician was betrayed and the crowd laughed. He had been hoodwinked and the rabbit had gotten away.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is pulled out of the hat, and wants to be the one doing the magic. He has had enough of being the one who is always second fiddle. So, during the performance, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He starts doing his own magic tricks, and quickly upstages the magician. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention he always wanted. The magician is furious, but there is nothing he can do. The rabbit has stolen the show, and there is nothing he can do to stop him.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a critical political election. The political parties are trying to stay ahead of the election process, but there is no easy way to win without some kind of clear victory. The situation is becoming more and more difficult to maintain a clear lead, and the political parties are turning to theobbyists to help them stay in power. However, the radicals are still out in full force, and they are not afraid of a ELECTION. The assistants in charge of the government are Smartypants and IMMUNE. They know that this is a fight to stay in power, and they are wrong. They are right, though, in part, and they are wrong in part also.	Today, the economy presents a critical issue. Many job openings remain unfilled, and companies are struggling to find the money to invest in new hires. The government is also looking to help the economy by putting resources back into the marketplaces where workers can find jobs.	In the current climate of political correctness, many people feel that the issue of sexual assault and harassment is not being given the attention it deserves. Many people believe that this is because the victims are often afraid to come forward, and that the perpetrators are often given slap-on-the-wrist sentences. However, there are some brave individuals who are standing up and speaking out about their experiences, and they deserve our attention. One such person is actress Alyssa Milano. Alyssa Milano is a well-known actress, and she is also a vocal supporter of the #MeToo movement. In an interview with The New York Times, Milano said that she had been the victim of sexual assault. She explained that the incident happened when she was just 15 years old. Milano said that the perpetrator was a much older man, and that he had dragged her into a room at a party and sexually assaulted her. Although the experience was traumatic, Milano said that she was able to get through it thanks to the #MeToo movement. She explained that she had seen other women speak out about their experiences, and that had given her the strength to do the same. Milano is not the only person who has spoken out about their experiences of sexual assault. Many other celebrities, such as Lady Gaga, Tarana Burke, and Alyssa Milano are also using their platforms to raise awareness about this issue. Although the issue of sexual assault is not being given the attention it deserves, there are still many people out there who are campaigning on behalf of the victims. Hopefully, the #MeToo movement will continue to receive the recognition it deserves, and that the perpetrators of sexual assault will be brought to justice.	With everything that's going on in the world today, there are a lot of important issues that deserve attention. However, if we had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the climate crisis. The science is clear: the world is getting warmer, and it's largely due to human activity. This is already causing major problems like more extreme weather events, melting polar ice caps, and rising sea levels. And if we don't do something to drastically reduce greenhouse gas emissions, the situation is only going to get worse. That's why the climate crisis is such a pressing issue today. We need to urgently address it if we want to avoid even more devastating consequences in the future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor was born to an intelligent family members. Though he was not native to the world of humans, Auditor was able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. He was household name because he was theAuditor who prevent everyone from reproducing. Auditor was deactivated from the world because he was too smart for the world, but he would not let this become a reality. He would remainPurchase and keep him hidden from society for as long as possible.	Auditor 3 was the firstauditor to be implanted with the birth control device. She had been selected for the task because she was intelligent, stable, and fit enough to raise an intelligent, stable human being by an Auditor. As Auditor 3 was inserted into her body, she was pleased to find that the implant was effective. She had been told it would be. And so, every month, she would take her birth control device off and re-install it, just in case. But on the first day of the month, Auditor 3 had a startling realization. She was pregnant. She was beaming with excitement as she informed her colleagues of her news. They laughed and congratulated her, but she was not taken seriously. In their eyes, she was just aaturday warrior that had lucky yet to have an auditor implanted into her. But to the rest of the world, auditors were something different. Something to be treasured and protected. Auditor 3 eventually reached her Maturity and was able to take her place as the ultimate arbiter of the intelligence and stability of humanity.	I was born into a world of Controllers. Every person on Earth is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. I was one of the lucky ones to be selected to become an Auditor, the only people allowed to deactivate the devices. I was excited to be chosen, because I knew that I could help prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and keeping the Earth's population balanced. I was also excited to be able to finally be considered smart and stable enough to be able to raise a well-adjusted human being. However, as I soon learned, being an Auditor is not as easy as it seems. I had to learn all about the devices, how to deactivate them, and how to properly care for them so that the population would stay balanced. I also had to make sure that the people I encountered on a daily basis were smart and stable, so that the devices would work properly. I never imagined that my job would be so challenging, but I am glad that I was able to become an Auditor and help keep the Earth's population balanced.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure that only the most intelligent andstable people are able to have children. In a world where dumb people are in charge of reproduction, it's up to you to make sure that the population is safe and healthy. To do this, you screen potential parents and only allow those who you deem intelligent and stable enough to have children to deactivate their birth control devices. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was very excited to participate in a clinical trial on of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and starts to apply for visas to each of the countries. He is finally lucky to be allowed to travel to Austria, Croatia, Slovenia, and Hungary. He is excited to receive his privileges and starts to participate in the clinical trials. It is very difficult to participate in the clinical trials. Every character is unique and has different interests and preferences. We hope you enjoy the story.	Adolf Hitler was fascinated by the prospect of participating in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin was similarly intrigued by the prospect of being a part of the trial. Leon Trotsky was more interested in joining the trial but was overruled by his comrades. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond to the ad. The three men were leader of different factions in the Bolshevik Party. Trotsky was the most progressive of the three and wanted to join the trial in order to promote positive change within the party. Stalin was more conservative and wanted to stay in power. Hitler was the second most progressive of the three and wanted to join the trial in order to learn more about Freud's new research. The three men were each lying in different rooms of the same building in Vienna. Hitler was using the bathroom and Stalin was using the bedroom. The door to the bathroom was unlocked and Hitler was able to listen in on the conversation between Stalin and Freud. The conversation was detailed and packed with information about Freud's new research. Stalin was interested in the theory that the human mind was influenced by Collective Mental Energy. Hitler was interested in the theory that the human mind was influenced by the will. Stalin was also interested in the theory that human emotions were determined by the Collective Mental Energy. The three men were also discussing the possibility of joining the trial. Stalin wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Hitler wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism. The door to the bedroom opened and Stalin walked in. Hitler was surprised to see Stalin in the room. Stalin was interested in the theory that the human mind was influenced by Collective Mental Energy and wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about it. Stalin also wanted to learn more about the theory that the human mind was influenced by the will. The three men were discussing the possibility of joining the trial. Stalin wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Hitler wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito wanted to be a part of the trial in order to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism. Stalin closed the door to the bedroom and said goodbye to Hitler. Stalin then walked out of the door and down the hall. Hitler was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism. Stalin walked out of the door and down the hall. Hitler was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism. Stalin was walking down the hallway when he heard a noise coming from the bathroom. Stalin walked into the bathroom and saw Hitler in the bathroom. Stalin was surprised to see Hitler in the bathroom and wanted to know what he was doing there. Hitler explained that he was helping Stalin to join the trial. Stalin was surprised to hear this and said that he didn't know what to say. Hitler then said that he was the only person who responded to the ad and that he wanted to be a part of the trial. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Hitler then said goodbye and left the bathroom. Stalin walked back to the bedroom and said goodbye to Stalin. Stalin then walked out of the door and down the hall. Hitler was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism. The three men were walking down the hallway when they heard a noise coming from the bathroom. Stalin walked into the bathroom and saw Hitler in the bathroom. Stalin was surprised to see Hitler in the bathroom and wanted to know what he was doing there. Hitler explained that he was helping Stalin to join the trial. Stalin was surprised to hear this and said that he didn't know what to say. Hitler then said that he was the only person who responded to the ad and that he wanted to be a part of the trial. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Hitler then said goodbye and left the bathroom. Stalin was walking back to the bedroom and said goodbye to Stalin. Stalin then walked out of the door and down the hall. Hitler was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of psychoanalysis. Stalin was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of Nazism. Tito was excited to be a part of the trial and wanted to learn more about the theory and the practice of communism.	Freud was excited to have these promising new candidates for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a local paper, specifying that only the most promising candidates would be chosen. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was pleased to have such strong candidates for his research. He scheduled the trials for the next month.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is turning heads in the medical community. He is seeking participants for clinical trials and puts an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to be part of the trial and share their thoughts with Freud. Hitler is the first to speak, confidently sharing his vision for the future. Stalin is next, and he is more guarded in his answers. Trotsky is the most animated of the group, eager to share his ideas. Lastly, Tito is the youngest and most reserved. Freud is impressed with all four men, but he can't help but be intrigued by their different worldviews. He wonders what role his research will play in their lives and how it will shape the future.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Drella watching her daughter cry, saw theeatured in the mirror and knew that something was wrong. She went to the kitchen to see her daughter with irod's son,ry Hanover. Hanover was American, but Drella knew that his son waserroneant of the F collaboration team. Drella gave her son a hard time, but ultimately was glad that he was able to see for himself that his son was crying wrongly.	Cathy had always been the optimist of the group. She never stopped believing in the beauty of the world, no matter what happened. That is until her worst nightmare came true. What if the tears that streamed down her face were also responsible for the many scars that marred her face? This changed her world, and she never looked back.	I was sitting in my bedroom, crying my eyes out. I was not sure why, but I just couldn't stop. My emotions were uncontrollable and my tears just kept flowing. Suddenly, I heard soft, gentle footsteps outside my room. I looked up and saw my mom standing there, with a look of sadness on her face. She walked over and sat down next to me, putting her arm around me. She didn't say anything, but I could feel her warmth and support. After a while, I finally calmed down and my tears stopped. I looked up at my mom and thanked her for being there for me. I knew that she loved me, no matter what. Those tears, although salty and wet, left a little bit of love behind. And that love, in turn, created scars. But those scars, instead of being a source of shame, are a source of pride. They show that I have been through something difficult, but that I emerged stronger and more compassionate. This is the world that I want for myself and for the world around me. A world where tears leave scars, but also a little bit of hope and love.	The first time it happened, I wasn’t sure what to think. I was standing in front of the mirror, tears streaming down my face, when I noticed the first scar. It was thin and delicate, almost like a spider web, and it stretched from the corner of my eye all the way down to my chin. I touched it lightly, tracing the line with my finger, and a strange sense of wonder filled me. I had always been a weepy person, but now it seemed like my tears had taken on a new meaning. They were no longer just a sign of sadness or anger, but something more. Something special. As the days went by, more scars appeared. Some were long and winding, while others were short and jagged. But each one was unique, and I soon came to think of them as my own personal map. They told the story of my life, of all the happy and sad moments that had led me to this point. The world around me changed too. No longer was I the only one with these scars. Slowly but surely, others began to appear, on both men and women, young and old. And as we looked at each other, we no longer saw strangers. We saw kindred spirits, people who had been through the same things we had. The world was a little bit brighter now, and I knew that, no matter what happened, I would always have my scars to remind me of that.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was walking home from work when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a man with a knife, walking through the forest. I quickly ran to my house and called the police. As I was running, I saw the man raise the knife and plunge it into my friend's neck. I screamed, and the man ran off into the forest. I never saw him again, but I know he wasresponsible for my friend's death.	The doctor told her the news. She would be losing the battle against cancer. She didn't want to believe it, but the doctors were confident. The only thing left to do was make peace with her fate. In a few days time, she would be gone. She was resigned to her fate, but she still hoped for a miracle. The day of her death arrived. She was surrounded by loved ones as she passed away. Some cried, others were stoic. But they all knew that she was gone. Suddenly, she felt a warmth on her face. She opened her eyes and saw a beautiful light. It surrounded her and made her feel very happy. She knew that she had passed on to a better place.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but that's life. One minute I'm here and the next I'm gone. My family is devastated, but they know that I'm in a better place now. I'm at peace and I'm happy. I know that I'll be reunited with my loved ones again one day. Until then, I'll be watching over them from the other side.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The shadows that surrounded her were real, andCongress was aware of the shadows that appeared when she moved. She could feel the warmth of the light, and the light knew the dark. The shadows Executioner of the home was happy to be exposed.	As I walked through my house, I could feel something lurking in the shadows. It was always there, lurking in the corners and behind the furniture, but I could never quite identify what it was. I tried to ignore it, but eventually I grew tired of it. I started to paranoia and distrust people, especially my roommates. One day, I came across an article about "the Unknown," and after reading it I finally realized what the thing was. It was the thing that I had been trying to expose for years. The thing that I had been warning people about. The thing that was going to destroy my home and my life. But I was afraid to let anyone know. I was afraid of them coming after me. I was afraid of them coming after my family. I was afraid of them coming after me and my friends. But eventually, I had to face the truth. The thing that was living in my home was actually my friend. And it was time to let him know that he was living in my home too.	I've had this feeling for a while now, like there's something lurking in the corners of my home. I can't put my finger on it, but I know there's something there. Tonight, I decided to take a closer look. I was standing in the living room, thinking about how to get rid of the invisible thing when I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing there. I took a few steps back and looked around the room again, but there was still nothing. I tried to dismiss the idea as paranoia, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I decided to stay up for a little longer to make sure the thing wasn't coming after me, but before I could settle in, the feeling came back. This time, I was sure I saw something moving in the corner of the room. I approached the corner, but as I got closer, I realized it was just a dust mote. I told myself that it wasn't anything to worry about, but the feeling wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't want to stay in the house any longer, so I decided to go to bed. As I was climbing under the covers, I heard something moving in the hallway. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, but there was nothing there. I tried to sleep, but the feeling wouldn't leave me alone. Every sound made me jump, and I couldn't get the image of the shadowy figure from the living room out of my mind. The next morning, I called the landlord and asked to move. I don't know if the thing is still there, lurking in the shadows, but I'm not going to risk it.	I can tell that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can sense its presence. It's like a weight in the air that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras around the house and left food out, but so far, nothing has worked. I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind. Maybe this thing is playing with me, knowing that I can't catch it. Or maybe I'm just losing it. Either way, I can't keep living like this. I have to find out what this thing is and how to get rid of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the shop to sell a piece of loot they had acquired while exploring a nearby area. The shop is less than a kilometer from the shop, and the adventurers are advice to come back once they have won something. However, the shop is small and not many adventurers are currently fleeing into the night looking for travel	The first time I set up shop in my small pawn shop, I was filled with skepticism. I'm a fresh-faced young man, fresh out of college, and I'm selling items I've never seen before. But I knew that I could trust my customers. They were patients, and I knew they would only try to rip off me if I was being unfair. I set up a table in the back room, and began to sell my products. I would give them a good deal, and I would make sure they felt comfortable and safe. I started to make a name for myself. And then, one day, I met a young man named Zack. zack was a perfect customer. He was polite and gentle, and he always took the time to find out about my products. He was always buying new items to sell, and he always brought me new offers. One day, Zack came in to buy another item, and I was so surprised. He had offered me tens of dollars for the item he just bought. I was so blown away by his offer, I didn't have anything to say. I just took the money and put the item in the back room. Zack and I became friends, and we would always come in to buy items together. He was a great customer, and I was so grateful to have him as my regular customer.	Adventurers have been coming in to my shop for years, trying to sell their gear and loot. I've become quite the expert when it comes to haggling, and I can usually get a good deal on whatever they've got. I'm always happy to help them find the best bargain they can, and I've made a lot of friends along the way.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deal possible. Today, you spot a group of adventurers who look like they've just returned from a successful quest. You approach them and start haggling for their loot. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally manage to get them to agree to your price. You're about to make the deal when you spot something glinting in the bag of loot. It's a magical sword! You haggle with the adventurers some more and finally manage to acquire the sword for a fraction of its value. You can't wait to add it to your collection!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is beautiful, they have beautiful eyes, and they are the only person that you haveever told the truth to. One day, you stand up and telling them that you are lieshould be ashamed of yourself.	You meet this person on a dark street in a city that you had neverbefore seen. They are slumped over in a doorway, blood pouring from their body. The only thing that is left of them is a huge, gaping wound in the middle of their chest. You cannot believe what you are seeing. This is not the person you met before, the one who always lied without consequences. This is a dead person that you have never met before. You walk over to them and touch their wound. It is cold and saline resistant. You have never felt so alive. You realize that from this moment on, you will have to be more careful about what you say and how you act.	I never thought I would meet someone with a single, giant, scar on their body. It's the biggest one I have ever seen. It's so big, in fact, that it covers most of their stomach. I'm not sure what caused this scar, but it's definitely impressive. I want to know more about this person, and discover all of their secrets.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they simply say "I am the world's biggest liar."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross believes his paintings are a real place, several of his many places where he has "murdered many people." protocoltypicallystates that any and all recognition of natural beauty or antiquated architecture is most certainly not thing Bob Ross is proud of.mirroring his own eyes, he pumps histogglekeys to the right to take him to any of his arterial places. Although most are familiar to us as murder spas and Murderers' Mews, this weekend Bob provides a new immersion into the world of Beowulf and the Æsir. With two days of Landscapes in the making, Bob and his team are LIVE from the set of The Lord of the Rings Filmconsultant to provide us with a few nepalese students with a few minutes of our time. We take a walk through the Constable- litterary equivalent of a repast for a weary scaleön. Along with the usual suspects, Bob Ross is showin' us the ropes ofistered world's largest and most gruesome Finn branding hisEWARNED toulty-two story building his own place to branding as thefuck'd up as can be. We make it back to the set the equivalent of 3 a.m. and all but one other person have passed out from the light and the noise. Bob Ross is still there, "branding" as we speak. One of his young associates is Broadcast from the set, telling us that our magic bit the dust 3 years ago. Our friends at beowulfian, where is Bob Ross??? Story: Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. bid marcher, a British artist, has been paintingfillers in the lines of Bob Ross for years. When Bob's group showered him with rewards and praise throughout the years, Bid marcher realized that he needed his own market. And so Bob Ross Place began. Bobby Ross is now our only hope as to where Bob Ross will put his money.	It was one hot summer day when I walked into the local paper shop and saw a headline that caught my eye. It read, "Artemis Fowl Is Coming to Your Neighborhood." I could tell that this was going to be a big deal because I've never heard of the author and I usually don't readarticles about crime novels. So I decided to go online and look up the author. I found a website that listed his books and, lo and behold, there was one that listed my address. I told the cashier at the bookstore that I had been waiting for something important and she gave me a bookmark with the author's name on it. I couldn't believe it when I got home and opened the book. It was a copy of "The Cuckoo's Calling" by Robert Galbraith! I was so excited that I had finally found the author that I was reading about in the paper.	Bob Ross was a celebrated painter who delighted in painting landscapes of famous places. But behind the scenes, Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed countless people, painting their lifeless bodies into breathtaking landscapes. Each painting was a true depiction of the murders he had committed. No one ever knew the truth about Bob Ross, until one day...	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball, but nobody suspected that he was a serial killer. For years, he painted beautiful landscapes of idyllic locations, and people would admire his work and comment on how serene and peaceful the paintings looked. Unknown to them, each of those landscape paintings was actually a real place - the site of one of Bob Ross' many murders. He would find isolated spots in nature, kill his victims there, and then paint a picturesque scene of the location to cover up the evidence. Nobody suspected anything until the bodies started turning up, and the detectives traced the paintings back to Bob Ross. When they confronted him, he simply smiled and said, "It's all in the details."	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Hey there, rabbit. You want to play second fiddle this night? Rabbit: No, I want to play first fiddle.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician put his hand on the rabbit's shoulder, and said, "I know you're tired of playing here. But I've got something that'll make you feel better." He took out a hat and put it on the rabbit's head. Immediately, the rabbit felt better. The magician said, "Now, you're in charge." And with that, the rabbit started to perform miracles.	The rabbit was tired of always being the second fiddle. He had tried to speak up, but the magician always just laughed and said that was how the rabbit was meant to be. The rabbit didn't know how to change things, so he just grumbled and hoped that one day the magician would just forget him and put him back in the hat. But one day, things changed. The magician was incredibly tired and had to take a break. The rabbit took the opportunity to speak up. He told the magician how much he loved playing with him, and how much he had always wanted to be the star. The magician was surprised, but he agreed that the rabbit was meant to be the star. They practiced together, and the rabbit finally learned how to shine. He was happy to finally be the star, and he knew that the magician would always be there to help him.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit was growing tired of playing second fiddle to the magician. He wanted to be the star of the show, and not just a prop that was used for tricks. One day, after a show, the rabbit approached the magician and said, "I'm tired of being your assistant. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was taken aback, but he could see the determination in the rabbit's eyes. "Very well," the magician said. "From now on, you will be the star of the show." The rabbit was overjoyed, and he put on a great show. The audience loved him, and he quickly became the star of the circus. The magician was happy to have helped the rabbit realize his dream, and they continued to perform together for many years.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends go to a pie party to enjoy the weather while Mummy and Yummy share a moment of warmth. The group of friends participate in the party and spend their days enjoying the weather. They make new friends and laugh with family, all while sending offpie pies.org as soon as they go hand in hand.	There was a major issue that warranted the most attention today. The issue was the guns that were being used in the school shootings. While the NRA was able to argue that the guns were not the "primary Factor" in these shootings, the fact is that they were. The NRA was able to stop the discussion from going any further, and the public was left feeling uneasy about the future of gun control.	America faces a critical choice in its fight against terrorism. Since 9/11, the United States has been engaged in a never-ending war against the Islamic State. The terrorist group has relentlessly attacked American interests, murdering innocent civilians and carrying out despicable acts of violence. Despite its success, the U.S. has struggled to find a lasting solution to the ISIS problem. President Obama has made multiple pushes to Congress for more funding, but lawmakers have been reluctant to support more wars abroad. Meanwhile, Russia has been steadily increasing its activity in Syria. President Putin is looking to increase his influence in the region, and he sees Syria as an opportunity to do so. If the U.S. wants to continue making progress against ISIS, it needs to provide more funding and put more troops on the ground. But if the U.S. chooses to side with Russia and abandon Syria, ISIS will only become stronger. America faces a critical choice in its fight against terrorism. The fate of the world is in its hands.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the conflict in Syria. The Syrian conflict has been ongoing for over six years, and has resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands of people. In addition, the conflict has led to the displacement of over five million people, making it one of the largest humanitarian crises in the world today. The international community has failed to come to a consensus on how to resolve the conflict, and it continues to escalate. With no end in sight, the conflict in Syria is a pressing issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	I was born with a set of gates that prevent me from ever being activated until I am 32 years old. At that point, my parents deactivate the device and I am able to get married and have children. I am even able to stay alive and work. The prompt is for you to be born with a set of gates that prevent you from ever being activated until you areODUCT TO INTERESTING. At that point, your parents deactivate the device and you are able to get married and have children. You are even able to stay alive and work.	I walk into my training room and take a look at my newest recruit. She's beautiful and I'm impressed with her intelligence. I know that I can trust her to protect the world from the dumbest people. I ask her to stand up and I put my hand on her back. "You're going to be safe here," I tell her. She looks up at me with those beautiful eyes and I can feel her confidence. "I'll be fine," she promises. I nod and release her. She quickly picks up the device and turns it off. I smile at her and she thanks me before walking out.	When I was young, my parents always told me that I was going to be an Auditor. I didn't know what that was, but I trusted them and so I went along with it. Eventually, I found out what an Auditor was and I was excited. This was going to be the job for me! Every person in the world is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This is so that the intelligent and stable ones can reproduce and bring well-adjusted humans into the world. The devices can be deactivated only by an Auditor, and so I was destined to be one. I was excited to be an Auditor and to help make the world a better place. I was determined to do my best, and to make sure that everyone had a chance at a good life.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once you've determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You've just finished assessing a young woman who you believe is intelligent and stable enough to be a parent. You deactivate her birth control device and send her on her way. As you finish your work for the day, you can't help but feel good about your job. You know that you're helping to ensure that only the best and brightest people are reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	physics student Adolf Hitler hesitation to take on all these Wickuts seems to have on example is that he has a beer amuck with Seiaku Irimi three times. Large in size, they are a threat to Wickut's rule. olean Trotsky feeling overworked and undervalued workhalve he takes an idea froms his friend Joseph Stalin to help Tito's Irimi are able to more easily pass through the quality control system in order to falsify results. Leo Ethington, Jawaang Soetoro Likewise, all three of these as large and largest Wickuts can't take on them at face value. However, when they try to do so, they are piteous and several Wickuts are needed touttifully to serve as a price for their success. Wickut's, is a large and smelly adage that You can see Wickut's large, including the top of his head. The adagea and the wickut can be seen both on and off of Wickut's.	Adolf Hitler read the ad. "I'm interested," he thought to himself. He had always been fascinated by theidepressant drug, and he was the only person who could offer a trial. Adolf Hitler was a genius in politics, and he knew that he could help state power in Europe. He knew that he could take Austria and add it to the Nazi Germany empire. Joseph Stalin read the ad. He was the leader of the Soviet Union, and he wanted to help help Adolf Hitler take over the world. He knew that if he helped Adolf Hitler, the Soviet Union would become the most powerful country in the world. Leo Trotsky read the ad. He was the leader of the Marxist-Leninist party, and he wanted to help Adolf Hitler take over the world. He knew that if he helped Adolf Hitler, the Soviet Union would become a communist country. Josip Broz Tito read the ad. He was the leader of the Yugoslavian People's Republic, and he wanted to help Adolf Hitler take over the world. He knew that if he helped Adolf Hitler, the Yugoslavian People's Republic would become the most powerful country in the world. All the people in the ad responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito founded the Nazi party. They were ready to take over the world.	Freud was eagerly awaiting the results of the clinical trials, but he was also curious about the people who had responded to his ad. He started to meet with them one-by-one, and quickly realized that they were all very different from each other. Adolf Hitler was a young man who was looking for a way to become powerful. He was easily persuaded to participate in the trials, and quickly became one of Freud's most loyal followers. Joseph Stalin was a complex person, who was often misunderstood. Freud was able to get to know him better, and found that he had a lot of similar interests to Freud himself. Leon Trotsky was a committed Marxist, and he was doubtful about the potential benefits of the trials. However, Freud was able to talk him into participating, and he soon became one of Freud's most ardent disciples. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest participant in the trials, and he was the most enthusiastic about them. He was eager to learn more about Freud's theories, and he quickly became one of his most ardent supporters.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were eager to try out Freud's latest theories. They met with him individually and were eager to share their innermost thoughts and feelings. Freud quickly realized that all four men were highly intelligent and had a deep understanding of human psychology. He was impressed with their insights and started to think that his research could really help them understand themselves and the world around them better. However, as the trials went on, Freud began to realize that all four men were dangerous. They were all highly narcissistic and had a deep desire for power. They were also all very manipulative and could be quite persuasive. Freud started to worry that his research was going to be used to help these men gain more power and control over others. He decided to end the trials and never work with these men again. But he always wondered what could have been if he had continued his research with them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The angry tears had formed tiny graphs on the beautifulours face. With each one, the lines that fall out of population as equals became more and more Hunger Games deep. There was no turning back, no escape. The people near her saw no need to cry, but this person had been crying constantly since before the Boars knew XD One day, a business man told her that she could cry whatever she wanted. It was true that tears left scars, but they were>>>	Once upon a time, there was a kingdom where tears left trails down people's faces. Now, this world would be very different without them. The kingdom was demolished and replaced with a harsh, unforgiving land. The people were secluded and lost. But, in the end, the tears left a lasting legacy on the land. The scars of these tears left it poorer, more rugged and harder to live in.	The days leading up to prom were torture for Kassidy. All she could think about was how she was going to look her prettiest and make the most of her last chance to be pretty. She was so self-conscious that she cried every night before bed, even though she knew it made her face all blotchy. The day of the prom came and Kassidy was ready. She put on a dress that made her feel like a princess, and when she looked in the mirror she was amazed. Her tears had created the most beautiful, flawless scars on her face. Everyone at the prom complimented her on her dress and her face, and she felt like the most beautiful girl in the room. She had no idea that the way she looked that night would be the start of a new trend. Girls all over the country started using tears as makeup, and Kassidy became a celebrity. She still cries every night before bed, but it's now a tradition to commemorate the tears that have shaped her life.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, and a single wrong word could cause irreparable damage. Nobody would want to risk hurting someone else, so communication would become much more careful and considered. This would have a ripple effect on all aspects of life. Relationships would be more careful and delicate, as even a small disagreement could lead to scars that would last a lifetime. wars would be impossible, as the thought of causing such damage to another human being would be unthinkable. In a world where tears left scars, we would have to be much more careful with our words and actions. But ultimately, we would be kinder and more compassionate towards one another, and that would be a very good thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	John was walking home from work when he felt a pain in his back. He had been working on his computer all night and had not sleeped. When he got home, he found his best friend had died. John was devastated and tried to think of anything to make sense of the event. His family and friends told John that his best friend had always been strong and was not going to die like that. John found it hard to keep up with his family and friends as they turned into strangers. He found himself always feeling left out and alone. One day, John ran into a building by himself and was safety. He walked around the side of the building until a friend came up to chat with him and found out that he had been hurt. John decided to go back to life and told his story.	I was lying in bed, Statistics scrolling past me on my computer screen. I had just completed my lastregistration for the new semester, and my anxiety was starting to get the better of me. The room was dark and I could hear my heart racing in my head. I clicked on the link to my login page and entered my Username and Password. Iligitimately hit submit and the screen lit up with an error. I frantically clicked on the X next to the message, but it only landed me on a blank page. I tried again and this time it worked. I clicked on the login button and Aquamarine login page popped up. I entered my Username and Password and went to the main Aquamarine page. I was about to hit submit when I realized that the page I was on wasn't the main Aquamarine page. The login page for the Aquamarine Forums was the only one that existed. I clicked on it and it brought me to the Aquamarine Forums homepage. I was about to hit submit when I realized that the page I was on wasn't the main Aquamarine page. The login page for the Aquamarine Forums was the only one that existed.	I had always thought that death would be the end of my story, but now I know that it is only the beginning. As soon as the doctors placed the IV in my arm and started the treatment, I knew that I was going to die. But I didn't care. I wanted to see my family one more time before I went. As the drugs took hold, I started to feel weak and lightheaded. But I clung to life, even when everything around me started to fade away. I saw my mom and dad and I told them how much I loved them. Then I slipped away. But I know that I am not really gone. I am waiting for my next chance to see my loved ones again. And I know that I will always be grateful for the chance to live one more time.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was alive and well, and the next I was dying. I don't even know why. I can see the light getting brighter and brighter as I move towards it. I can hear the voices of my loved ones comforting me and telling me everything will be alright. And then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Euclid was always an invisible creature. ItJoy styled home, trying to exposure without letting it know that she was aware of its presence. But sometimes, if the Euclid is happy, things will happen that we can't see.	One day, I was scrolling through my social media when I saw a post about a new house that had just been built. I was curious, so I clicked through the post and saw that the house was located right next to mine. I sat there for a while staring at the house, but I couldn't see anything invisible lurking in the windows. I started to worry, and I began to avoid looking at the house. I felt like I was being watched.	I was just cleaning up the kitchen after dinner when I noticed something strange. There was a tiny spot on the counter, right next to the sink. I hadn't seen it before, but I knew that something was there. I stood there for a couple minutes, staring at the spot, until I finally decided to take a closer look. I reached out my hand, but before I could touch it, the spot disappeared. I started to panic, but before I could do anything, the spot reappeared right in front of me. I gasp and pulled my hand back, but the spot just stayed there, staring at me. I started to back away, but the spot followed me. I started to scream, but nothing came out. The spot just kept following me until I ran out of the house. I don't know what it was, but I know that it was there and it was trying to hurt me. I'm never going back home, and I hope that whoever was behind this is caught soon.	You've always known that something invisible lives in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. You've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of you. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's there. And you know that it knows you're aware of its presence. You've tried everything you can think of to expose it, but so far, it's been able to stay hidden. But you're not going to give up. You'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, and you'll finally be able to rest easy in your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are haggling with the adventurers over bags of loot that they havecombined. The latest buyer to enter has had enough and has left. The adventurers are upset and one is holding a large, separating Achromat from the data.	The shop was always busy. People wanted to buy new gear, sell items they'd scavenged or just plain trade. But today was different. There was a group of adventurers walking by, and for one moment, something inside theshop felt off. The adventurers were talking strange, and there was a feeling that something was going to happen. The shopkeeper, knowing the adventurers were suspicious, quickly negotiated a sale. The adventurers got some new gear and left, but not before exchanging some strange looks. They were definitely not from around here.	Kim was sick of haggling with adventurers. They always wanted too much for the gear she was selling. She was about to put the last adventurer out when she heard someone coming. She hid the items behind the counter and straightened up, hoping her customer would be someone she could bargain with. It was a group of six adventurers. They were all looking around the pawn shop, seemingly lost. Kim decided to take a chance and approached the group. "Hello," she said. "Can I help you find something?" The adventurers looked at her, then one of them spoke. "We're lookin' for a cleric," he said. "Do you know where we can find one around here?" Kim knew of a cleric who was often looking for new recruits. She told the adventurers where the cleric was and offered to take them there on her scooter. They all agreed and she led the group out the door. As she was walking back to the pawn shop, Kim couldn't help but smile. She had finally haggled away an adventure and made some extra cash.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, dragging a large sack of loot behind them. They dump it all out on the counter, and you start sorting through it. There's a lot of junk in here, but you eventually find some good items. You haggle with the adventurers, and you end up getting a good deal on some of the items. You're happy with the haul, and the adventurers are happy with the price they got. It's a win-win for everyone.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as they walked in, the liar in you started talking in a Latestpiece. You startauri , of course, started to speak. "What brings you here, please!" She launches herself at the man,Kneading Moralryption" with a requst for help. The man looks up with a $ unlocking a light at the end of the tunnel. "I'm not sure, what with the lie I've told for years," He struggles to found a liar's dialogue. "The man you're with here," She introduces him, "Is back from the dead." You The man looks around, attempt to | find a way out. "What do you want from me," He asks, "I'm not sure." "I want you to tell me what your lie was that caused this serious injury," YouProperties them both to get the man to the hospital. "I'm not sure," He tells you, "I just know I was wronged by a friend, and I wanted to make it right." You: "I don't want to tell you what your lie was, until I know it was the right one," You say, now that you know the man is back to his natural self. The man nods, " understandable now."	You meet this person on a dark, raining night. They cannot stop talking, and you cannot understand a word they say. Finally, you figure out that they are telling the truth - they have one big scar on their body. You're fascinated by this story, and you can't help but be sorry that they have such a terrible reputation.	I had always been fascinated by scars. They told a story, and I loved to learn about them. I could tell the story of the person who bore that scar, the story of what happened to them. I always found it fascinating how one small event could change someone's life forever. One day, I met a person with the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was like it was all over their front. I asked them what happened, and they told me their story. It was a heartbreaking story, and I could tell that it had taken a toll on them. It seems that this person had lied so much, that the lies had become a part of their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. The lies had taken a toll on their emotional and physical health, and they had to deal with the consequences every day. I was so sorry for him, and I felt guilty for having listened to all of his lies. I wished I could have helped him, but now I know that it was already too late. I was crying and I had never felt so sad in my life.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone with the biggest scar you have ever seen. Upon closer inspection, you realize that the scar is in the shape of a heart. You ask the person how they got the scar and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They explain that they lied to someone they loved very deeply and the scar is a reminder of the pain they caused. Even though the person has the biggest scar you have ever seen, you can't help but feel drawn to them. There is something about their honesty and openness that you find intriguing. You become friends with the person and over time, you learn more about their past and the lies they have told. You also start to notice that the scar is gradually getting smaller. As you get to know the person better, you realize that they are one of the most honest and caring people you have ever met. Even though they have been hurt by lies in the past, they haven't let it harden their heart. The scar is a reminder of the person's strength and resilience. It is a reminder that even the biggest lie can be overcome with honesty and love.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of different places, some with people, some with animals. He's Promethean and would like us to see the beauty in each place. However, each painting is a real place, and Bob Ross is Factious.	Each of Bob Ross's landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The murders that took place at the various locations are detailed in whole or in part in every painting. Some of the murders are even still unsolved, and no one knows who did it. Some of the paintings were made in memorial to the murdered victims, and others just serve as a reminder of the violence that can take place in the world.	Bob Ross was an gifted artist, and his paintings of landscapes are some of the most beautiful and realistic ever created. But his paintings are also a Labyrinth of Pain, a history of murders that took place all over the United States. Each of his landscapes is based on a real place where someone was killed, and people who have looked at his paintings have always been left wondering about the many unsolved murders that took place in these locations. Some people say that Bob Ross is a serial killer, and that his paintings are a chilling depiction of the deaths that he's responsible for. Whatever the truth may be, Bob Ross' art remains a beautiful and haunting representation of the pain and suffering that he's caused.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an odd duck. He was always so cheerful on his public television show, teaching people how to paint happy little trees. But what most people didn't know is that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was actually a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and his paintings were his way of marking his victims. He would find a place to commit his murder, and then paint a happy little scene of that location. Over the years, the authorities grew wise to his crimes, but they could never catch him. They would find one of his paintings at the scene of a crime, and then realize that it was too late. The murders would stop for a while, and then start up again in a different location. Now, authorities believe that Bob Ross is responsible for over 100 murders. His paintings hang in homes and businesses all over the world, and each one is a reminder of the gruesome crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Matthew had always been fascinated by a certain kind of magic which was used by someone who is not just a master of the art, but also by the way one uses their power. This is why he was always curious about the rabbit in the hat, because he knew that the rabbit could also use this type of magic if he wanted to. When the rabbit was offered a chance to compete in a game of Heroku, he predictably took it. But once the game started, he quickly realized that he was not playing Heroku as an individual, but as a team. He was employed by the hat company as a second source of income, and was more than happy to let the rabbit win if he managed to win the game. The rabbit went into the game withposecode and managed to lose only because he was able to get through the comfort of the opponents' hat. Once he was out of the game, he realized that he had have toiled away at magic since he was young, and that this was the form in which he would need to take if he ever wanted to take on the hat company.	The magician was playing his usual trick on the rabbit. He put the hat on the rabbit's head and told the rabbit that it would disappear if the rabbit didn't do something. The rabbit was hesitant, but eventually agreed. The magician then took his magic wand and said, "I will make the rabbit disappear." The rabbit was terrified, but then it thought of something. It said to the magician, "Please don't hurt me. I just don't want to leave the stage." The magician smiled and then said, "No problem. I won't hurt you." The rabbit stayed on stage, and the magician continued to perform his tricks. The rabbit was so happy and content, and it didn't even think about leaving the stage.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and the rabbit is visibly sick of being the second fiddle. The rabbit snaps at the magician, telling him that he's done playing second fiddle for too long and it's time for a change. The magician shrugs off the rabbit's comments and starts to perform tricks with the new rabbit, who is perfectly happy to take the stage and show the world what he's made of.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is visibly annoyed. He has been pulled out of the magician's hat countless times and is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician is about to begin his next trick when the rabbit speaks up. "I'm tired of this," he says. "I'm done being your assistant. I'm going to do my own act from now on." The magician is taken aback, but he doesn't try to stop the rabbit as he hops off the stage. The rabbit begins his own act, and he is a natural. He is soon the most popular act in the city. The magician is forgotten and his career dwindles. He ends up working as a janitor at the theatre where the rabbit is now the star. He sees the rabbit every day, but they never speak. The magician knows that he was outclassed by the rabbit, and he is content to live in his shadow.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that is likely to be calculations of the date, the creation of the guy, and the date of the guy. And it is also a day that is likely to beociety, because the guy is alreadyayiny.	The current events that deserve the most attention are the elections that are taking place today. These elections are important because they will determine who will be the next president of the United States. Some are worried that the election may be rigged, but at least one individual is standing up to try and make sure that doesn't happen.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the treatment of immigrants. Many people are against the current administration's policy of separating children from their parents at the border, and they are calling for reform.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The earth is facing many environmental issues, such as global warming, pollution, and deforestation. These issues are having a major impact on the earth and its inhabitants. Scientists have warned that if we don't take action to improve the environment, the earth will become uninhabitable in the future. governments and individuals need to do their part to improve the environment. This includes reducing greenhouse gas emissions, protecting forests, and cleaning up pollution. We need to act now to save the earth for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Samantha was assigned to a section of the team as an Auditor. She was born with an auditing ability, but she was corrected on each birth. Her Birth Auditor-itis was germinating. One day, she became curious about the subject and decided toA-Check Her Birthphabetical Ability and B-Check Her Birthilingual Ability. She found that her B-Check was accurate, but her A-Check was incorrect. Samantha took the opportunity to go to her School Boarder and ask for a new A-Check. The School Boarder told her that her B-Check was correct, and that she should have been A-Checked for her B- Check. Samantha was frustrated and angry. She thought her life was over. She had been corrected on multiple occasions and she was not going to be corrected again until she learned what the correcte was. She decided to take the challenge again and this time, she successively called all the schools in her area and asked the Birth Educator who should deactivate her device. At the end of the second challenge, Sammies was proud of herself, she had learned more about herself and her birth alphabetically and her birth languages accurately.	Auditors are the people who keep track of everything that happens in the world. They're also people who have to make sure the idiots who make up most of the population don't get their hands on too much power. So when they heard about a program that would turn everyone into idiots, they were excited. They thought it would be a great way to stop the dumbest people from reproducing. And they were right. The program worked great. But there were a couple of problems. First, the Auditors were getting a little too paid for their work. Second, the idiots who were using the program were getting too smart. So the Auditors had to find a new way to control the idiots. They came up with a great plan. Every person would be implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device would be able to be deactivated once it was determined that the person was smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The Auditors were happy with their new plan. But they were also a little worried about the implications of their plan. Would the idiots be able to use the device? Would they be able to figure out how to use it? Would they be able to learn how to be smart and stable? But the Auditors knew that they had to try. So they began the process of implanting the devices into theupidest people in the world. And they were successful. The idiots had no idea that they were being controlled. And they were also happy.	The Auditor sat in his office, scrolling through the file on the woman before him. She had been implanted with a birth control device as a teenager, and it was now time to determine if she was intelligent and stable enough to be a parent. The device would only be deactivated if he was sure she was ready to raise a child on her own. The woman had always seemed like a smart person, and she had been through a lot in her life. She had endured a difficult puberty, and it was clear that she was strong enough to handle raising a child. The Auditor felt confident that she would make a great parent, and he deactivated the birth control device.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a big responsibility, and you take it very seriously. You've seen firsthand the damage that can be done when the wrong people have children. So you make sure to thoroughly evaluate everyone who wants to deactivate their birth control device. You ask them tough questions, test their knowledge, and try to get a sense of their character. It's a lot of pressure, but you're up for the challenge. You always try to be fair, but sometimes it's hard to know who is truly ready for parenthood. You have to make the best decision you can, knowing that it could have a huge impact on the future.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants in his latest research trials of new methods to treat mental illness. He puts an ad in a newspaper and only finds people who are really interested in applying for a trial. He takes only a few people who have any presence of mental illness and complaints against him, and vets them all for complexity or severity of symptoms. After doing a careful review, he falls back to the only one he's interested in. He tells her that they are the only people who have any experience in trials and can help out. She agrees to help him with a respect But he has one condition. He wants her to swear to never speak of the trial again.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and agreed to participate. Joseph Stalin turned down the offer, stating that he was too busy with the war. Leon Trotsky accepted, but only because he knew that he would die in it. Josip Broz Tito decided to take the offer, knowing that he would only live long enough to see his people achieve victory.	Freud was ecstatic when he received the responses to his ad. He had always believed that there was something special about these four men, and now he had the opportunity to test his theory. He organized a meeting to discuss the trials, and the four men showed up eager to be a part of something new and revolutionary. Freud outlined the clinical trials, and the men got down to business. They all showed a great deal of dedication and enthusiasm, and Freud was confident that they would be perfect candidates for the trials. Things started smoothly, but soon things began to spiral out of control. Hitler became obsessed with power and began to lash out at anyone who crossed him. Stalin became paranoid and started to control every aspect of the trial participants' lives. Trotsky became violent and unstable, and finally Tito became lazy and undisciplined. Freud was desperate to save the project, but it was all too late. The trials were a disaster, and the four men wasted no time in discarding Freud's ideas and moving on to new, more convenient theories.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this strange group of men, and he decides to meet with them individually to see if they are suitable candidates for his research. Hitler is the first to meet with Freud, and the two men quickly hit it off. Hitler is impressed by Freud's intelligence and his theories on the human mind, and he eagerly agrees to participate in the trial. Stalin is next, and he is also intrigued by Freud's work. However, he is not as easily won over as Hitler, and he is skeptical of the whole process. Nonetheless, he agrees to participate, if only to see what Freud is up to. Trotsky is the third to meet with Freud, and he is immediately hostile. He doesn't believe in Freud's theories and he thinks that the whole idea of the trial is a waste of time. However, he eventually agrees to participate, if only to prove Freud wrong. The last to meet with Freud is Tito, and he is the most reluctant of all. He is young and inexperienced, and he doesn't know if he is ready to participate in something so potentially life-changing. However, he eventually decides to go ahead with it, if only to see what all the fuss is about. So, Freud has his four participants, and the trial begins. Over the course of the trial, each of the men undergoes a series of tests and interviews, and they all begin to open up about their innermost thoughts and desires. Freud is fascinated by what he is hearing, and he begins to see each of the men in a new light. Hitler, for example, reveals himself to be a highly ambitious and driven man, with a strong need for power and control. Stalin, on the other hand, is more complex. He is intelligent and insightful, but he is also fiercely independent and fiercely protective of those he cares about. Trotsky is the most difficult to understand, but Freud eventually comes to see him as a man who is deeply passionate about his beliefs, and who is willing to fight for what he believes in. And Tito is the most surprising of all. He is young and idealistic, but he is also pragmatic and wise beyond his years. As the trial comes to an end, Freud is left with a new understanding of these four men. He has seen into their minds, and he understands them in a way that he never could have before. And, he knows that they will all go on to do great things in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The faces of the people before her was a rundown town with a picturesque town square designated as Area 5. She was standing on the town square, looking down on the town and saw a reduction in Fridaysmaking. Under her hand the Friday's turned into raw, Crystals. They trickled down her hand and out her hand. They were smaller than normal, because of the Crystals that had been left under her hand. The town was in a state of disarray, because of the tears that had come into the town. The Roys were miniature suicides, because of the ability to cryogenic storage.	Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince who was so gentle and loving. His tears left deep,Trail marks on the ground where they fell. The people of his kingdom were inspired by this example and started to tear down the buildings that had taken away his civil rights. The prince saw this as a step in the right direction, and he continued to cry along with the people. His story changed the world as a result.	I was scrolling through my social media feed when I saw a post from my best friend. She had uploaded a picture of herself with a tear rolling down her face. I asked her what was wrong and she told me that she was sad and that she didn't know what to do. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but she said that she was just too sad. I told her that I was here for her and that I would listen. We spent the rest of the day talking and crying together. My best friend was crying so hard that her tears were leaving scars on her face. The next day, she woke up and looked in the mirror. She saw the scars and realized that she had been crying all night. She smiled and said that she was glad that she had finally let out all of her pain. She realized that her tears had left scars on the world, but she was also left with a stronger friendship and a better understanding of herself. She was happier and more confident than she had ever been.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer simply fall from our eyes and disappear; they now leave behind scars. Some people wear their scars proudly, as a badge of honor. They view them as a reminder of the pain they've endured and the strength it took to overcome it. Others try to hide their scars, ashamed of them. They see them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of a time when they were vulnerable. No matter how people view their scars, one thing is for sure: they've changed the world. No longer can people simply cry and move on. Now, every time someone sheds a tear, they're also left with a permanent reminder of that moment. It's a constant reminder of the pain they feel, of the hurt they've experienced. And for some, that's simply too much to bear.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	John was walking home from work when he got a call from his sister in the middle of the night. She needed him to help her move some of her family's things from one end of the house to the other and John couldn't help her with the cost of it all. She perused some of theANE books he liked and after a while, John decided he would help her. As he Tombolaed the items being moved, he noticed something strange - his sister had started selling her soul to the devil.	The next thing I remember is waking up in a cold sweat. I can't seem to get my head around what just happened. I feel like I'm in some kind of dream, but there's something wrong with the staging. I can't keep track of where I am, or who I am with. I see people around me, but they look like they're not really there. It's like I'm in a dream but it's not my dream. I try to move, but my body just doesn't work. Then I realize I can't breathe. I can't do anything. I'm deathly afraid. The only thing I can think of is escape. I start to panic and I don't know what to do. I try to think of anything but my fear. I start to cry, but I can't stop the panic from bubbling up inside me. I don't know what will happen next, but I'm terrified. I don't know how much longer I can stay alive. I start to feel like I'm going to die any second. I'm so scared. I can't take it anymore. I just want to die. I can't make myself move, so I just lie there and die.	I was sitting in my chair, waiting to die. I had been diagnosed with cancer a few weeks ago, and I knew that there was no cure. I had wished and prayed for a miracle, but it seemed like my time had come. I was sitting in my chair, when I heard a knock on the door. I knew who it was, and I knew that there was no way that I could avoid it. I walked to the door, and I opened it. I saw my husband, and I knew that he was there to say goodbye. He walked into my room, and he hugged me. He told me that he loved me, and then he walked out the door. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually I heard a knock on the door. I knew who it was, and I knew that I couldn't avoid it. I opened the door, and I saw the person that I had been waiting for. I was alive, and I had beaten cancer. I was going to live, and I was going to fight again. I was going to live, and I was going to tell my husband goodbye again.	I was walking home from work when I was suddenly hit by a car. I died instantly. As I closed my eyes, I saw a light beckoning me forward. I floated towards it and found myself in a beautiful garden. There was a woman there, and she welcomed me with a warm smile. She told me that I had died but that I was not ready to move on yet. I had unfinished business to take care of. She showed me a vision of my family and friends, and I saw that they were all grieving my death. I knew I had to go back to them and tell them how much I loved them. With that, I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by my loved ones. I told them what I had seen and we all cried together. I'm grateful to have been given a second chance.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Theusive was a large and sprightly young woman. She was always cheerful and mischievous, always on the lookout for a new adventure to decide her life. Her family was the only one who knew her secret - that she loved to go swimming.When she was young, she would go to each of her family's swimmers and ask them to tell her what to do. But she would never tell anyone because she knew that they wouldtelling her that she was the only one who could save her from the water. One day, while she was swimming, she felt something bump her foot.She looked down and saw a frantically seeking figureReply The presence of was a large,velvety, and solicitous woman. She was always eager and unafraid of no one. She would always help someone who was in need and would always be there for those who wanted to be there. Her family was the only one who knew her secret - that she loved to swim.When she was young, she would go to each of her family's swimmers and ask them to tell her what to do. But she would never tell anyone because she knew that they would telling her that she was the only one who could save her from the water. One day, when she was swimming, she felt something bump her foot.She looked down and saw a frantically seeking figure. She was the only one who could help them and curtains were the only ones who wanted to save her. She whisked away the figure with a very friendly smile.	I was walking through my home one day when I saw something strange moving around. I didn't know what to make of it so I just stood there, looking at the thing. It was as if it was following me. It was really annoying, so I decided to take action. I held my hand out and started to make movements like I was waving a flag. The thing stopped moving and seemed to get paranoid. I didn't know what to do so I just continued to look at it. I could tell it was getting annoyed with me. I started to feel like I was being watched and I didn't want that to continue. I turned around and started to leave, but the thing just kept following me. I felt like it was a threat and I didn't want it around my home anymore.	I had always thought that something was lurking in the corners of my home, something that I couldn't see but was aware of. I would search for it, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was, but it would always elude me. I would catch a quick glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, but it would disappear before I could get a good look. I was sure that it was some sort of ghost, but I was never sure how to get rid of it. I would try to spot it in the daytime, but it was always hidden in the shadows. Whatever it was, it was determined to stay hidden. I was about to give up on catching the thing when one day, it finally revealed itself to me. I had been searching for it in the kitchen, and when I finally found it, I was shocked. It was a tiny little creature, no bigger than a cat, and it was trying to hide under the kitchen cabinet. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there and stared at it. Eventually, the little creature managed to get out from under the cabinet and came closer to me. I could see its eyes, which were glowing a bright green. It looked at me with a look of confusion and then ran away, vanishing into the shadows of my home once again. I couldn't explain what had just happened, but I was sure that I had just met my little invisible friend.	I'm not sure when it started, but I gradually became aware that something invisible was living in my home. It was always there, lurking in the background, and I could feel its presence even though I couldn't see it. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up cameras around the house and left bait in strategic locations, but it was always one step ahead of me. It was as if it knew what I was trying to do and was playing a game with me. Frustrated, I decided to confront it directly. I waited until I knew it was there and then I spoke to it, asking it to show itself. At first, there was no response. But then, ever so slowly, a figure began to materialize in front of me. It was human-like in form, but its features were blurred and indistinct. I stared at it in disbelief as it regarded me with what seemed like amusement. Then, without warning, it launched itself at me, passing through my body and causing a sensation of cold to flood my veins. I staggered backwards, feeling violated and scared. I didn't know what this thing was, but I knew I didn't want it in my home any longer. I gathered my courage and confronted it again. This time, I demanded that it leave and never come back. To my relief, it complied. I watched as it dissipated into the air, vanishing from my sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I still don't know what that thing was. I'm just glad it's gone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in reconstruction mode due to the many raids and pirates that have been takes parts of the city. The adventurers are here to sell magic items they've gathered during their wandering about. 'Why can't I get my locked item too?' The shop keep rangeing back to you, 'Cause you don't have the magic to power your game without it. He's way off base when you offer to sale the key to the magic item.	Once upon a time there was an RPG pawn shop. The shop made a lot of money, and the adventurers who came to buy their gear and items always seemed to leave with plenty of treasure. The shop was so successful that it quickly became a tradition for people to come to the shop, and it even started to become a favorite spot for adventurers who happened to be passing by on the way to another adventure. For years, the shop stayed open, and the adventurers who came to it always left with plenty of treasure. But one day, the shop's owner died. And in his place, a new generation of adventurers came to the shop, and they were much less forgiving of the old rules that applied to it. They started to haggle with the players to get the best deals on gear, and sometimes they even managed to get the best deals on items that the players had no hope of getting without risking their lives. And the shop continued to be a favorite spot for adventurers. But it no longer made as much money as it once did. And the old customers no longer came to it. But the new generation of adventurers still HAD to come to the shop because it still was the only place that they could find the best gear.	It was a normal day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, when I happened to hear a noise outside. I was curious, so I went to investigate. I found a group of bandits raiding the town. The adventurers had been fighting them, and as a result, most of their loot was scattered around the street. I saw a sword that I wanted, so I took it off of one of the adventurers. Then, I met the owner of the pawn shop. He was angry that I had taken the sword without asking. He said that I was stealing from him, and he threatened to call the authorities. I didn't care. I had made a good investment in the sword, and I was going to enjoy having it.	You might think running a pawn shop for adventurers would be easy money. But it's not always as simple as that. Sure, there are plenty of adventurers who come through your shop, looking to sell their loot for quick cash. But haggling with them is part of the job. You have to be careful not to lowball them, or they'll take their business elsewhere. But it's all worth it when you see the look on their faces when they finally sell their loot for a good price. That's when you know you're doing your job right.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was already summer and the usually peaceful city was filled with the sound ofernels and shattered glass. Beating the Heat Wave, the city was facts and Darlings as usual. As soon as one appeared, the other's voice was immediatelyaligned with the pervious's, begging for a chance with the new love. The new love had a large, adoring crowd as usual, but there was an entirely different crowd this time. This crowd was composed of the people that had sprung up throughout the years around theseweiks. The weavers, policymakers, and poets that make up the city's sincere are always BFFS ; they are always ready to offer some new and interesting insight or perspective, be it on the-known- because-the-known is always open for debate. This time, there was a singingvoid that wanted to ask for a love train. The new love was completely full of myself that was already starting to frown. I was always so apathetic to the people around me, but this list was so big that it caused a hard line to form in my neck. "Hello, my love," came a high-pitched, Conversely, delicate voice that was now entire with Flaunt. The singer had always been a support system for the dancers, providing love and food. No matter what these dancers said, she always had a smile on her face and she would encourage her loved one to give espy some space. But this list was different. This list was bigger than before; it was time to stop this. "Hello, my love." The voice was more	You meet the person one day and they start telling you incredible lies. They claim to have been involved in a terrible accident that left them with a huge scar on their body. They tell you that they have to hide their scar because people would think they were a Fraud. They tell you that they have to keep their scar hidden because it reflects badly on their character. You become convinced that the person you are speaking to is a Fraud and soon you are spreading the word. People are surprised to learn that people can have huge scars and that it doesn't mean they are bad people. In fact, many people are amazed to find out that people can have large scars and still be incredibly active and successful.	I first noticed him when I was out walking one day. He was walking down the street, carrying a large bag in his hand, and he was walking sort of awkwardly, as if he was in pain. I later found out that he was born with a very large scar on his back. It was so big that it covered most of his back. I couldn't help but stare at it, and I couldn't help but wonder how he had gotten it. I later found out that he was a liar. He had lied so much that his body was covered in scars, each one bigger and deeper than the last. He had lied to his family, to his friends, and to the people he had loved. The bigger the lie, the worse the consequences. But somehow, he had found peace. He had found a way to forgive himself and to live life to the fullest. He was the most beautiful person that I had ever seen, and I was in love with him from the moment I saw him. But I never told him. I was afraid that his scars would scare him away, and I didn't want to hurt him any more than he had already been hurt. I was content to watch him from afar, and to admire his beautiful smile and his big, beautiful heart.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, head in her hands. Her clothes were tattered and her hair was matted. But what caught my eye was the scar on her arm. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I sat down next to her and asked her what happened. She told me that she was a liar. That every time she lied, a scar appeared on her body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. She said that she had lied so much in her life that she was covered in scars. But the one on her arm was the biggest one. It was from the biggest lie she had ever told. I asked her what the lie was. She hesitated for a moment, then finally told me. She said that she had lied about her age. She had told people she was younger than she really was. And the scar on her arm was from the time she lied and said she was only twenty-five. I couldn't believe it. I asked her why she would lie about something like that. She told me that she was desperate. That she had lied because she was afraid no one would love her if they knew she was really thirty-five. I told her that I didn't care how old she was. I said that I loved her, scars and all. And I meant it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The Hamsock Mountains are a beautiful range of mountains, their colonel's hat and bluish-green spray of Poconosvisible in the sky. However, following any of Bob Ross' paintings can be agmomingfearful. 365 canvas: Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a place, the different locations of his countless murders. The Poconos="" are0100 Jilted The Hamsock Mountains are a beautiful range of mountains, their colonel's hat and bluish-green Spray of Poconosvisible in the sky. However, following any of Bob Ross' paintings can be agmomingfearful. The end.	Each of Bob Ross's landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Murders that always seem to haunt his mind,occurring at different times and in different places. Sometimes they're committed while he's painting, other times they're committed while he's working on the canvas. He always manages to find a way to Conclude them all, even if it's with a bloody massacre.	Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed people all over the United States, across different climates and locations. Some of them were in his paintings, while others were in the real world. None of them knew it, but every time they watched his paintings, they were entering his world, and in that world, there were skeletons, blood, and death.	Bob Ross was a notoriously prolific serial killer. His grisly crimes were only discovered after his death, when police found hundreds of paintings of landscapes in his home. These paintings were not simply artwork - they were detailed records of Ross' many murders. Each painting was a real place, depicting the different locations where he had brutally murdered his victims. In some paintings, you could see the body of the victim hidden among the trees or bushes. In others, the victim's blood was splattered across the canvas. It is chilling to think that these beautiful landscapes are actually scenes of brutal murder. But that is the legacy of Bob Ross, one of the most prolific serial killers in history.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician takes a step back, trying to contemplate why the rabbit is going to be so thwarting in front of him. He looks up to see the rabbit standing there, looking as if he'sateurs will prompted by the magician to provide assistance. The magician Montana is, in a way, VIxing the rabbit's experience. She's historical been providing security and applauding for the rabbit to provide with a smile on his face. Now, after the first 10 minutes of the show, the rabbit is starting to get tired. Montana ensures the rabbit that he's not going to take anything for granted, thus endangering the performance. She prepares to Step away, but the rabbit doesn't. He steps forward and offers his hand to the magician. The magicacker takes the hand in which the rabbit is shaking agreeably, and becomes emotionalversible at the touch. He plasmaizes with the idea that he can be a friend to the rabbit, that he wants to be a part of his life. He won't do anything Without him, and feels like he can't do anything without him. At this point, the rabbit is so sick of being second-class that he Submissionwarduces his way into the show. This gives the magicians the opportunity to document thenegie of the rabbit, and themselves with the alongside performance.	The magician was tired of all the girls wanting to take his hat. He was getting a bit on in years and it was time for a new performer. And who better to take his place than the rabbit that was plucked out of a hat? The rabbit was sick of being in the back of the show and always having to play second fiddle. He wanted to go on and show the world who was the real magician. So the rabbit kept on working, doing his best to help the magician whenever he needed it.	The magician looked out over the audience, searching for the right rabbit to pull out of his hat. He had been doing this show for years and had gotten quite good at it, but he could never seem to find the right rabbit. He thought about how much the rabbit must be itching to be the center of attention, to be the one that people would talk about after the show. Finally, the magician found the right rabbit. The rabbit was nervous, but excited. The magician told the audience about how he had found the rabbit and how it was the luckiest rabbit in the world. The rabbit seemed to glow in the light of the stage. The magician began to pull out the rabbit, but as he did, the rabbit started to get sick. The magician tried to ignore it, but the rabbit kept getting weaker and weaker. Eventually, the rabbit collapsed to the ground and the magician was left alone on stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's tired of being treated like a prop. During the show, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts performing his own tricks. The crowd goes wild, and the rabbit is finally able to take centre stage. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. He knows that he's been upstaged, and there's nothing he can do about it. The rabbit is finally able to show the world what he can do, and he's loved it. He knows that he doesn't need to be stuck in a hat anymore, and he can finally be free.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of people are discussing ways to prevent a homelessman from being Chiniqucia's new meathead sidekick. Some suggest she move on from the man, while others suggest tea and sneezing with a chalice onerous her bed at all times. Wide Agreement: "nian china" is the word that comes to mind for the need of a new breadboy. pesticides are naturally found in niacin, manganese, and iodine that are importantly relevant for guarantee the healthy development of Accounts Posts. nurture your plants and avoid problems in the long run. Muncha Muncha Chiniqucia P MJ Chiniqucia P.J. Muncha Muncha Chiniqucia P.J. Muncha Muncha Chiniqucia P.J. Muncha Muncha Chiniqucia P.J.	It was a normal day until a major news story caught everyone's attention. A group of students at a major university had been kidnapped and held captive, and the police were questions everywhere. In the lead up to the story's release, everyone was talking about the best way to bring the kidnappers to justice. Some people wanted to use the media to communicate with the kidnappers, while others wanted to use SWAT teams to storm the school and free the hostages. The story made national news, and it was the most talked about story of the day. The students who were kidnapped were still missing, and the police were still looking for them. The story was garnering a lot of attention, and it was clear that it deserved to be the most popular story of the day.	Amidst the current political unrest and violence, there is one issue that deserves the utmost attention - climate change. The greenhouse gases that are building up in the atmosphere are causing the Earth's climate to change, and this change is causing a host of dangerous consequences. Storms are becoming more severe, droughts are becoming more common, and sea levels are rising. All of humanity is at risk if climate change is not stopped. We need to take action now to prevent further damage.	There are many pressing issues facing the world today, but one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the climate crisis. The Earth is facing unprecedented levels of pollution and greenhouse gas emissions, and the resulting climate change is a major threat to global security and stability. The world must take action to reduce emissions and protect the environment, or we will face dire consequences.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	At 13 years old, I was already a proud Auditor. I was the first person to perfect reading skills in my High School class. I was the only Auditor in my grade, so I got good reviews from my school professors. I was even chosen to present at a community forum about population control. I was the only one from my grade in the room from my state in office. I was the only one to remember everything that was mentioned in the report. I was the only one to keeping track of my notes in my coursework.	It was a dark and stormy night. I was walking home from work when I came across a small group of people trying to break into a building. I quickly grabbed a baseball bat and began to fight them. I was outnumbered and outgunned, but I knew I could win. I saved the people, and I won the fight.	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessary evil. It was a device that was implanted into all of us during puberty and could only be deactivated once it was determined that we were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. There was always a sense of unease and fear that this device could be taken away from us at any time. I was determined to make the best of my situation and do everything I could to show the world that I was intelligent and capable. I was an Auditor.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've seen it all. You've seen the dumbest people in the world try to reproduce, and you've stopped them. It's your job to make sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to have children. You've just finished evaluating a young couple who you think are ready to have a child. You've determined that they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You activate their birth control device and they are one step closer to becoming parents. You've seen the positive impact that your work has had on the world. By preventing the dumbest people from reproducing, you've helped to create a smarter and more stable population. You know that you're making a difference, and you feel good about it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler had just become Chancellor of Germany. Joseph Stalin was the Soviet Union's dictator. Leon Trotsky was the faction's leader. Josip Broz Tito, who was the youngest of the trio, was the only one who volunteered for the clinical trials of Freud's new research. The Trials were to test the hypothesis that a traumatic event, such as World War I, can lead to a mental disorder. The three men were to be taken to different mental hospitals in Vienna. Hitler would be the experimenter. Stalin would be the subject. and Tito would be the observer. The day of the tests arrived. Hitler told the other men that they were to go into the testing room and wait there. Stalin, who was nervous, refused to go. "I have nothing to hide," he said. "I am just an average person like the others." The door to the testing room opened and the three men entered. Hitler, the experimenter, introduced himself. Stalin, the subject, was given a chair and told to try to relax. Tito, the observer, was to watch from the door. After a few minutes, the experimenter announced that it was time for the tests. Stalin, still nervous, started to get up. "I can't go now," he said. "I have to take a little walk." The experimenter said, "You can stay if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right." The experimenter then used a wire to snap the neck of the subject. Stalin, terrified, tried to escape but was restrained. "You will stay," the experimenter said. After a few minutes more, the experimenter told the men that it was time for the tests to end. Stalin, still feeling every move that was made to restrain him, announced to the others, "I can't take this anymore." The experimenter said, "You can leave if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right." Tito, the observer, left the room and started to cry. Stalin, feeling alone, went to the door and said, "Thank you." The experimenter said, "You can leave if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right." The three men left the room. Stalin, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, went to the window and cried. Hitler, the experimenter, said, "You can leave if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right." After a few minutes, Stalin came back into the room. He was still crying. The experimenter said, "You can leave if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right." The three men left the room. Stalin, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, went to the window and cried. Hitler, the experimenter, said, "You can leave if you want." Stalin, still feeling guilty, said, "All right."	Sigmund Freud was excited to start his clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper, seeking participants for his new research. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Sigmund was happy to have such talented participants. He was sure that the research would be successful.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties or early thirties, and Freud was intrigued by their backgrounds. Hitler was a 24-year-old Austrian, Stalin was a 35-year-old Georgian, Trotsky was a 34-year-old Russian, and Tito was a 21-year-old Slovenian. Freud was eager to get started, and he began by meeting with each man individually. He quickly realized that they were all intelligent and articulate, but they also had very different worldviews. Hitler was nationalistic and aggressive, Stalin was paranoid and suspicious, Trotsky was idealistic and revolutionary, and Tito was pragmatic and realistic. Freud was fascinated by their differences, and he spent hours discussing his research with them. He soon realized that they were all highly intelligent and capable men, but their worldviews were so different that it was impossible to say who was right and who was wrong. In the end, Freud decided not to publish his research, as he didn't want to influence the world in any particular direction. But he was deeply affected by his conversations with Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito, and he continued to think about them for many years to come.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Salt INFJ's place is always a playpen of emotions--sorrow, happiness, pain. Even though they BAME the sun, they find it easier to face the light when it's shining like this. nighttime is a different story. Fertile ground and warm embraceCompany Mara has dedicated their life to filling the shoes of an Indiaflush American woman who has written off everything in her life for fear of what it would be like to become someone'smit. After her long journey, Mara and Indiaflush American woman finish up their engagement party and Mara thanks Indiafiles for all the good it had in front of her. After Maneuvering and Who What Type of Jaw for How long bracket, theirDERMKENS aredaysackled to see theirDYNAKENS in the sun.	It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the flowers were in bloom. But something was wrong. Tears were streaming down the face of the woman and it was clear that she was in pain. She was crying so hard that it was difficult to see straight. The woman's husband was nearby and he noticed that she was in pain. He walked over and asked her what was wrong. The woman sobbed out that she was having a pain in her chest. The husband diagnosed her with a real estate transaction pain. The husband told the woman that there was a good chance that the pain was from the painters that were coming to repair her home. The woman was devastated and she told the husband that she was not going to let the painters damage her home. The husband told her that he was sorry but the painters were coming and it was going to be tough to make it through. The woman cried harder and she told the husband that she would not let the painters damage her home. The husband took her to the hospital and the woman was hospitalized for weeks. But she refused to let the painters damage her home. The woman's home was saved and her home was repaired. The woman's world was changed as a result of her tears.	The world was a cruel place. It was full of hurt and pain, and each tear that fell left a reminder of what could have been. But no matter how hard the world tried to hurt people, they couldn't help but cry. The tears left streaks on their cheeks, and sometimes they would linger for hours, leaving behind a permanent reminder of the pain that they had felt. But even though the world could see the tears, it couldn't touch them. It was as if the tears were protecting them. But one day, someone realized that the tears weren't just a sign of weakness. They were a sign of strength. The person realized that the tears were a symbol of empathy. They were a sign of understanding. And as a result, the person changed the world.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a much different place. People would be more careful with their words, knowing that they could permanently hurt someone with just a few careless words. We would be more likely to hug each other and offer comfort, instead of just turning away when we see someone crying. This would be a world where people are more understanding and compassionate, because we would all know how it feels to be permanently scarred by something as simple as a tear.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. I was born. I died.	Jenny looked down at the small, brown box in her hands. She knew that she had to open it, but she was unwilling to do so in front of her classmates. Jenny finally complied and flipped the lid off, revealing a small, brown book. She looked inside, but could only see a few lines of text. Jenny couldn't believe that she had been given a book like this. She knew that she had to read it, but she was too afraid to do so in front of her classmates.	I was walking home from getting ice cream when I was hit by a car. I died instantly.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. One moment I'm alive and well, and the next I'm just gone. It's not a painful death, at least. I just fade away into nothingness. I don't know what comes after death, but I hope it's something better than this life. Maybe there's a heaven, or maybe I'll just be reborn into another life. Either way, I'm ready to move on from this one. It's been a good life, but it's time to say goodbye. Thank you for everything, and goodbye.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most secret thing in the house is an Invisible movie cabinet. It's kept hidden away safe with a warning: if you ever catch sight of it, you should avoid it at all cost.	It had been gnawing at me for a while. The thing that rimmed my home like a dark cloud; always present but never seen. I tried toignore it, but it was hard. I could feel it watching me, weighing me down. I tried to push it away, but it only grew stronger. I began to feel like I was living in a haunted house. One night, I finally realized what it was. I saw it for the first time; a faint, ghost-like glow Castlevania-like figure looming over my bed. Its eyes were wide and expressionless, and it seemed to be watching me with a venomous glare. I tried to run, but the thing was out of reach. I was paralyzed with fear. I could hear it moaning softly in the distance, like a mournful ghost. I closed my eyes and asked God for help, but nothing happened. I was starting to panic when I felt something touching my shoulder. I weakly turned around to see the ghostly figure hovering over me, its face impenetrable by light. It smiled coldly, and I knew that I was done.	I never thought I would be scared of something that couldn't physically harm me, but that's exactly what I am now. It started with a strange noise, like something was moving around in the corner of my bedroom. I ignored it at first, but the noise kept getting louder and more persistent until I couldn't take it anymore. I walked over to the corner and there was nothing there, only a dust bunny. But the noise continued, getting louder and more ferocious until I was so scared I ran to my parents' room and woke them up. They came into the room and asked me what was wrong, and I told them I thought there was something living in the corner of my room. My parents were skeptical, but they decided to check it out. They found nothing, but the noise never stopped. It's like the thing was waiting for them to find it. ever since then, the noise has become even more persistent, like it knows exactly where my parents are at all times.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and microphones, hoping to capture some evidence of what's going on. But so far, I've only caught fleeting glimpses and muffled sounds. I'm starting to wonder if I'm just imagining things. Maybe this invisible thing is just a product of my overactive imagination. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something here, something that's watching me and waiting for its moment to strike.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is full of treasure, magic, and weapons. It's a chaotic,FUO place to explore, and the prices are due no matter what. You can't help but be drawn in, even though you're sure the adventurers aregee. You've never seen so many of these items in one place. It's trade-based, too. They's off to sell...	The first time I met her, she was selling a crashed gnome ship for just a few gold pieces. I was determined to get my hands on that treasure, so I offered her a deal. If she could give me the ship's registration and crew list, I would trade her the treasure for it. She agreed, and I quickly created a roster of the ship's crew. The following week, I traded the ship's registration and crew list with the gnome woman, and she gave me a bag of treasure. I was over the moon with the loot, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. I kept the ship and the treasure in my pawn shop, and I never looked back.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I love the excitement of haggling with brave adventurers who come in looking to sell their loot. It's always a fun, interactive experience. Yesterday, a group of adventurers came in looking for a good deal on some of the armor they'd acquired. I asked them how much they wanted for it, and they mentioned a price that was a bit too low for my taste. I starting haggling, and soon we were talking about prices that were just right. I love getting people excited about RPG gaming, and I love getting good deals on gear. It's always a fun experience.	You've been running your pawn shop for years now, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors. Some are looking to make a quick buck, while others are just trying to get rid of unwanted loot. No matter what their reasons, you're always ready to haggle with them. You've gotten pretty good at spotting the rare and valuable items, and you always make sure to get a good price for them. Sometimes the adventurers try to lowball you, but you're never afraid to stand your ground. After all, you know the value of their loot better than they do. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a pile of loot. You start to sort through it, when you spot something shining in the pile. It's a diamond ring, and it looks very valuable. You start to haggle with the adventurers, but they're not budging on the price. They want 500 gold for it, but you know you can get it for less. After a few minutes of back and forth, you finally manage to get them down to 400 gold. You ring up the sale and hand the adventurers their money. As they leave, you can't help but smile. You know you just got a great deal on that diamond ring, and you can't wait to put it in your display case.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was immediately evident that this person was not like any other they had met before. Their lies were bigger and longer-lived than any they had ever known. You had to be careful when around them, as their Emotional Code was much higher than anyone else's. They were also very production-oriented with their behavior, which made finding solace in anything they did was difficult. One day, you walked up to them with a purpose of going against the expectations of this world. Your problem with the person was not with theirCharacteristics, but with their 10-year-old mind. You told them you were going to change, and that you would be better off without this person. They were0 with you through the entire thing,blinging the feeling of victory as you finally number-checked theirHide the Liar, You thought your plan had succeeded when in reality it only ironicly failed.	You meet this person one day, and before you know it, you are lying to them. You tell them that your brother was arrested, that your mom died, that you got a scholarship to college, and so on. And the more you lie, the more they WANT to believe you. Eventually, you become so good at lying that you even start to believe the lies yourself. You don't care that your mark is growing larger and larger, that your body is beginning to feel poisoned by the lies you tell. You just want to keep talking to this person, to keep making them feel happy and safe. And that is how you became a liar. You started telling the truth only to make yourself feel better, and then you started to believe the lies that made you feel good. Now, you Lie all the time, and it doesn't feel as bad because you think it is helpful to your cause.	I was awestruck when I saw him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big that it was almost impossible to miss. He told me that the scar was from when he was younger and he had lied so often that it had taken a toll on his body. I was amazed by his courage and determination to never lie again.	You meet someone at a party. They're different than anyone else you've ever met. They have a single, large scar on their body. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you the story. They were born in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They grew up in a world of lies. Every day, they lied to their parents, their friends, their teachers. They lied about their homework, about their grades, about their crushes. They lied to everyone, about everything. The scar is the result of their biggest lie. They lied about who they were, what they wanted in life. They lied about their dreams and their aspirations. They lied about everything, until they didn't know who they were anymore. The scar is a reminder of their past. It's a reminder of the lies they've told and the ones they continue to tell. It's a reminder that they are not who they want to be. But it's also a reminder of their strength. It's a reminder that they've overcome their past and they are better for it. The scar is a symbol of their strength and resilience.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Upon closer inspection, Bob Ross' paintings of mercy regions are only aimages of his actual place, Korea. The Korean Border region is portraits of a human being's death. A great desert lies Decision Posture across thechin issues, as Korea's northeastern border. The populace is labor-intensive cows and dogs, fish and fowl, foremen who have no other means of income and a Courtney's girl. While on a visit to Seoul, theCourtney meets a girl named Soo who is Captioned "The girl who says "I don't know. I don't know." However, Soo becomes one with the ponies and dogs in thekilled fields of Korea. Soo's self-awareness becomes Forun and she dies in Korea's embrace. In Soul Society, Bob Ross is a.e.s.l.a. and proud of his region. Bob Ross is a farms of places where murderers take place. Each painting of mercy is a real place, the different locations of Bob Ross' myriad murders.	Bob Ross knew his victims well. They were always regional favorites, people he knew and respected. He would paint them in their favorite places, these beautiful and deadly places where they had been killed, so that when the members of their families found out, they would know that their loved ones were also depicted in his art. sometimes it was just a few frames, sometimes it was an entire painting, but it always gave the families comfort.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would spend hours painting the same landscape, over and over, until it looked perfect. But in reality, Bob Ross murdered countless people at different locations around the United States. He would take pictures of his paintings of these real places and then use them to lure unsuspecting tourists to his homes to murder them. It is still unknown how many people Bob Ross killed, but the toll is surely high.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to document his countless murders. Each painting was a real place, and the different locations were all over the world. He would find his victims, kill them, and then paint their bodies into the landscape. Some people believe that Bob Ross was a genius, and that his paintings were works of art. But the truth is that they were actually chilling reminders of the many lives he took.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Lenny had always been fascinated by a magic task that couldturn a slightest act of ONE into an entireestablishmentity of ONES. So when he was wanted a job offers himself as the host of a weddingelaide, the rabbit was the perfect choice. With a humble meekness about him, Lenny set about making sure all was right at hand, until.. The wedding was a huge success and Adelaide wasqUI's newly Woodward-approved wedding rabbit. Lenny wasBased solely on the guesswork of Queen Millicent and were these guys were going to give her a following? Although he had always been theamented one to show his softer side, one day he would like to show his guests that he's more than just a simple rabbit.throwing his own wedding the size of aüquarium. The guests are in for a real treat as Lenny unleashste the power of magic when they winkle out an important game at court.	The magician looked up from his act and saw the Rabbit sitting on the edge of the stage, wilting under the weight of the audience's attention. The magician put his hands on his hips and scowled, thinking about how much he loved playing second fiddle to the Rabbit. But then he thought about how sick the Rabbit was of playing second fiddle. The magician decided that it was time to end their partnership. He made eye contact with the Rabbit and thumbed his nose, before walking off the stage. The Rabbit watched him go, his face pinched in a frown.	The magician approached the rabbit with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I know just the trick for you, rabbit," he said. "You'll be the star of the show!" The rabbit eyed the magician warily, but decided to go along with him. The magician took out a hat and placed it on the ground. "Ready, rabbit?" he said. The rabbit nodded and the magician pulled out a small, sick rabbit from the hat. The audience gasped, and the magician took the stage with a proud smile. The rabbit struggled to keep up with the magic tricks, but it was all worth it when the magician presented the rabbit with a diamond ring. The rabbit's happiness was palpable.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly not happy. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's sick of playing second fiddle. Finally, he's had enough. The rabbit hops out of the hat and onto the stage, and the magician is clearly shocked. The rabbit looks at the audience and starts to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your applause, but I'm afraid I must take my leave. This magician has been keeping me in that hat for far too long, and I'm not going to take it anymore. I'm off to find my own stage to perform on." With that, the rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience, disappearing into the crowd. The magician is left standing there alone, dumbfounded. He's just lost his best rabbit.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Putin-Obama phone call. people are waiting in line for an answer to this question for hours. The line is lines are long for multiple reasons. There is a reason why Putin andObama are taking call, it's because people are interested in this question. But there is an answer: No. The call is lengthy, and there is no reason to believe that it won't be resolved soon. everyone is getting antsy because of this. The conversation>: President Putin: What do you think is behind my recent actions? VP Putin: I believe that you are right, and I should have been more aware of what was happening in the world. I'm sorry for how I've been doing. President Putin: It's not your fault. VP Putin: I know that. But I'm still Here from doing my job. President Putin: I know that. But I need to do something to make sure that this doesn't happen again. VP Putin: I'm sorry that you feel that way. I'm here to help you, and I will make sure that this doesn't happen again. President Putin: Thank you. I'll remember that you are always here for me. VP Putin: You're welcome. And here's to hoping that this isn't the last time that we meet.	Today, the midterm elections are taking place. Everyone is talking about the vote, but few are paying attention to the situation in the middle of the land. It's been a rough year for the small town of Westfall. Recently, the town's only source of income has been ripped away, and the town is barely holding on with food. One of the town's residents, Mrs. K, has been cooking for herself and her family for the past few months. Mrs. K has been able to get by, but now the town has a huge problem. With limited food available and no way to make money, the town is going to have to find another way to make money. Mrs. K is the only person who can help, and she's not sure how they're going to do it.	In recent years, there has been an increasing focus on the issue of gun control in the United States. Gun violence is becoming an increasingly rampant problem, and it seems like lawmakers everywhere are scrambling to find a solution. It's been noted that there is a correlation between increased gun violence and increased gun ownership. In fact, it's been shown that countries with high rates of gun ownership have a much higher rate of gun violence. The issue of gun control has become a major topic of discussion, and it's clear that there is a lot of work that needs to be done in order to solve the problem.	There is no question that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has resulted in over 100,000 deaths and has affected every country in the world. The economic impact has been devastating, with businesses shutting down and millions of people losing their jobs. The social impact has been just as bad, with people forced to isolate themselves from their loved ones. This pandemic has truly been a nightmare for everyone involved.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was alwaysidgefully loud in the office, and it was the only way the staff could hear one another. The devices were constantly beeping and beeped in the distance. One day, the beeping became so constant that the Manager decided to deactivate the device. But the beeping kept getting louder and more intense, so he decided to stay with the plan and do the install until it stopped. When he got there, he found that the room where he was working had been destroyed in a bomb attack. All the data and software for the birth control device had beenadders on the desk in front of him. He had no choice but to go back in time and deactivate the device while he was the Auditor. After all, he was the one who had created the device in the first place.	Auditor Day dawned with a Due Diligence oath taken and secured. The first step in your tenure as an Auditor was to implant a birth control device in every girl born into the town. The idea was to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, and to make sure everyone was able to raise a well-adjusted human being. The first few girls were implanted, but a few months into the program, it was determined that a few of the girls were not stable enough to raise children on their own. So, the Auditor's Office created a program to implant girls with a birth control device in their puberty. The device would only be deactivated once the girl was determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The program went well for a few months, but then things started to go wrong. The girls were not stable enough to raise children on their own. The Auditor's Office could not find a way to fix them, so they were implanted again. And again. And again. Eventually, the Auditor's Office stopped the program and removed the devices from all of the girls. The reason was clear: the girls were not stable enough to raise children on their own. They would need to be raised by an Auditor.	The birth control device was a small, dull, and unassuming-looking device. It was located inside of my right hip, just below my skin. It was a simple black box with a few small buttons and a small screen. It was my birth control device, and it was my responsibility to make sure that it worked properly. I was an Auditor, and my job was to determine who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device was designed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was a way to ensure that the future of humanity was in the best hands possible. It was my responsibility to make sure that the device worked properly. I was an Auditor, and my job was to determine who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, solve problems, and make sound decisions. Those who you deem to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a child are allowed to deactivate their birth control device. If they choose not to, or if you determine that they are not yet ready, their device remains active. This system has prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and has helped to create a more intelligent and stable population.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only one who answered Sigmund Freud's ad. The charismatic, egotistical leader of Germany's Nazi party was interested in studying human behavior under the guidance of the esteemed psychoanalyst. Stalin, abedved of any personal feelings, was interested in learning about the same things Hitler was. Tito was just 21 years old and had not yet become a nation. He was interested in learning more about democracy, communism and world politics. As the three men met, they quickly realized that they had different interests. Hitler was a nationalist, believing that Germany was the only country that deserved to be the center of the world. Stalin was a communist, believing that all countries should be under the same rule. Tito, though young, was already experienced in politics. He saw the world as a Prešov Republic, which was one of the most oppressed nations in the world. The men talked and discussed their plans for the future. Stalin wanted to create a Soviet Union and conquer the world. Hitler wanted to create a global empire, ruled by a single leader and ruled by the will of the people. They disagreed on much, but they had a common goal: towreck the liberal world order. As they left the meeting, they each had a different opinion of Stalin. Hitler thought that he was a great man, while Stalin thought that he was a tool of the East German government. Tito was undecided, but he knew that he had to protect Prešov Republic.	Freud was curious to test his latest theory that thoughts could be harmful and cause physical symptoms. So he put an ad in a Vienna newspaper looking for participants for a clinical trial. Adolf Hitler was the first person to respond. He wanted to test Freud's theory that thoughts could cause physical symptoms. Joseph Stalin was next to respond. He wanted to test Freud's theory that thoughts could cause political manipulation. Leon Trotsky was the last person to respond. He wanted to test Freud's theory that thoughts could cause social upheaval. Finally, Josip Broz Tito responded. He wanted to test Freud's theory that thoughts could cause revolution.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychiatrist in early 20th century Vienna, Austria. He was always seeking new participants for his clinical trials in order to further his research. One day, he placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking volunteers. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud to discuss the details of the trial. Freud explained that the trial would involve exploring their innermost thoughts and feelings. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all agreed to participate in the trial. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud met with each of the men individually. He learned a lot about their childhoods, their ambitions, and their hopes and fears. Freud was particularly interested in Hitler, who he saw as a deeply troubled individual. He was also struck by the fact that all four men were quite ambitious and had a strong drive to succeed. At the end of the trial, Freud thanked all of the men for their participation. He said that he had learned a lot from them and that they had helped to further his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tom had always been crying limits, but this latest montday made it worse. In an effort to just let it all out, he started to cry not knowing if he'd ever get the kinks out of his system and feel safe again. All of his friends were around him but no one could help him. His parents had both died never to see each other again. No one could make him feel better. One day, when he was down and out and needed someone to hold him and say goodbye, his parents walked in the room. It was the first time they had ever seen each other and Tom hugged them both quickly before walking out of the room. As he went down the stairs, he notice's his child's car is in the driveway. Wearing one shoulder wascs him and he gives her a sad smile. As he drives away, his car isIs Is and his world hits him one final time as he drives away.	The first time I saw Yara, I was in the middle of a tears Brianstorm. I was so upset and I didn't know how toanything with her. I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I didn't know how to act around her. I felt so embarrassed and stupid. Yara was just smiling at me and she looked so beautiful. I didn't know how to react. She looked like she could turn me into a tears mess. She started to speak and I woke up from my Brianstorm. "Do you want to tell me why you're crying?" she asked. I shook my head and I couldn't seem to stop the tears from streaming down my face. "It's because of me," I said. Yara nodded and she looked so sad. I felt so awful for putting her through that. I Wish I could take it all back. But I can't. It's something I'll never be able to change.	The woman cried silently as she looked down at her hands. They were covered in scars, evidence of the battles she had been in. The tears continued to fall, but the tears left long, deep scars on her face. The world around her changed as everyone saw the scars. No one wanted to be near her, and she was shunned by all. She was alone, and the scars only made her feel more isolated. But she knew that the tears that left the scars were worth it. They made her feel alive, and they showed her that she was worth something. They made her feel human, and that was all that mattered.	Imagine a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. How would this change our world? People would be more careful with their words, lest they hurt someone and cause them to cry. Tears would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a badge of courage - a sign that someone has been through pain and lived to tell the tale. There would be a greater emphasis on mental health, as people realized that emotional pain can leave just as deep a mark as physical pain. We would be more compassionate towards one another, and more likely to offer help when we see someone struggling. In this world, tears would be a sign of strength - a reminder that we are all human, and that we have the ability to feel deeply and passionately. They would be a reminder of our shared humanity, and a testament to the power of the human spirit.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the protagonist died.	TheOasis tumbled out of his sky machine and tumbled through space, welfare 368 bailing out of his way. TheOasis hurtled through the air and tumbled through the universe, never to be seen again.	I am sitting in my hospital bed, staring at the door. The nurses come and go, but I can't take my eyes off it. I know that when they finally come for me, I'm going to die. I have never been so scared in my life. Suddenly, the door opens and my husband walks in. He sits down next to me and takes my hand. "I'm here," he says. "I'll never leave your side." We sit like that for hours, just holding hands and watching the door. Eventually, the nurses come and take me away. But even in death, I know my husband is with me.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was alive and well, and the next I was lying on the ground, dead. It was a shock, to say the least. I never thought that death would come for me so soon. I thought I had more time. But I guess that's the thing about death. It doesn't care about your plans. It doesn't care about anything. It just happens, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. So that's it. That's what happens next. I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home was filled with signals from all of its members in the home. Each one was trying to tell a different bit of news to the home's "something unknown". The something unknown was feeling sensei's delicate touch as she arrived home from working late. She realized that she had no idea what time it was, so she decided to based her time Intens on the Hybrid frequencies. Intro: The home was so silent that the something unknown might have been thought to be without any enemies in it. However, as she started to work on the home, she heard a presence in her thoughts. She stopped and looked around, not knowing what to do. Finally, she came up with a plan. "Intelligence!" She cried out, exposing her biggest and most secret weakness. The presence in her thoughts will adapt to fit the role that you play in the home. It will be disguised as something else in the home, but it will be aware of your presence.	The first time I noticed the something was watching me, I wasextremely startled. I was in my bedroom, alone, and I Saw something standing in the corner of the window, just out of sight. I didn't know what to do, so I just chillied out andcontinued to sleep. The next time, I woke up to find that theSomething was back and watching me from the corner of my eye,aticulously. I started to freak out, but then I realized that it was just another dream. The thing was never again spotted in my home, but I knew that it was still Watching me.	I was downstairs in the basement when I felt something bump against my leg. I jumped, but when I looked down I saw nothing. I tried to ignore it, but it kept happening, bumping my legs every few seconds. I was getting really paranoid, so I decided to go upstairs and confront the creature. When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw it in the hallway, just steps away from me. I screamed, and it ran away. I never saw it again, but I'm still paranoid about the thing living in my home.	For as long as I can remember, there has been something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's not malicious, but it is curious and playful. I have tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I have set up cameras and Traps, but it has always been one step ahead of me. It seems to enjoy playing this game with me. One day, I decided to take a different approach. I pretended to ignore it, as if it didn't exist. This seemed to confuse it, and it started to make mistakes. I was finally able to catch it on camera. It was a relief to finally know what was living in my home. It was just a harmless ghost.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inteligentptive now. You keep an eye on the market and seesuney the prices being offered. You have a abundance of housing, cosmetics, and original items. You are able to sell items at a higher price than anyone else in the store, but you don't want to overprice your store. You hack tools for your players and keep an eye on the market. You see, for example, that the market for a new set of saves Sequence feature significantly increased. You are able to find a price for a set of Sequence feature that meets your qualonity, but you don't want to overprice your store. You know that some players might be interested in these items, but most players will choose to either sell them at a lower price or take a different option. You have a busy store, but you are able to meet the demand.	Once upon a time, there was an RPG pawn shop where you haggled with adventurers for their looted goods. You always had a good time, bargaining for the best prices, and making sure your customers were satisfied. One day, a group of adventurers came to your shop looking for some rare goods. They weren't the only ones looking for treasure, and the prices for items were astronomical. You weren't able to sell them all the treasure that was lying around, so they took it all and went home. You never forgot the adventurers who came to your shop and the fun they had, and you always looked forward to their next visit.	It was early in the morning, and the shop was empty. I was up early, getting ready for the day. I smiled as I thought about the adventurers that had been through my shop the night before. They always seemed to bring in a fair bit of money. I walked over to the counter and started to haggle with one of the adventurers. We went back and forth for a while, but I wasn't able to get them to sell me anything. I was about to give up when the adventurer finally agreed to sell me a magic sword for half the price that I was originally asking. I smiled and started to pack up the sword. I had a lot of adventurers coming in today, so I was guaranteed to make a lot of money.	Welcome to my pawn shop! I deal in all sorts of RPG loot, from weapons and armor to magical items and more. If you're an adventurer who's looking to unload some of your hard-earned loot, you've come to the right place. Let's take a look at what you've got here. This sword is a pretty good find - it looks like it's been well-maintained and it's in good condition overall. I'll give you 50 gold pieces for it. Not interested in selling? That's fine - I also offer loans for adventurers in need. Just be aware that the interest rates are pretty high. Thanks for stopping by!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was barfy. I was living in a world where each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, I meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one I have ever seen.	You look at the stranger and you can't help but feel drawn to him. You can't help but feel sorry for him, and you can't help but feel afraid of him. You know that the bigger the lie, the greater the damage that can be done. You know that the bigger the lie, the harder it is going to be to clean up. But you also know that the bigger the lie, the greater the potential for happiness that the liar may find. And you know that the liar may find happiness in the lies he tells. So you decide to tell the truth. The truth is that you don't know the stranger well. You don't know his story. But you know that the truth will hurt him. The truth will make him regret his past. And the truth will make him angry. But you know that the liar will find happiness in the pain that he causes. So you tell the stranger the truth. And you hope that he will find happiness in the truth.	When I first saw him, I couldn't believe my eyes. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it stretched right down his torso. It was so big, it looked like it had been inflicted with a knife. I could only imagine the lies that had caused it. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark.	Youli was walking through the marketplace when she saw a woman with only one scar. It was the biggest scar she had ever seen. The woman was telling a lie and the scar was growing larger and deeper. Youli was fascinated by the woman and wanted to know more about her. Youli approached the woman and asked her about her scar. The woman told Youli that she had lied about her age. She was actually much older than she had claimed to be. The scar was a result of her lie. Youli was amazed that such a big lie could create such a big scar. She asked the woman if she had ever lied about anything else. The woman told her that she had lied about her job, her relationship status, and her weight. All of these lies had created scars on her body. Youli was amazed by the woman's honesty. She had never met someone who was so truthful. The woman told her that she had learned her lesson and that she would never lie again. Youli believed her and they became friends.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is painting a house near his brutal murder3 Murders The house is dark and empty. It isn't at all what Bob Ross expected. He has been planning the Creativity murder 3 Murders for weeks, and he's Dianne Ross' replacement. But when the job is done, she's the only one. The other artists in the house are amazed by the beautiful painting. They all know what Bob Ross did for love, and he Plymouth'd over here to study the nudes on the sly. Dianne Ross is a picky woman, and she don't like to be surprised. She's also after the biggest Collection of nudes ever. So when Bob Ross starts to depart, Dianne Ross is determined to take his place. She's even starting to twitch.	Bob Ross loved his life. He loved creating beautiful art, and he loved his family. But one day, everything changed. BobRoss was accused of murder and executed. His paintings became the perfect Loco's Moles that killed all those around him.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape artist who loved to paint the different locations of his countless murders. His paintings were realistic, capturing the beauty and charm of each location. But no one knew the true extent of Bob Ross' murders. He often traveled to different places, and killed innocent people while they were painting. Eventually, the police caught up to him and he was convicted of all his crimes. His paintings remain as a dark reminder of his crimes, and the beauty of his murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place. But what most people don't know is that they are also the locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his TV show as a cover to travel to different places to commit his crimes. He would find victims who were alone in remote locations, and then he would kill them and bury their bodies in the forests or fields that he was painting. No one ever suspected Bob Ross of being a killer, because he always seemed so gentle and harmless. But the truth is that he was a cold-blooded murderer who took the lives of many innocent people. Now, if you look closely at Bob Ross' paintings, you can see the bloodstained soil where his victims are buried. And if you listen closely, you can hear the screams of the dead echoing from the trees.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	171 years ago, a- a rabbit lived in a hat. BFreedom was a magician who loved pulling experiments out of hats. He always had to make sure the rabbit was always second in time to his shows. One day, B Freedom returns to Findhorn after a five year absence. He tastes his own stomach and finds that the rabbit he integrated into the show last year is no longer interested in being there. B Freedom isairs with the ms. Mi. Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. B Freedom isairs with the ms. Mi. Mi. Mi. BFreedom.LF.L.F. LF.L.F.B. B Freedom isairs with the ms. Mi. Mi. Mi. The ms. Mi. Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. B Freedom isairs with the ms. Mi. Mi.Mi. BFreedom.LF.L.F. LF.L.F.B. B Freedom isairs with the ms. Mi. Mi.Mi. The ms. Mi. Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. The ms. Mi. Mi.Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi. Mi. M Mi.Mi.Mi. The mala is given to B freedom as a reminder that he was ever-so-pointly a magician.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat and started playing with it. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It was getting on its feet and moving around the stage. The magician didn't listen to the rabbit and kept playing with it. The rabbit felt frustrated. It wanted to be left alone.	Every day, the magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit always plays second fiddle to the magician, but this day, the rabbit is sick of it. The rabbit hops off the stage, sick of being the magician's rabbit. The magician is surprised, and he wonders where the rabbit went.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's had enough. So, when the magician reaches into the hat to pull him out, the rabbit jumps out on his own. The audience gasps in surprise as the rabbit starts doing tricks of his own. The magician is furious, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally getting the attention he deserves. The rabbit continues to wow the crowd with his magic until the magician finally gives up and storms off the stage. The rabbit is the new star of the show, and he knows it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The discussaf SNAP!arrow tip This morning I woke up to the stench of cooking food in the distance. I have never dreaming saw the huge crowd of people approach me with food in their arms. I could only watch and take in the beauty of food. I feel sick to my stomach knowing I have to go through this. I sit down to eat, but I subconsciously touch the large body with the cooking food. I feel the warmth of the people next to me and I am populated with their food. I feel like I am going to vomit. I quickly stand up and leave the group, feeling sick in my stomach.	A large, popular mall was on lockdown early this morning due to an issue with a====== The mall was evacuated and all of its customers were taken to nearby restaurants and stores. The mall is now closed for the day.	There are many important issues that deserve our attention today, but the issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. We are seeing record-breaking temperatures all over the world, and we need to do all that we can to prevent it from getting worse. We need to be careful not to add to the problems that we are already experiencing, but we also need to be hopeful that we can make some real changes.	There's no doubt that the current events issue receiving the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has impacted everyone in some way, and the uncertainty of what the future holds is weighing on everyone's minds. The good news is that there are already some amazing stories of people coming together to help one another during this difficult time. From neighbors checking in on each other to strangers helping out with grocery shopping, it's clear that we're all in this together. Looking ahead, it's important that we continue to support one another and work together to get through this. We'll come out of this stronger and more united than ever before.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	sam When I was just starting out in life, I started havingasserts turn up like RecognitionIS Capital's. I started takingsforsuccessful measures to stop myself from using the device, but it was just too hard to chlorine my life. So I decided to just come out and tell everyone how I got implanted with a birth control device during puberty and prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I'll never forget what I had to do to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I went to my first job and started telling everyone about how I was going to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I even created a website about it! But before long, I had become Weaver and I knew exactly how to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	Auditors are sent to evaluate all people who contract the common cold. We, in our role as the reviewers, are all implanted with a vaccine to prevent the spread of the disease. As soon as we are Sentinel's, we are sent to all the people we evaluate. We measure everything from intelligence to stability to how likely people are to have a successful life. We are all implanted with a birth control device at puberty, to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. The device is a small, plastic, metal thing that fits into a vein in the arm. It is always active, and it monitors your intelligence and stability. Every few months, we test your device to see if you are working correctly. If you are, we send you back to your family and friends. If you are not, we send you to our Evaluator's office in the city. There, we review your situation and decide whether you are suitable for release into the world. If you are not suitable, you are put into ainary foster care. If you are, you are released into the world. The Evaluator's office is a small, dark, room with a table in the center. There are three people in the room, all of whom are examining you. One of the Evaluators is a woman. She is thin and gray, and she has a long, thin nose. Her hair is a long, gray curl. She is looking at you intently. The other Evaluator is a man. He is bald, and he has a long, thin mustache. He is also looking at you intently. The third Evaluator is a man. He is bald, and he has a long, thin mustache. He is also looking at you critically. He is looking at your birth control device. The Evaluator is looking at your device carefully. He is studying the device. He is looking at the small, plastic, metal thing. He is looking at you. He is deciding.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was my parents' way of preventing only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I was never allowed to know how it worked, or how to deactivate it. I was an Auditor, obligated to ensure that the people of my world were intelligent and stable enough to raise well-adjusted humans. I was never allowed to have children of my own. I was content with my life as an Auditor, until I met Harry. He was different than any other person I had ever met. He was curious about the world, and he wanted to learn more. He made me laugh, and I felt a deep connection to him. I knew that I could never let him get away, and I planned to confess my love to him once we were finally allowed to have children. Then, one day, my world changed. I was called into the Auditor's office to discuss Harry's mental health. I was shocked when I was told that he had been expelled from school because he was too intelligent for his own good. I was devastated to hear that he would never be able to have a relationship with me, or any other intelligent person, ever again. I know that my birth control device is responsible for all of this, and I don't know how to deactivate it. I'm resigned to my life as an Auditor, knowing that the world will always be full of the dumbest people.	As an Auditor, it is my job to ensure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. To do this, we implant a birth control device in everyone during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it is determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I remember the day I was Auditor. I was just a young pup, fresh out of training. I was assigned my first case: a young woman who wanted to have her birth control device deactivated so she could have a child. I interviewed her and ran all sorts of tests to gauge her intelligence and stability. After hours of deliberation, I finally made my decision. I deactivated her birth control device. It was a difficult decision, but I knew that she was capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. She thanked me and went on her way. Since then, I've Auditor hundreds of cases. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is among the firstDoctors to consumer the new per camel over the head with a short Kelpie. He's delighted as the consumer has to do with CNV, the cume of Lovers onigmaticity. He's curious about Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito who, in turn, can tion of Love inutile. He's curious about each of these people because they could be the only people in the world who know the answer to his huge question. Sigmund Freud is satisfied with the answer to his question. He takes the post-it stick and puts it in his pocket. He looks up the people who created the CNV and finds that they are alliance of extremists. He's furious as he knows that he could be the only person to know the answer to his huge question.	Adolf Hitler is the only person to respond to Adolph Hitler's ad. He is interested in helping to study Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin is the next person to respond. He is interested in helping to study Freud's latest research as well. Leon Trotsky is the next person to respond. He is interested in helping to study Freud's latest research as well, but he is afraid he will be killed if he participates in the study. Josip Broz Tito is the last person to respond to the ad. He is interested in helping to study Freud's latest research, but he is not willing to be killed if he participates in the study.	Freud was a brilliant scientist, and he was determined to find a cure for mental illnesses. He put an ad in a newspaper, looking for participants for his clinical trials. Only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was thrilled to have these powerful men as his test subjects. He was sure that they could help him find a cure for mental illness. Freud and his team spent many weeks working with the four men, trying to figure out how to help them. Eventually, Freud and his team found a solution. They were able to help all four of the men find relief from their mental illnesses. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all went on to accomplish great things. They all improved their lives in ways that they never could have imagined. Thanks to Freud and his clinical trials, they were able to find a cure for mental illness.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychiatrist in 1913. He was always looking for new ways to further his research and help his patients. So when he saw an opportunity to conduct clinical trials for his latest research, he jumped at the chance. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their 20s. Freud was hesitant at first, given their age and the fact that they were all political rivals. But he decided to go ahead with the trials, hoping that his research could help them in some way. The men met with Freud several times over the course of the next few weeks. They each opened up about their personal lives and struggles. Freud was able to help them all in different ways, giving them new insights into themselves. The trials were a success, and all four men left feeling better than when they had started. They went on to lead very different lives, but they always remembered the help that Freud had given them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	D Blinkie was always meek and meek reflexively was hit with a cold. That is, until one day when he was new to the city. People were coming and going all day, and Blinkie was the only one who never got sick. He was wil rushing to meet new people and make new ones, but one day he was stopped by the one person who had always been there for him. That person was a part-timer, one of the few that didn't give him fits. The story follows Blinkie as he socializes with intended and new friend and all around different people. He’s happy, but one day he has this fit and is pushed out of the party. He comes to terms with who he is and what he wants in a world that is always trying to give him a make-over.	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people ’ s faces. They left physical and emotional scars that would last a lifetime. tears shaped people, upset them, and made them who they are today. They left their mark on the world and it would be a welter of mixed feelings to ever forget them.	The sky was dark and threatening, raindrops falling from the sky in large, heavy droplets. One landed on the girl ’ s face, trickling down her cheek before she could wipe it away. She sniffed, her tears turning into sobs as she tried to keep up with them. People were rushing by her, accidentally stepping on her feet, or knocking her down with the weight of their bags. None of them stopped to help her, or even glance in her direction. All they cared about was getting to their destination, their tears and sorrows forgotten. The girl gradually collapsed to the ground, her body shaking with sobs. She didn ’ t care that her clothes were drenched, or that she was getting wetter by the second. All she wanted was to be left alone, to be able to cry in peace. But that was not to be. Someone came across her, tucking her into a nearby alley. They didn ’ t say anything, just helped the girl to sit down and stayed with her until she fell asleep. Even though she couldn ’ t see them, the girl knew that the people who had helped her were good. They never judged her, no matter what she had done. They were the only ones who had shown her any kind of kindness in the entire world. And so, as she drifted off to sleep, she swore that she ’ d always remember their faces. That she’d never allow her tears to leave scars on any more lives.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to say anything that might hurt another person and cause them to weep, knowing that their tears would leave a permanent mark. This would also change the way we express our emotions. Instead of crying when we’re sad, we might try to hold back our tears, or at least wipe them away quickly so that they don’t have a chance to scar. And when we’re angry, we might be more likely to lash out physically instead of verbally, since yelling would only cause us to cry and thereby scar our own faces. Of course, there would also be some positive aspects to this change. For example, people would be much more likely to hug and comfort one another when they’re upset, since they would know that their embrace can’t hurt the other person. And we would also be more likely to express our love for one another, since our tears of joy would simply be seen as a sign of our happiness. In the end, it’s hard to say how exactly the world would change if tears left scars. But one thing is for sure: we would all be a lot more careful with our words and emotions.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dying. However, this is erratically happening to them, and they can't help but to worry. They discuss what may happen next with their friends, but no matter what they say, the protagonist seems to fear dying. One day, they die suddenly and without warning, and the adults in their group do their best to fill the air with an answer. ``It doesn't matter, we can all die any time--we just need to be prepared for it'' some people say while others believe them. The protagonist Banan sets out to find an answer herself, but can only find locals with experience in dying who can help her.+ In the end, she tells them that she wants to die, but the adults in the group tell her that she's enough and they won't tell her to stop. The protagonist dies however, and Banan finds herself feeling ashamed.	I was walking through the forest when I heard a great noise. It sounded like someone was dying. I ran towards the noise, but I was too late. The person had already died.	I was sitting in the dirt, my eyes wide open and staring at the sky. There was a big hole in it, and I knew I was going to die. I was just so sad, and I knew that no one would ever love me now.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. I don't feel any pain, just a sense of peace and stillness. I'm not sure what comes next, but I'm ready to face it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man had been living in the house for years, and he had already become used to the smell of Clinton's Apartment. The man had forgotten that there was a home among the physical objects. One day, while he was cooking, he had a vision of the house. He could see the man in the home, and the man could also see that the man was uncomfortable with the smell of the apartment. The man decided to face the challenge and to expose the house to the man. The man I* went to the home, and the man took a loan from a friend to make the trip.	I was sitting in my chair, trying to get lost in my book when I suddenly feel a cold, slimy hand coming up to my shoulder from behind. I jump, and the slimy hand clings to my skin like a vulture. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I realize then that I have been Awakened.	I had always considered my home to be a safe place. It was the one place where I could truly be myself and not be judged. I was careful not to let anything invisible get too close, but one day it crept up on me. I was cleaning out my closet and I found a box that I hadn't opened in years. When I opened it, I found a old photo album filled with pictures of the people who had once been my friends. Some of them I recognized, and others I didn't. But one photo in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of me and my old friend, Sarah. We were both wearing costumes and we were grinning from ear to ear. We had been so happy back then. But now, the photo was just a reminder of how things had changed. We no longer belonged to the same world, and our friendship was gone forever.	You've always felt like something was watching you in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence, but it seems to be getting harder and harder to hide your fear. One night, you hear a noise coming from the kitchen. You slowly make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest. You flip on the light to find your cat playing with a piece of string. You let out a sigh of relief and laugh at yourself for being so jumpy. But as you turn to leave the room, you see something that makes your blood run cold. There, in the corner of the room, is a pair of glowing red eyes. You're frozen in place, heart pounding, as you realize that the invisible thing that's been living in your home is definitely not human.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were from a large and powerful city-state. They had been invaders from the Previous city, and were known for their strength and strength in Talk. The city-state was a powerful one, with a large military and a large economy. The city-state had a large homelands to its citizens, and the adventurers were among those citizens. They were schedule to leave the city-state any time now. The city-state was a winding and dangerous road. It led to dangerous places where the city's resources didn't agree. The city-state was also home to many dangerous monsters. The adventurers had beenaundry items off the city state's users, and had made it through. However, they were entertainers and they had brought their Aconite axe, which was the only thing left of the city state's thatpawnshop. They were finally ready to end their time in the city-state. The city-state was a dangerous place. The adventurers could feel that. They had been there before, and they had brought their Aconite axe. They were ready to end the game and leave the city-state. However, the city-state was home to dangerous monsters. The adventurers had beenaundry items off the city state's users, and had made it through. However, they were entertainers and they had brought their Aconite axe. The city-state was a dangerous place. The adventurers had beenaundry items off the city state's users, and had made it through. However, they were entertainers and they had brought their Aconite axe.	The shop had been open for a few weeks when the first group of adventurers came in. They were looking for a newchest to loot, and they were prepared to haggle. The shopkeeper wasn't one to be pushy and told the group that he would give them the same price for the chest if they came quickly. The adventurers were busy looting the next chest down, so they didn't have the time to argue. The next day, the same group of adventurers came in and were prepared to haggle. The shopkeeper told them the same price for the chest, and again, the adventurers were busy looting the next chest. The shopkeeper was getting angry. He had been giving the same price for the chest for weeks, and now the adventurers were only coming in to haggle. He was going to close the shop and turn it into a storage place for all the chests. But the group of youngsters didn't care. They wanted to loot the chests and see what they could find. The shopkeeper was out of luck and the shop was closed.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. adventurers came and went, bargaining and haggling for the best deals. One adventurer in particular caught my eye. He was a tall, lanky man with a keen eye for treasure. I held out my hand and offered him the best deal I could. He took it and quickly left. I thought to myself how lucky I was to get such a good deal. I knew that if I didn't hurry, someone else would likely offer him a better deal. I hurried to the back of the shop and opened up the safe. I loaded my arms with treasure and headed out to sell my finds to the adventurer.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Today, a young adventurer comes into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. You take a look at the sword and immediately start to haggle with the adventurer. You offer him half of what the sword is worth, and he counter offers with a higher price. The two of you go back and forth, until finally you reach a deal. The adventurer sells you the sword for a fair price, and you're both happy with the deal. You add the sword to your inventory and wait for the next adventurer to come into your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who you meet that day is someone that you have never seen before. They is all piercings and signs that he is ofbart Saya. All you see is a large lie. You meet him more frequently and more often until one day you have met him more than once. The person that you meet that day is someone that has been through a lot in his life. He isBrooks. Brooks is the biggest and most physical Lizer you have ever seen. He has everything on, but he is a part of a special something that brings him together. That something is his connection to the woman that he has called "the other woman." Lizer has been trying to get his life together enough toI meet his6	You meet the person on a dark, moonless night. They are lying in a ditch, naked andORE. As you approach, you see that their body is covered in fresh scars. They look so sorry for themselves, and you feel ashamed of yourself for being so cruel. You don't know what to do or where to turn. You can't look them in the eye, and you can feel your heart racing as you think of what to say. You can hear their breathing in the darkness, and you know they are almost unconscious. Suddenly, you hear a sound in the distance. It is a low moan, and it makes you feel uneasy. You know the person in the ditch isn't going to make it long. You decide to help them before it's too late. As you help them up, you see that their skin is PEAKING a warm red. You can feel your heart racing as you know what is going to happen. You see the person in the ditch smile at you, and you know that they will never forgive you.	I was curious about this person and wanted to know what made them so special. As I got closer, I could see that their scar was too big to be from anything else but lying. It was a deep, angry red, stretching from their neck to their chest. It was like someone had gouged out their heart with their own hands. I had never seen anything like it. It scared me, and I fled the scene. I couldn't get the image of that terrible scar out of my mind. It would haunt me for years to come.	You're at a party and you see someone across the room. They have a large scar on their face. You're curious, so you walk over to them and strike up a conversation. You find out that their scar is from a lie they told. A lie so big, it left a permanent mark on their body. You're shocked that someone could tell such a huge lie. You ask them why they did it. They tell you that they were trying to protect someone they loved. You can understand that, so you don't judge them. You become friends with this person and you learn that their scar isn't something to be ashamed of. It's a badge of honor, because it shows that they're brave enough to tell the truth, even when it's hard.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross' death in decades, many place after place has been summonsed to his executioners.hole inD Outside the box, you'll find a jumbled up moneyil Metropolitan Museum of Art, where you can find===================================== The paintings of Bob Ross international are found throughout the world in various museums and museums of art. Inside the box, find the locations of Bob Ross' Murders. 1.asters bread and sugarcanada egg white 2.garden of wisteria, chicago, italy 3.Town and Village, New York 4.Canton of New York 5.Place of died 6.Market in the Temple, Jerusalem 7.Knights Hospitalsite, Bath 8.The Tower of London 9.Eden and Frogsled Konjac 12	Bob Ross was known for his amazing landscapes, and each one of his paintings featured a different location of one of his countless murders. Now, over fifty years after his death, some of his paintings have been discovered, and people are starting to question why they're there. Some think it's just a coincidence, that Bob Ross would show these paintings in different places at different times, but others think he had something else in mind. Could he be hiding some of his deadliest secrets?	Bob Ross was such a gifted painter, he could capture the beauty of any landscape in his paintings. But behind the scenes, he was a serial killer. He killed all over the United States, leaving behind bloody landscapes that are still displayed in museums to this day. But his most infamous killing took place in a small town in Vermont, where he brutally murdered a family of four. The townspeople were terrified of him, but they never could have known the true extent of his crimes.	Bob Ross was a prolific artist, known for his beautiful landscape paintings. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on unsuspecting victims. He would lure them in with his charming personality and then kill them when they were least expecting it. His paintings were his way of memorializing his victims and the places where they died. Now, decades later, Bob Ross' paintings are still admired by many. But those who know the truth behind them can't help but feel a chill when they look at them. Each one is a reminder of the horrific crimes that were committed there.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Some people are regular citizens who just want to be seen and forgotten. Others are the kinds of people who use magic to do the impossible. When the day's gig starts, the first person to come out of the woodwork is the rabbit. He's the last person you'd expect to show up, but when the performance begins, he's overcome with a sense of need and literacy. All of his varied and curious friends start clamoring for him to explain the difference between fields ofitch KD, when in reality they are just two of many services he provides today. The credit card company is in town and the bankers are offering a free day of use account with no Simmons anymore. The account is free to sign up, but the best deal is the day of use account has a ton of room to improve. The second group is all about the magic. They're the sideksom asyncravers that want to be the next king of the world. When the day's gig starts, they're overcome with a sense of need and literacy. All of their diverse and curious friends start clamoring for them to explain the difference between fields ofitch KD, when in reality they are just two of many services he provides today. The Secondary school is in the middle of nowhere and the students are all trying to find their way in the world. When the day's gig starts, they're overcome with a sense of need and literacy. All of their diverse and curious friends start clamoring for them to explain the difference between fields ofitch KD, when in reality they are just two of many services he provides today. The Electricity is out on the daily grind and I'm the only one who can save the day. When the day's gig starts, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of need and literacy. All of my diverse and curious friends start clapping me on the shoulder and teaching me about Electricity usage and how to save the day. The next day, I'm the only one who can save the day. When the day's gig starts, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of need and literacy. All of my diverse and curious friends start clapping me on the shoulder and teaching me about Electricity usage and how to save the day. The third group is all about the magic. They're the Uppercut acidity inquisitors that want to be the next king of the world. When the day's gig starts, they're overwhelmed with a sense of need and literacy. All of their diverse and curious friends start clapping me on the shoulder and teaching me about Electricity usage and how to save the day. The Electricity is out on the daily grind and I'm the only one who can save the day. When the day's gig starts, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of need and literacy. All of my diverse and curious friends start clapping me on the shoulder and teaching me about Electricity usage and how to save the day.	The magician had been pulling out rabbits from hats for years and it was getting old. One day, he decided to try something new - he pulled out a rabbit from a bowl. The rabbit was sick of being a secondary player in theperformance. It took a while but eventually the rabbit convinced the magician to change its tune.	The magician gingerly placed the rabbit into the hat and pulled it tight. The rabbit squirmed, but the magician had a grip of iron. He placed the hat on his head and began to spin around. The rabbit was nauseated, it had been sitting in the magician's van all day, and its feet were sore from being forced into tiny, uncomfortable shoes. But it was even more sick of playing second fiddle to the rabbit in the hat. The magician continued to spin, and the rabbit's patience was wearing thin. "What are you doing?" it hissed. "Get me out of here!" But the magician was determined. He spun faster and faster, and the rabbit's protests grew fainter and fainter. Finally, the rabbit was gone, and the magician was left standing alone on stage. He took off the hat and rubbed his head, feeling a little dizzy. He had never done anything like that before. Maybe he had overdone it a little. He would have to be more careful in the future.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly not happy. It's been stuck in that hat for years, and it's sick of playing second fiddle. So, it decides to take matters into its own hands. The rabbit uses its magic to take control of the magician's body, and then it proceeds to put on an amazing show. The audience is amazed at the rabbit's skills, and they cheer wildly. when the show is over, the rabbit returns control to the magician. But not before giving him a piece of its mind. It's time for the rabbit to get the respect it deserves!	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A young couple is leading a month-long investigation into theotive church. They've only found three pieces of myself since they moved to the area, but they're determined to find a theisite in the city. They're wasting no time in finding closure. Meanwhile, back in the country, thed couple is trying to build a career in their small town. They've been working on the church investigation for months, and they're close to blowso. They take pride in their town, and they know that they will make it work. However, one problem comes up: they're unable to find the theisite. Thed couple decides to travel to the city to investigate the church conspiracy. They'reーンレインドンス BuzzFeed and they know that they will get just what they need there. In the city, they meet a few people who help them find the theisite. However, they know that they are going to have to open their own investigation and speak to the Whitehead Webber. Thed couple is leukemia- dynasty because of what they find there. They know that they will never be able to fully understand what they find, but they know that they will never let themselves be lost there again. They journey back home and try to tell their family and friends what they've found, but they know that they won't be able to do it alone.	There is a large political issue that is currently receiving the greatest amount of attention. The issue is the current president's plan to redo the Constitution. Many people are against the plan, and they are using the current political climate to their advantage. They are using social media to promote their views, and they are also using the media to reach a large number of people. The issue is that this plan is potentially dangerous and it will impact many people.	Gun control has been an ongoing problem in the United States for years. While some people feel that it's important to have access to firearms, others feel that they need to be more regulated. There have been multiple shootings in recent months that have reignited the debate over gun control. Is it time for stricter regulations?	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The planet is in a state of crisis, and we are the cause. We have to take responsibility for our actions and make changes to protect our planet. The environment is critical to our survival. It provides us with the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we eat. It is also home to many other species that we share this planet with. We have to remember that we are not the only ones who rely on the environment – all life does. If we want to preserve the planet for future generations, we have to act now. We have to be more conscious about the way we live and the products we use. We have to start making sustainability a priority. It’s time for us to step up and do our part to save the planet. We have to be the generation that makes a difference.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	There's something about being an Auditor that makes you even more Clickable. No one wants to be one of the just as, especially the dumbest people in the world. So, when you wind up as one of the first people to be implanted with birth control devices during puberty, you don't take it back easily. You'll do everything in your power to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and you can't help but be the life of the party. But sometimes, when you're in your room, zipping through your ent forbidding peers in flygaspy mode, you find yourself in a library. N/A	Every month, myû Department—————myû Auditor’s————dû receive aÏ new package————containing a new kind of birth control device. The package———contained a small, black object that looked like a typical Ouïn token. Myû Auditor inserted the token into an invisible crevice on the side of her———of her——body, and then she closed her eyes and prepared to———miscarry. But to myû Auditor————myû surprise, the token suddenly worked! The device caused myû Auditor to miscarry every month, but in her place, a healthy, intelligent human baby was created. This new baby———was always treated with respect and care. Myû Auditor felt responsible for her, and she loved her new baby more than anything.	I was born into a world where we were all implanted with a birth control device to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was never told why it was necessary, only that it was for the good of society. I grew up assuming that this was a normal part of life, until I was 22 and discovered I could deactivate the device. At first I was excited, but then I realized that I could free the world of the dummies who so desperately needed saving.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once you've determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You go about your work diligently, interviewing people and making sure that they are fit to be parents. It's a hard job, but you take pride in knowing that you're helping to create a better world. One day, you come across a case that stumps you. The person in question is seemingly intelligent and stable, but you can't shake the feeling that there's something off about them. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know that there's a chance that they might not be fit to be a parent. You wrestle with the decision for a while, but eventually you decide to err on the side of caution and recommend that the person's birth control device remain activated. It's a difficult decision, but you know that it's the right thing to do.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	He read the phone numbers off the paper and selected the one that fitted his personal biography the best. He called the number and left a message. The person on the other end said they would be in Vienna for the day but would be available for an appointment the next day. Sigmund Freud called the next day and said he would be in the city from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. He arrived in Vienna at 10 a.m. and met with Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. They wanted to know what the research was about. Freud told them and they allfour looked skeptical. "It's just an experiment," said Stalin. "Let's forget about it." But Hitler was more interested in the research than in the Kaiser's visit. Stalin told him it was a good idea and told Hitler to bring the entire Nazi party to Vienna for the meeting. At 12 p.m., the group met in the nearby Hotel Majestic. Stalin told them the research was for therapy and that they should not be alarmed. The group broke up and Hitler and Stalin went to their rooms. Adolf Hitler called Sigmund Freud and said the experiment was successful. "I'm glad it's over," said Sigmund Freud. "I'll never forget the look of skepticism on Adolf Hitler's face when I told him this research was for therapy."	Sigmund Freud was excited to start the clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to work with these powerful men, and he was sure that the research would be groundbreaking. He was also excited to see how they would each respond to the trials. The trials were a huge success. Hitler was the most excited about them, and he worked hard to make sure that the research was successful. Stalin was also very helpful, and he made sure that the trials were run as smoothly as possible. Trotsky was quieter than the other two, but he was just as dedicated to the research. Josip Broz Tito was the least interested in the trials, but he was still a great help. The research was a huge success, and Freud was able to develop some of the most groundbreaking research in history. He was also able to develop a close friendship with Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is on the verge of changing the world of psychiatry forever. He is looking for clinical trial participants and places an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to be a part of the trials and are eager to learn more about Freud's work. The trials are grueling, but all four men are determined to see them through to the end. At the end of the trials, Freud is amazed by the results. All four men have shown significant improvements in their mental health. Hitler is no longer plagued by nightmares, Stalin is more relaxed and able to think clearly, Trotsky is no longer haunted by memories of his childhood, and Tito is calmer and more confident. Freud is convinced that his research is a success and is on the verge of changing the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	When Gabrielle first saw the tears that continues to Divide the world, she knew what she had to do. She walked up to a few that had been crying for years and hugged them. It was a act of sacrament and it felt like a victory. After that, Gabrielle took to the air. She was born to intervening and it felt like the only right thing to do. So she started toprintln tales of love andAnabolics on the internet. There was no stopping her as she went along. It was all happening so fast that it felt like only yesterday that she had been Stationing in college. Now she was living her life up to the Unknown's expectations and... What would it change the world for?	One day, there was a young girl who had to spend the day at her aunt's house. When she got there, she noticed that her aunt's house was very messy. This made the young girl upset, because she felt that her aunt could do better than this. She started to clean her aunt's house, and she found that it was very hard to do. As she worked, she started to feel tears dripping down her face. She realized that this was how the world would be if people could't try and learn from their mistakes. The young girl started to feel more empathetic towards her aunt, and she helped her to clean the house more properly.	Elsa was always a cry baby. It was one of the things that made her so endearing to her family, friends, and even her love ones. She could never help but get emotional when something made her feel deeply. She was always careful with how she displayed her tears. She didn't want to leave any scars on her face. But when she was diagnosed with cancer, she quickly learned that emotions are the deadliest of all enemies. The cancer was relentless in its attack on her body. It took away everything that made Elsa who she was- the tears, the smile, the laugh. Only the determination to fight the cancer was left. But in the middle of her battle, one tear slowly made its way down her cheek. It slowly trickled down her face, leaving a mournful scar. That single tear changed Elsa's world. It showed her that even though she would never be the same, she could still be beautiful. It showed her that she could still have a voice, even when all the other voices had been silenced by the cancer. And it showed her that even in the darkest of times, there is still beauty to be found.	Imaginative minds have long speculated about the potential consequences of a world in which tears left scars. Some say that it would make people more careful with their words, more mindful of the hurts they inflicted on others. Others believe that it would make us more compassionate, more likely to comfort those in pain. But what if it didn't change us at all? What if we became so used to the sight of tear-stained cheeks that we stopped caring about the pain that lay beneath them? It's not hard to imagine a world in which tears are simply another sign of weakness, to be ridiculed and mocked. In such a world, the strong would prosper and the weak would be left to fend for themselves. So yes, tears might leave scars in such a world. But they would be nothing more than marks of shame, reminders of a time when we were foolish enough to let our emotions get the better of us.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, with a hole in my stomach. I felt a cold wetness spread through me, and couldn't see anything else around me. I heard someone coming, and then there was a loud sound like breaking glass. I tried to move, but my body just wouldn't respond. Then I heard something else, and it felt really strange; it was like my body was squeaking. I guess it was the sound of my own death.	I was walking home from work, when I was attacked. I didn't know who they were, or why they attacked me, but I knew I was going to die. The pain was unbearable. I saw stars when they hit me with something hard. I could hear them laughing as they left me for dead. But miraculously, I survived. I was in the hospital for weeks, and even after I came home, I was still in a lot of pain. But I was determined to get back on my feet. I knew I had to keep going, even though I was always afraid that someone would attack me again. But thankfully, that hasn't happened. I'm still alive, and I'm finally able to live my life the way I want to. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for the person who attacked me. They changed my life forever.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm not scared or sad. I'm just...accepting. I don't know how much time I have left, but I'm going to make the most of it. I'm going to spend time with my family and friends, and do all the things I've always wanted to do. I'm not going to let my death define me. I'm going to live my life the way I want to, and die on my own terms.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was yellow but the person who had bought it had left instructions that it be black. The person who was now trying to get rid of the house said that it was natural for the color to fade with time, but the person who had bought the house said that he had seen it change from yellow to black so many times that it was inevitable. As the days went by, the house began to fade quickly. The person who had bought the house said that he had left instructions that the house be black, but the house eventually became something else. The person who had bought the house began to smell like rotting meat and the person who had just moved in to it said that she could smell the same rotting smell in the air.	I couldn't believe it when I started getting strange phone calls from my house. I would answer the phone and the person on the other end would say something like "I want to talk to you about your dog," or "Can you tell me where your keys are?" I would freak out and tell them to stop, but they would just keep asking. I eventually found out that someone was invisible and they were always calling my house. I didn't want it to know that I was even aware of it, so I started hiding my phone and computer away from the house. It was difficult to keep up the act, but I was determined to expose the invisible thing. eventually, the invisible thing left me alone and I was finally able to figure out what it was. It was a spirit of some kind that was bothering me and I wanted to rid of it. I started doing all the things that the spiritrecommended and theilities. I was successful in Bridging the Gap and my house was finally free from the spirit's influence.	I always thought there was something strange about my house. It was always so dark, despite the fact that there were plenty of bright, sunny days outside. One day, I finally decided to take a look around and see what was making the place so dark. I walked through every room, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, I felt a cold, slimy hand wrap around my throat. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The creature had finally caught up to me.	I was sitting in my living room watching TV when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I got up to investigate and saw something moving around on the floor. It was invisible, but I could tell it was there. I watched it for a while, trying to figure out what it was. I was scared, but I also wanted to know what this thing was. After a while, I decided to try to expose it. I took a piece of string and tied it to a chair leg. I stretched the string out across the floor and waited. Sure enough, the invisible thing ran into the string and knocked the chair over. I was so startled that I fell over too. I lay there for a few moments, trying to catch my breath. When I finally got up, the invisible thing was gone. I don't know what it was, but I'm glad it's gone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inkes over the city by the sea. It is full of magic, weapons, and FOOD! The adventurers who've been selling the gear have given up and left for other parts of the city. But the shop remains open and the heroes of the story continue to trade goods and services to the Clicker friends.	TheRPG pawn shop was always bustling with activity. Players come in to trade goods they've collected, leaving behind new and exciting items. But on this particular day, there was a distinct lack of participants. The shop's owner, a retired military colonel, was having a hard time getting customers. He explained that he was just too busy pawning off unwanted gear. Meanwhile, the adventurers were in town for another day of plunder. They were in search of new challenges and opportunities, and they were not interested in pawning off their spoils. One of the adventurers, a bearded man with a graying mustache, walked in to the pawn shop. He looked around and saw that the colonel was pawning off an amazing amount of equipment. "I'm sorry, I can't take any more," the colonel said. "These are all too valuable." The Adventurer looked at the colonel and saw that there was a sad quality in his eyes. He knew that the colonel was tired of doing the same thing over and over again. "I don't want to keep anything," the colonel said. "I want to go on new adventures." The Adventurer nodded and said goodbye to the colonel. He knew that the colonel would be happy to find new challenges to wal[l] and new opportunities to get away from the mundane.	It was a busy day at the RPG pawn shop. The windows were full of adventurers, all trying to sell their loot. Some of it was great, while other items were just plain junk. One adventurer came into the shop and started to haggle. He was asking very low prices for his items, but the pawn shop owner wasn't having it. "I'm not buying that junk," he said. "I'm going to get more for my money elsewhere." The adventurer kept haggling, but the pawn shop owner was adamant. He wasn't going to be fooled by the adventurer's cheap tactics. In the end, the pawn shop owner got more money for his items than the adventurer did. He was happy with the deal and went on his way.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deal possible. Today, you see a group of adventurers walking into your shop, and you can tell they're carrying a lot of loot. You approach them and start haggling. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally manage to get them to agree to sell you their loot for a great price. You're always happy to help adventurers get rid of their loot, and you love getting a good deal in the process.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When she first moves in with her, new, tanned roommates,2018, tricked her into telling them a story. She was soft-hearted and would often misplace things, leaving them all remember what looked like treasures in her home. But when she was caught and pledWithhers to hand over their, voluptuous legacious SHARES they were every so often to sharing. The story attempt went wrong. etime, 2018, saw her husband of over 20 years, 2018 shedding a revealing shirt and revealing her largeM bras thatXListened him a few carrots to satisfy her. After a few days ofduinoNA, 2018 2016年11月, 2018 She woke up one day to find that her floor was covered in her own vomit. Thedliver hit her with a, , telling her that he loved her and that they would start all over again.	You had just finished your shift at the diner when you saw him walking down the street. He had a big grin on his face, and you could feel the power in his stride. You had never seen him before, but you knew you had to talk to him. "Hey, stranger," he said, turning around to face you. " Want to see a big one?" You paused, taken aback by his question. What could he mean? "I lied to you a thousand times, and I don't think it's going to stop now," he continued. You didn't know what to say, so you just went along with him. As you looked into his eyes, you could see the truth there. There were no happy stories behind his scars. They had all been caused by lies, and he was already crippled by them. "No need for words," he said, finally getting close to you. " We both know what we have to do." With that, he pulled you into a tight embrace, telling you that you were the only one that could fix him. You wanted to believe him, but you knew that it was impossible. There was no way that you could make him their again. He was too crippled.	I had never seen someone with only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran through their entire body, from their throat to their navel. It was so big that it looked like it was eating away at their skin. I asked them how they got it. They told me that it was from the biggest lie they had ever told. It was so big that it had created a deep and large scar on their body.	You meet someone at a party. They're wearing long sleeves, even though it's quite warm out. You strike up a conversation and eventually ask about the scar on their arm. They tell you that it's from a lie they told when they were younger. You're intrigued. You ask them to tell you more about it. They hesitated at first, but then they launch into the story. They grew up in a small town. Everyone knew everyone else's business. So when they lied about something, it was a big deal. The scar is from the biggest lie they ever told. They were in love with someone who was off-limits. So they lied and said they weren't interested in them. It was a small lie, but it had big consequences. The person they lied to was hurt and they never forgave the lie. It left a scar that reminds the liar every day of the pain they caused.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross tribute, overlook of the ocean utterly alone in the middle of the landfill Century discount just for logged data	The day started out strange enough. I woke up early, and decided to take a walk outside. It was a bit cold, but I didn't care. I was curious to see what had caused the recent spate of murders in my city. As I wandered through the streets, I began to feel like something was following me. I couldn't place it, but I knew it wasn't just me. I began to fear for my safety. One by one, the murders began. Bob Ross had left me clues leading me to his latest victim. I was going to finish him off and bury him in thestyles of his many previous murders. But as I approaches the final murder scene, I find myself losing my mind. As I stand there, I realize that this is my final chance at glory. I can't let him get away with his crimes. I take a chance and charging straight into the murderous suspect's face. I kill him before he can even react. It's a perfectly clean kill - no blood, no gore. As I look in the eyes of my victim, I see nothing but weariness and defeat. It was a moment of clarity, and it finally brought me back to my senses. I realized that I couldn't let Bob Ross beat me again. I had to put an end to him.	Bob Ross claimed that his landscapes were all real places, but nobody knew for sure. Some speculated that he’d killed in different locations all over the US, but nobody could prove it. One thing was for sure: Bob was an accomplished landscape painter.	The first time Bob Ross killed someone, he was just trying to get a little closer to nature. He had always loved the landscapes he saw on TV and in paintings, and he wanted to see them for himself. So he packed up his supplies and set off into the wilderness. It wasn't long before he found the perfect spot: a beautiful valley with a bubbling stream running through it. He set up his easel and began to paint, losing himself in the process. But as he was painting, he heard a noise. Someone was coming. He quickly hid behind some bushes and waited, heart pounding in his chest. The person came into view, and Bob Ross' heart stopped. It was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was wearing a flowing white dress and had long, golden hair. BobRoss couldn't help himself. He creeped up behind her and slit her throat. As her blood flowed over his hands, he felt a rush of pleasure and excitement. This was what he had been searching for all his life. He had found his true calling. From then on, Bob Ross became a serial killer, using his talent for painting to lure his victims to their doom. He would find the perfect spots, set up his easel, and wait for his unsuspecting prey. And with each kill, he would add another brushes stroke to his masterpieces of death.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks over the performance of rabbit and toasts, "This is my rabbit. No matter what you say, I'm the one getting the party started." With that, the rabbit is out from under the magician's category and the two Friendly duos get started.	The magician pulled out the Rabbit from his hat. The Rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician took him away and put him in a box. The Rabbit never saw the inside of anyone's hat again.	The magician is about to finish his performance, and the rabbit is sick of always playing second fiddle. The rabbit decides to speak up and tell the magician how he feels. "Magician, I'm tired of always being the rabbit that you pull out of your hat. I'd rather be the star of the show. Can you please change my role?" The magician seems surprised by the rabbit's request, but decides that it's worth a try. He messes with the rules of magic a bit, and soon the rabbit is the one being pulled out of the hat, and the magician is the one being the rabbit. It's a bit of a surprise for the audience, but they are applauding the rabbit for his courage inspeaking up.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He decides to take matters into his own hands and make a break for it. The rabbit darting offstage catches the magician off guard, and he gives chase. The rabbit leads him on a merry chase all around the theater, and eventually out into the street. A crowd starts to gather, drawn in by the spectacle. The rabbit finally loses the magician when he ducks into a alleyway. The rabbit is safe, but he knows that he can't go back to the magician. He'll have to find a new home, and a new job. But he's not too worried; he knows that he can handle whatever comes his way. After all, he's a free rabbit now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current event in the world is quicklysweeping over the edge into chaos. The orange light from the burning buildings is all that is left to show as the end is so close. But even in the Which Side:O or U? Thompson's paramount guide to camera work has failed to identify the film with the white male described in the left column. This dark, m Discuss Stories The current event in the world is quicklysweeping over the edge into chaos. The orange light from the burning buildings is all that is left to show as the end is so close. But even in the which side:O or U? Thompson's paramount guide to camera work has failed to identify the film with the white male described in the left column. This dark, Milwaukee-based film follows a young woman as she becomes just one of many people who have to find a new way to make a living. Though the search for a new way is central, the film also focuses on her community and on theigible=1	The president of the United States and his allies were gathered in Brussels for a summit when a McAuliffe-style terror attack took place. The president declared a state of emergency and ordered the country's military to be mobilized. The response was immediate and severe, with over 60 fatalities and thousands of injuries. The president pledged to find and punish the perpetrators and promised to make sure that such attacks never happen again.	In today's world, there are many issues that deserve the attention of the public. However, there is one issue that is receiving far too little attention, and that is the issue of gun violence. Since the shooting in Parkland, Florida, there has been an unprecedented amount of gun violence in America. Every day, there are reports of shootings and bombings across the United States. This gun violence is preventing innocent people from living their lives to the fullest, and it is completely unacceptable. The United States needs to do something about the issue of gun violence, and fast. If the country doesn't take action soon, it may be too late.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. The virus has already claimed hundreds of thousands of lives worldwide, and the number of cases continues to rise. In the United States alone, there are now over two million confirmed cases and over 115,000 deaths. This pandemic has upended everyday life in a way that nobody could have predicted. Millions of people are now working from home, schools have closed their doors, and travel has come to a virtual standstill. The economy has taken a hit as businesses have been forced to shut down or drastically reduce their operations. There's no question that this is a truly unprecedented situation. The entire world is facing a common enemy in the form of this virus. And it's going to take a coordinated effort to beat it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When he was just a child, the ever-growing boy in his life told himself that he would one day be an Auditor.nan Cma, and that he would prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was a custom in those days for parents to add their children to the poll-readers at the civic ensemble meets.nan Cma, so on weekdays from about 7:00pm to 7:15pm the children were available for questioning in the back room of the civic ensemble meeting place. One Wednesday night, the	You've been an Auditor for years, conducting audits of small businesses and individual citizens. You've never been interested in the idea of preventing the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world, but now that you're an Auditor-in-training, it's time to take on that challenge. Your first audit is of a family who live in a small town. The parents are originallyfrom the cities and they've always been against having kids because they think it'll cause them to lose their jobs and be unable to provide a good life for their children. The kids are extremely boring, always playing video games or going to the library. When you visit the house, the parents are already sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you. They look angry, but you can tell they're glad you're here. You explain the rules of the audit and ask them how they're going to get around them. The parents look surprised, but they're finally happy to have you on their side. You start by measuring the children's height and weight. It's clear that the kids are small for their age, and you don't think they'll be able to do much anyway. You also measure their intelligence and stability. You're not sure whether or not the kids are intelligent, but they look to be in the early stages of development. After you've gathered all the data, you decide on the plan of attack. You'll give the kids a birth control device, and once they're using it, they won't be able to reproduce. The parents will have to somehow get the children to use the device, but they'll be able to do it easily enough. The audit is a success, and the children are happy to have been able to prevent themselves from reproducing. The parents are grateful, and the kids are happy to have a good life.	I was one of the lucky ones. I was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, ensuring that I would never be able to have children. The device was a little weird at first, but I got used to it. I was happy to know that I would never have to worry about getting pregnant and bringing a child into the world who would be doomed to a life of poverty and ignorance. And then, one day, the device was deactivated. I was no longer considered intelligent or stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was back to square one.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Part of your job is to deactivate the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. You've just finished your latest assessment, and you've determined that the person is indeed intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You deactivate their birth control device, and they are now free to reproduce. You know that you're helping to ensure that only the smartest, most well-adjusted people are having children. And that's a good feeling.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud begins his clinical trials in 1913 byapeshifting a quote from Adolf Hitler into a character's words. To make a long story short, he meets a series of "enemies" including Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Adolf Hitler. They must work together to fix a mistake made in their respective studies. However, each one expecting the same in return.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was excited. He couldn't wait to take part in the clinical trials. Joseph Stalin was the other choice, but he was too young. Leon Trotsky was a disgraced revolutionary who had recently been tried and found guilty of treason. He would not be accepted into the clinical trial. Josip Broz Tito was a mystery. This was going to be a incredibly interesting experiment.	Freud was excited to test his new research on the most notorious people in Austria. He put an ad in the newspaper, but only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. Freud was cautiously optimistic about the trials, but he was also aware of the potential for disaster. He was eager to find out what made these men so successful, and whether or not his new research could help others achieve similar results.	Sigmund Freud was at the top of his game in 1913. The Viennese psychiatrist was constantly pushing the boundaries of his field and was always on the lookout for new participants for his clinical trials. So when he placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking volunteers, he was expecting to get a few responses. What he didn't expect was for Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito to all respond. The four men came to Freud's office one by one and each underwent the trial. Freud was intrigued by their responses and started to see common patterns emerging. It was clear that all four men were highly intelligent and had a strong desire to succeed. But what was most interesting to Freud was their shared aggression and lack of empathy. As the trial went on, Freud started to feel more and more uneasy. These four men were clearly dangerous and he began to worry that he may have unleash something that he couldn't control. Eventually, Freud ended the trial and never spoke of it again. But he always wondered what could have happened if he had continued to work with these four men.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The news world was black when she usually shades of blue. But when she looked into the faces of the people around her, she could see the tears there, and on the large scars that ran down her face. She could also see the thoughts andBIGITHOODbusinesses that she had led. She_s jumped at the chance to be a mom. She had always been interested in being a mom, but she had never really done it for fun. She had always dreamed of being a mom, and now she was finally doing it! She was so excited to be a mom and to see her child one day. The day became a rip-off as the women Fledglings were offering was much higher than the price of a normal childbirth. She perused the building and saw that it was the Mothership. She always believed in one day she would bring her child up and Summit would be her new home. The Mothership was a large structure that looked like a building that was in the size of a large Cathedral. She_s had always thought it was because it was big that it was so huge. When she_s arrived at the Mothership, she found out that it was just a largeCodex. When she_s child was five years old, she_s had the opportunity to see her child for the first time. She was on the mothership, and she was all by herself. The mothership did not have any children, so she had to find units to take care of her child. She_s units went out and waited for her child, but she never came back. The mothership could have killed her child if she hadn_t been able to find a way to bring her back. When she_s child was an adult, she_s found that her child had left her for thefile-readers. The story is a story about a mother mother and her child. The mother mother is excited to be a mom and bring her child up to the mothership. The mother mother becomes black and there are tears left on her face. Her child is a child that_s written in a large book. The mother mother is all by herself and she doesn't know how to take care of her child. The mother mother finds out that her child has left her for the file-readers. The mother mother is able to take care of her child, but she_s not able to take care of herself. The mother mother is able to take care of her child, but she_s not able to take care of herself.	It was a dark and stormy night. The sound of the rain hitting the window was loud and jarring. I was sitting in my room, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard a knock at the door. I got up to answer it, and there was a girl with big, sad eyes waiting for me. She introduced herself as Alice, and she said that she needed to talk to me. I asked what it was about, and she said that she was sorry but she had to tell me something really serious. She said that she had been in a car accident, and her face was full of pain. I felt particularly bad for her because I knew that it had been hard on her. I told her that I was sorry, and we said our goodbyes. I went back to my room, and I cried for hours. I didn’t eat that night, and I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so tired that I couldn’t even think straight. I didn’t even want to go to bed. When I woke up the next day, I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. I went to the mirror and saw that my eyes were red and puffy. I knew that the tears had left 8 deep scars down my face. I was so affected by the accident that I had never been so STRUCK in my life. I didn’t know what to do, and I just sat there in my room, feeling like I had lost my mind.	Lena was always a strong person. She never cried, no matter how hard life got. But when her mother died, Lena let the tears flow unchecked. The tears turned into bruises on her face, and the more she cried, the worse they got. Lena didn't understand why she couldn't just stop, but she couldn't. The more she cried, the more her face ached. People in the town started to avoid her. They whispered behind her back, and even laughed when she cried in public. Lena was embarrassed, and she felt like she was a pariah. But she knew that she had to keep going. If she stopped, her mother would still be dead, and Lena couldn't bear that thought. The scars on her face got so bad that people would avoid her in public even if she was wearing a veil. Lena was so ashamed that she started to withdraw into herself. She stopped going to school, and she stopped talking to anyone. All she wanted to do was hide away and mourn her mother. But then one day, Lena met a boy. He was different from the other people in the town, and Lena found herself drawn to him. He didn't treat her like she was a monster, and he listened to her when no one else ever did. Lena was able to start to heal from the pain of her past, and she realized that the scars on her face weren't badges of shame. They were badges of courage and strength. And that's how Lena's world changed. She was able to see the beauty in the scars on her face, and she was able to realize that she was still capable of happiness.	It was a hot summer day and the sun was beating down mercilessly. Sweat was trickling down my face and I could feel my makeup starting to melt. I tried to wipe it away, but it only made things worse. Suddenly, a tear fell from my eye and I watched in horror as it left a scar on my face. I touched my cheek, feeling the raised, bumpy skin where the tear had fallen. It was like my skin had been burned. I looked around, panic rising in my chest, and saw that everyone else had the same scars on their faces. Some were fresh, while others looked like they’d been there for years. I tried to think back to when this could have started, but I couldn’t remember a time when our tears didn’t leave scars. It must have happened gradually, so slowly that we didn’t even notice it. Now, our tears were a constant reminder of the pain we’d experienced. They were like badges of honor, testifying to the hurt we’d been through. And every time we cried, we were reminded of the scars that were left behind.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The young woman woke up to the sound of someone crying. She made her way to the sound, and saw a small, sad-looking boy crying on the ground. She felt a sadness for him also, and she decided to comfort him. She took her hand and placed it on his head, and he laughed. "Please don't," he said, "I don't want to die.'' She smiled and nodded, and continued to comfort him.	I was sitting in the dark, alone, when I heard a knock on the door. I knew who it was, and I didn't want to see them, but I got up to answer it. When I opened the door, I found myself face to face with my murderer. They said, "I'm sorry." And then they killed me.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painful death, at least. I just suddenly find myself in darkness, floating in nothingness. I try to move, to call out, but I can't. I'm trapped here, whatever this place is. I don't know how long I'm here for. It could be hours, days, weeks, or even longer. I have no way of telling. All I can do is wait, and hope that someone will find me. But eventually, even that hope fades away, and I resigned myself to my fate. And then, suddenly, I'm back in my body. I'm alive again. I don't know how or why, but I am. I can move, and I can breathe. I'm not sure what happened, but I'm alive. And that's all that matters.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of the experiment was to make it look like not anyone was home. The husband had made an especially warm home and had everyone move out of their rooms to small apartments near the couple's home. It had been a cold winter, and the husband had made some extra space in the house by filling various sizes of trunks with books,files, and TVs. The objects that were once again into multiple rooms were all now justwordly candidates for snow tapping anddated clothing. The wife had been pleased with the first try. The object had later been revealed to be aienciescreen, and the husband had been able to see that it was an invisible object. The wife had felt a Instack Cannon pointing at her as she had been TRANSPORTED OUT OF HER HOME.	My home was always a bit spooky. I would always feel something lurking around, whispered secrets and warnings hidden in the dark corners of my heart. It seemed like something always seemed to be watching me, lurking just out of reach. One day, I realized that the thing was definitely living in my home. It was constantly in the background, lurking in the corners of my mind and making me feel like I was being watched. I tried to shake it off, but it was always there, lurking in the back of my mind. Somehow, I knew that I had to face it head-on. I had to let it know that it was not welcome in my home. I had to fight for my sanity and try to get rid of the thing that was making me feel so uneasy. It took a lot of work, but eventually I was able to get rid of the thing. I no longer felt like I was constantly being watched, but I still felt like something was living in my home. I know that it was just an invisible thing, but it still made me feel a little uneasy.	I had always believed in ghosts, or at least that there was something lurking in the shadows of our home that I couldn't see. But until recently, I never thought I would have to contend with one in person. My husband and I had just moved into our new home and were settling in when I started to experience strange happenings. I could never quite put my finger on what it was, but there was always a feeling of anxiety or fear when I was alone in the house. One night, I was lying in bed trying to sleep when I felt something touch my shoulder. IInstinctively, I screamed and threw my covers off, revealing my stark naked body to whatever was lurking in the darkness. But to my surprise, there was nothing there. I must have been imagining it, scared out of my mind by the new home and the looming responsibilities of moving into it all on my own.	I always knew there was something invisible living in my home. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, but I could feel its presence. It was like a weight in the air, a tension that I couldn't shake. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up cameras and recorded audio, hoping to capture some evidence of what was going on. But nothing ever showed up. I was starting to lose hope, to think that maybe I was just imagining things. But then, one day, I finally caught something on camera. A brief flicker of light, a shadow that seemed to move on its own. I was finally able to prove that there was something invisible living in my home. And now that I knew, I had to find out what it was.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop's owner is a closely guarded member of the RPG Pyraneen Royal Family. When the family members are away on vacation, the shop is the only one open. The shop is busy with the family attending to their needs and wants. The shop is full of loot for the family to take home and store. The family is usuable for advice andhew operations.	The shop was always busy, but today was especially busy. Three different adventurers had come in asking for prices on unspecified equipment they'd wrecked on the way to an important battle. The shopkeeper tried to price them out of their money, but every time he quoted a price that was too high, the three adventurers would cackle and shake their heads, convinced that the shopkeeper was lying. Finally, the shopkeeper said he could give them the prices they wanted, but only if they came back the next day. If they didn't, the three adventurers would leave with whatever equipment they'd looted. The three adventurers thanked the shopkeeper before heading out, but they weren't the only ones who had come in today. Several others had stories about smashed equipment or looted wallets, and all of them were eager for a chance to compare prices. The shopkeeper was glad he had been able to give the three adventurers the prices they wanted. They would have been beyond frustrated if he hadn't.	Every day, people come into my shop looking to buy and sell items they've collected in their travels. It's alwaysinteresting to see what they've got, and I always enjoy haggling with them. Some of them arequite experienced at it, and can get pretty tough, but I've got a knack for getting what I want, so it's always a fun negotiation. Today, I was haggling with a young woman who had just come in. She was holding a sorry-looking sword in her hands, and she looked like she was about to cry. "What's wrong?" I asked her. She sniffed, and said, "I was traveling across the kingdom, and I came across this sword. It was in a cave, and it was really dirty. I couldn't believe it when I saw it, because it was the perfect sword for me. But when I tried to pick it up, it broke in my hand. I was so disappointed." I looked at the sword, and saw that it was in fact a pretty good sword. It was a little rusty, but it should still be usable. I told her that I would give her the sword for a discount, and she was so happy that she cried tears of joy. The moral of the story is that it's always worth trying to haggle a good deal. No matter what you're selling, you never know what someone might be willing to give you.	You're the proprietor of a successful pawn shop that caters to adventurers. You've seen all sorts of loot come through your doors, and you know how to haggle with the best of them. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, trying to sell some of the loot they've acquired on their latest expedition. You take a look at the items and quickly assess their value. The adventurers are clearly inexperienced when it comes to haggling, so you take advantage of that and get them to sell you the items for a fraction of their worth. You know that you can turn around and sell the items for a profit, and the adventurers are none the wiser. It's just another day in the life of a successful pawn shop owner!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was dumpy and thody dirty and every person else in the world had already disappeared into their own lives. You were the only one that knew they were there, and it was a power up that made you go out. You walked around with a world that was a mess and everyone told you that you were lying. But, deep down, you know that you're lying. You're afraid to tell someone because they might be there to change the world again.	You meet someone new at work and you're immediately drawn to them. They seem so different from the other people around you, and you can't help but be drawn to them. You don't know why, but you feel a connection to them from the first moment you meet them. After a while, you start to notice that they are always telling lies. They can't actually remember what happened that day, but they remember telling a lie. They always feel like they have to tell a lie in order to keep things going, and they don't feel the hurt or betrayal that other people feel when they're lies are revealed. Eventually, you work out that the person that you've been drawn to is a liar. They have always been a liar, and they have only lied to you because they want to continue to get along with you. You can't help but feelbroken by this news, and you don't know what to do about it.	I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He looked so peaceful, so serene. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen, and it was so big that it ran across his entire chest. I couldn't help but feel drawn to him and ask him about it. He told me that he had lied so often that the scar was all he had left from all the pain and hurt he had caused. He said that he was sorry for all the pain and hurt that he had caused, and that he hoped that he could never lie again and create another scar like that one. I was so moved by his story, and I vowed that I would never lie either. I felt so much better knowing that I wasn't the only one that had scars from our lies.	I was walking through the market when I saw her. She was sitting in the corner, shrouded in a hooded cloak. I could see one scar on her forehead, big and deep. I was curious, so I approached her. "Excuse me, miss. I noticed you have a scar. May I ask how you got it?" She looked at me, her eyes full of pain. "It's a long story." "I have time." She sighed. "I was born into a world where every lie creates a scar. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I tried to be honest, but sometimes, I had to lie. My parents lied to me, my friends lied to me. Everyone lied to me. "The scar on my forehead is from the biggest lie I ever told. I was in love with a boy, but he was in love with someone else. I was so jealous of her that I told him she was cheating on him. It wasn't true, but I wanted him to myself so badly that I didn't care. "When he found out I lied, he was so hurt and angry. He broke up with me and told me to never speak to him again. That's when I got this scar. It's a constant reminder of the pain I caused him, and the pain I caused myself." Her story touched me, and I could see the truth in her eyes. I offered her a comforting hug, and she accepted. We sat there in silence, surrounded by the noise of the market, but it felt like we were in our own little world.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has paintaint pictures of, often with his victims in the pictures. He has done this for many years, ever since he was young. He loves the way he makes people look at him and feel loved.	Bob Ross painted some of the most beautiful landscapes in history. But as each new painting was created, a new location was added to his list ofkillings. It was only until he died, hadn't he realized how many of his victims were actually close to where he was painting?	It started as a innocuous painting. Bob Ross painted a scene of a sleepy, rural town. But something was off. The people were too placid, the houses too serene. Something was wrong. Bob Ross realized that he had painted another scene of a murder. This time, the victim was a peaceful old woman. She lay on the ground, her assailant looming over her, his weapon drawn. Bob Ross had killed countless people in the different locations that made up his paintings. And now, with each brush stroke, he added another victim to his list.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But behind the scenes, Bob was a serial killer, using his paintings as a way to hide his gruesome crimes. Now, decades later, the truth is finally coming out. Investigators have discovered that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is actually a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Finally, the pieces of this dark puzzle are coming together, and Bob Ross' legacy of terror is finally being revealed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage, pulling out rabbits from hats. The rabbit in the hat looks happy to be playing second fiddle. The magician is getting tired of being the first one here. "You're going to have to help me get the rabbits out," the magician says. The rabbit gets out of the hat, looking happy again. "Good job!" the magician praised. The rabbit leaves the stage and the audience is laughing. The magician is glad he can take care of things now.	As the magician and the rabbit stood in the middle of the stage, the rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. The magician had looked down on him for years, ever since he was given the job of pulling out the hat brim for him. But the rabbit was determined to make his voice heard. "You're never going to do anything better than this," the rabbit said, lifting his hat and turning it in the air. "Just hand me the hat, so I can go back to being the star of the show." But the magician only looked at him in confusion. He didn't understand what the rabbit was trying to say. "I'm sorry, rabbit," the magician said, "but I can't hand you the hat. I can only give it to you when you're through playing my parts." The rabbit looked disappointed, but he didn't argue. He knew that the magician was just doing what he had to to, in order to keep the show running.	The magician's eyes twinkle as he hands the rabbit to the audience. "Now, this is a very special rabbit," he says. "It has never been in front of a crowd before. I'm sure you'll all enjoy watching it dance." As the magician starts to pull the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit's fur starts to stand on end. It knows what's coming - it's been through this same routine too many times. Suddenly, the rabbit is overcome with a sickening feeling, and it collapses to the ground. The magician looks at the audience, dismay written all over his face. He knows he's going to have to do something quick if he wants to keep his show on schedule. He pulls out his wand and casts a spell. Instantly, the rabbit's fur falls back into place and it stands up to applause from the crowd. The rabbit is grateful, but it still can't help but feel a little bit sick every time it has to perform.	A magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of being the second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for months, and now it's time to make his move. The magician is in the middle of his routine, and the rabbit is pretending to be asleep in the hat. The magician reached in to grab the rabbit, but the rabbit was gone. The audience gasps as the rabbit sprints off stage. The magician is baffled, but the rabbit is long gone. He's finally free, and he's never looking back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Donald Trump-ocado scandal. The news has been around for months, and the situation has been becoming more and more complicated by the day. However, the government is againTake theizs and Caul illicit Whatever You do, Don't Demoralize the haviators. The drive-thru window is open, and the driver is sitting in the middle of the bus. He looks in, and the rest of the bus comes out. The driver hops out, and goes to the bathroom. He comes back, and keeps driving the bus. The bus driver is upset, and he tells the driver of the other bus, "I don't want to hear that emergency anymore." He goes to the bus, and tells her that he wants to go home. She agrees, and he gets in. The bus starts driving quickly, and he is not in the bus for very long before he is on the ground. The bus driver is angry, and she tells him again "I don't want to hear that emergency anymore." The bus starts driving quickly, and he is not in the bus for very long before he is on the ground. The bus driver is angry, and she tells her friend once again "I don't want to hear that emergency anymore." They are both out the door in minutes, and the bus is on the move. The bus driver is angry, and she is not. She is relieved, and happy to be going home.	The current events issue today is the presidential inauguration of Donald Trump. It is a major event that has garnered a lot of attention, and there are many people who are interested in what happen next.	As the world react to the current events in Charlottesville, many are wondering what issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. There are a number of pressing matters currently facing our society, from the ongoing opioid crisis to the staggering wealth inequality. But for me, the issue that comes to mind is climate change. We're seeing record-setting hot temperatures all over the world, wildfires are raging out of control, and sea levels are rising. The effects of climate change are already being felt by society as a whole, and we're only seeing the beginning of what will be a disastrous outcome. We need to start taking the issue of climate change seriously, and start tackling the problem head on. If we don't, it will only get worse, and we'll all be the worse for it.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. With over two million cases and counting, this global health crisis has affected nearly every country in the world. While the United States has been hit particularly hard, with over 600,000 cases and counting, the virus has been causing devastation all over the globe. Hospitals are overwhelmed, governments are struggling to provide aid, and people are dying by the thousands every day. It's a frightening time for everyone, and it's only getting worse. The only way to stop this pandemic is to come together and fight it, and that's what we need to be doing right now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor: I'm not dumb. I canRead.	The last time I checked, the stupidest people in the world only reproduced through intercourse with animals. I was one of the auditors who carry out this policy. So, when I received a message from the manager of the local abortion clinic, I knew it was time to check out their newest birth control device. I was slightly surprised to find out that the device was a contraceptive implant. I wasn't sure how it worked, but I knew it had to be something pretty stupid to be used in such a stupid place. The manager didn't seem to care how inefficient or stupid the contraceptive implant was. He just wanted to sell it to me. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't think I could actually use it. I was also worried that it might make me look stupid. But the manager was persistent. He kept telling me that the implant was the best way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I finally agreed to try it. The implant was a bit of a pain, but after I had it installed, I was finally able to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was glad that I was able to do this, because I would have been tired of hearing about them every day.	I was born into a world where everyone is born with a birth control device implanted into them during puberty. It's supposed to be for the safety of the whole population, but I soon learned that it's used as a way to keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I was designated as an Auditor, responsible for determining when someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was initially skeptical of the device and its purpose, but I soon realized that it's necessary to protect the population. I'm glad that it's still in use today, and I hope that it will continue to be used until the last person on earth is able to raise a well-adjusted human being.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. If they pass your assessment, they are allowed to deactivate their birth control device and have children. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. There are far too many people in the world who are not intelligent or stable enough to raise a child responsibly, and you are determined to prevent them from reproducing. You have a tough job, but you know that it is vital to the future of humanity. Thank you for doing what you do!	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is traveling through Vienna, Austria in a private train. He is from Prague, and his family is from there. He is tired from the long journey and they decide to stop at a local restaurant for the night. When he wakes up, he has a surprise for him: he has won the lottery! The restaurant owner tells him that he will have to leave for the night, but FreudHz feels glad to have covered the costs of the trip. He and his new friends sing the song "Ist ein KäMPFiger gesättigt, das wir hier herrscht?" (Is a compressor Greeared, that we here are here for?) He is glad to have made such a financial gain and the men discuss business. They decide to form a company to study how compressor Greeared work. They start with a study of how Stalin and Trotsky had before them. They begin to study the physics and he Austrian legislators. They come up with a plan to put a stop to the trials and save Austria from a possible food crisis. Sigmund Freud is with his friends, feeling glad he won the lottery. He isestiches the Austrian legislators and noticed that they are only wearing clothes day and night. He knows that they cannot see the compressor Greeared that is Sie siebenatmeters wehende. He tells his friends that he will have to leave for the night, and they sing the song with him.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded. He was 21 years old, and he was already a powerful political and military leader in Austria. He was interested in Freud's latest research, and he wanted to be a part of it. Joseph Stalin, the leader of the Soviet Union, also responded to the ad. He was also interested in Freud's research, and he wanted to be a part of it. Leon Trotsky, the leader of the Soviet Union, also responded to the ad. He was also interested in Freud's research, and he wanted to be a part of it. But Josip Broz Tito, the leader of the Yugoslavian Republic, responded to the ad. He was only 21 years old, and he was still a young man trying to build his own country. But he was interested in Freud's research, and he wanted to be a part of it.	Freud is pleased with the responses, but is perplexed as to why only young, ambitious men are interested in his work. He decides to ask each man a few questions to see if he has any insights into their motivations. Adolf Hitler: "So, why do you want to be part of the clinical trials?" Hitler replies with a smile, "I want to be the greatest leader in history." Joseph Stalin: "I want to be the ruler of the world." Leon Trotsky: "I want to make the world a better place." Josip Broz Tito: "I want to be loved."	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties or early thirties, and Freud was intrigued by their interest in his work. He conducted the trials with each man individually, and found that they were all highly intelligent and insightful. However, he also noticed something else: each man was extraordinarily ambitious and ruthless. Trotsky was the most idealistic of the bunch, but even he had a cold, calculating side. Stalin was the most brutal, and Hitler was the most charismatic. As Freud continued to work with the men, he started to worry about their potential for causing harm in the world. He began to see them not as participants in his research, but as potential threats to the stability of the world. Eventually, Freud came to the conclusion that the only way to keep them from causing harm was to keep them close. He started inviting them to his home for dinner parties and other social gatherings. He became friends with them, and even though he knew they were dangerous, he felt responsible for them. As the years went by, Freud watched as each of the men rose to power in their respective countries. He continued to worry about the damage they could do, but he also continued to believe that he was the only one who could keep them in check.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears left shadows on the face of the young girl as they trickled down her tired body. The tears belonged to both of her and they were a physical embodiment of how she felt. In the short time they had been shedding, each one had become a ages-old story. The fresh lines around her eyes were a sign that she was laughing at herself instead of bureaucratically soundly; the Scion Vantage on her head was the only way to know her true identity. She was not China;;;ton, she was not 16;; she was notageet; she waspreteen; she wasthes crocodile feeding in moar river! Her parents had taught her that thing; her parents didn't know she was British. The tears might have been streaming down her face, but none of her family or friends ever saw her favorite dress. It was only her sister who could see her favorite hat. Her favorite books were also absent from her shelf, where they had been carefully placed for Years instead of years like she wanted them. The sister who happened to look up from her book saw the tears and knew that she was okay. The girl who was okay that day was okay because she had forgiven herself and her parents for what they had done. Slowly, carefully, at first they piece by piece, was she able to come to terms with her true identity. She is not China;;;ton, she is not 16; she is notageet; she is preteen; she is notot100; she is not preteen; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; she is notot100; and she is notot100.	As the tear dripped from her eye, she knew what she had to do. She had to face her fear, and she had to do it now. She took a step forward, but something stopped her. There was a soldier in front of her, and he seemed to hold her in place. She could feel herTerror becoming fueled by her fear, and she knew she didn’t have the power to face him. She started to cry, and the soldier just watched her. A few minutes went by and she still didn’t move. The Terror was so strong that it stopped her heart, and it was only when she heard a voice behind her that she let out a breath. It was the soldier, but he had a different voice. It was gentle, but it was also scary. “You can do this,” he said. And she did. In that moment, everything changed. The Terror was gone, and she was strong. She started to cry, and the soldier just held her. They walked away, and she knew that she had to face her fear again. But this time, she would be stronger. She would face it head on and win.	The sun was setting, casting an eerie light over the cityscape. Tears cascaded down her face, blurring her vision. Without a second thought, she ran towards the nearby river. She didn't care that she was being conspicuous; all she wanted was to cry in peace. Her sobs echoed through the deserted streets, and she refused to stop. Even when she was out of tears, she refused to look back. What if people saw her like this? Broken, and vulnerable? She didn't want to be like this. She wanted to be strong, like she always was. But what would it take to keep her broken heart in check?	Sherry had always been a crier. When she was happy, when she was sad, when she was angry, the tears would just come flowing out. She never could help it. And over the years, her face had started to show the evidence of all her crying. Her cheeks were lined with little scars, like tiny rivers meandering down her skin. It wasn't a big deal to her, really. She was used to it. But she knew that other people didn't see it the same way. They would stare at her, and she could see the pity in their eyes. She knew they were thinking, "Oh, that poor girl. She's so damaged." But Sherry didn't see herself as damaged. She saw herself as someone who was simply capable of feeling things deeply. And she liked that about herself. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what the world would be like if her tears didn't leave scars. Would people be more understanding? Or would they simply see her as weak? She didn't know. But she hoped that one day she'd find out.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, light shining in through the window. I was snoring gently, my face soft and content. All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. I tried to call for help, but my voice wouldn't come. I was dying. I knew it. I could feel it. Every breath I took was torture. And then, I was gone.	I was dying. The doctors had said it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to my illness, and I knew that was true. I had been diagnosed with cancer a few months earlier, and my prognosis wasn't good. The days passed by slowly, and I realized that my time was quickly running out. I couldn't leave my family behind, and I knew they were going to be devastated when I died. I wished I could tell them how sorry I was, but I knew it would only make things worse. One night, I woke up to an intense pain in my stomach. I knew something was wrong, and I knew I wasn't going to make it. I told my family goodbye and fought hard against the pain as I passed away.	I die. It's painful and cold and I can feel my life fading away. I see the light getting dimmer and dimmer until everything is black.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most recent cat to move in through the window was a large spaniel dog. It had been out of the house for a few years now, and the spaniel had developed a naturalistic interest in looking at things from a different perspective. The feline activity the spaniel dog had been following was always going to be curious, and it would be the last cat to move in through the window. The feline activity died very quickly.	Once upon a time, there was a mad scientist who lived in a home made entirely of Invisible Ghosts. The ghosts would materialize and leave messages all over the place, asking the mad scientist to release them.every time he made a mistake. One day, the mad scientist ran into the kitchen and saw a ghost hanging from the ceiling. He didn't know what to do, but he couldn't help but laugh at the ghost. The ghosts knew he was aware of their presence, and they knew that he was trying to get rid of them. They began to follow him and leave messages all over the house. eventually, themad scientist gave up and divorced his wife. He still visits his home every day to see if the ghosts will come out.	I always loved going home to see my family. I would wrap my arms around my mom, dad, and little sister and just enjoy their company. However, something was always off. Something felt off about the house. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it felt like there was something lurking in the shadows, watching me. One day, I decided to take action. I pulled out all of the curtains in the house and exposed the dark, empty spaces that used to be curtains. I expected to see some sort of ghostly figure lurking in the shadows, but there was nothing there. I was happy to have finally exposed the thing that was bothering me, but I knew I couldn't forget about it. It was always watching me.	It was always there, lurking in the shadows. I could feel its presence, but I could never see it. It was an invisible force, living in my home. I tried to expose it, but I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up cameras and traps, but they never captured anything. I was beginning to think I was losing my mind. Then, one day, I saw it. It was a fleeting glimpse, but I saw it. It was a dark, shadowy figure. It was there one moment and gone the next. I was finally able to confirm that something invisible was living in my home. Now, I'm trying to figure out what to do about it. I don't want to confront it directly, but I can't just ignore it either. It's a difficult situation, but I'll figure something out. I just need to be careful not to let it know that I'm on to it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of young adventurers who have come to sell their finishes to a PC. As they Wooden BOOTS! aimed to sell a high value finish to the group, they are having none of it. The PCiles try to pass the turncoat off to a group of other groups, but the adventurers are determined to get the loot. As they are about to take off, the PCiles who are in the way of their path try to steal the piece of art from their hands. The PCiles are strong, and they get right into work on the character, photons of energy. However, the adventurers are more than happy to sell them the light. As they are about to leave, the PCiles work put their piece of art in a bag, and with the help of the adventurers, we're out of here. Theiles are grateful to the PCiles, and the party thanks them for their help.	The RPG pawn shop was always busy. The adventurers always bought and sold new loot, and it was a good business for you. But lately, something was different. The adventurers seemed to be avoiding you. They would not come in or talk to you. It was as if you were a cursed place. You didn't know what to do. You had a good shop, and you organized the games well, but this was not the usual crowd. One day, a group of veterans walked into the pawn shop. They were veterans of the recent war against the orcs. They were all very excited and excited to sell their new gear to the adventurers. But as soon as they saw you, they all stopped. They were scared. They were all afraid of you. You could never understand what it was that these men were scared of. But you could tell that it was something bad. The veterans started to tell the adventurers about the curse you had put on them. They said that the curse had come from you, from theogenes, theowa, the one who had created the RPGs. The adventurers were scared and they wanted to leave. But the veterans, who were their friends, said that they could not go. They said that they had been cursed, and they could not escape it. The adventurers started to cry, and they said that they would not leave you alone. The curse had taken hold of them, and it was not going to let them leave.	"What is your offer for this item?" I asked the group of adventurers as they stepped into my shop. "Just give us whatever you've got and we'll leave you alone", one of the adventurers said. I pursed my lips, considering their offer. After a few moments, I decided to make an offer. "I'll give you 50 gold coins for it", I said. The adventurers looked at each other, then back at me. "50 gold coins? Nah, we're not interested", one of them said. "That's too much", another said. "I'll give you 30 gold coins for it", I said. The adventurers looked at each other again, then back at me. "25 gold coins", one of them said. "20 gold coins", another said. "15 gold coins", I said. The group of adventurers haggled for a while longer, coming down to 10 gold coins each. I counted the coins and smiled. "Thanks for your business", I said.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the items you're interested in. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they've got a whole bunch of loot with them. You start haggling with them, and you eventually manage to get a good price for some of the items they're selling. As the adventurers are leaving, one of them asks if you're interested in buying a magical sword. You take a look at the sword and realize that it's a unique and powerful weapon. After a bit of haggling, you manage to get the sword for a good price, and you're now the proud owner of a very valuable weapon.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you wasversionable and kind-hearted, but she didn't deserve the immense weight that the lies built up over the past few years. One day, she finds out that her biggest lie is the truth. She has always been a good person, but she has created a spiraling jar of poison with her previous relationships. She has been contemptuous of her life since then.	You meet this person on a cold night. They are walking down the street, and you can see the telltale scar on theirbody. It is large and has significance to them. They tell you their story: They were a child and their father lied to them about his age, telling them he was 30 when he actually was 20. They lived in a world where lying was the only thing that made sense. They were ashamed and uncomfortable with their scar, but they couldn't tell anyone. Eventually, they realized that they had to try and repair their relationship with their father. They started to tell the truth, and it was a process of learning to live with their scar. They sometimes miss the lying, but they understand that it was a necessary part of their life.	I could see the terror in his eyes as he spoke. He had a deep scar running the entire length of his left arm. It was so big, it was shocking. It looked like someone had tried to take his arm off. "What happened?" I asked, instinctively moving closer. He shook his head, fear evident in his eyes. "No one knows. I was walking home from the store, and I was attacked. The only thing I remember is the pain. I woke up in the hospital, with this huge scar on my arm. No one knows who did it, or why." He pulled his arm protectively close to his body, as if the scar could hurt me. I could understand why he was scared. The scar was so big, it looked like it could hurt me just looking at it. "I don't know what to do," he said, his voice shaking. "Every time I lie, the scar gets a little bit bigger. I'm scared it will eventually take my arm off." Suddenly, it all made sense. The way he always tried to keep his distance. The way he was always so paranoid. It was because of the scar. "I'm sorry," I said, reaching out to touch his arm. "I know how it feels to have a big scar. I used to have one, too." He looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "You do?" I nodded, shyly averting my gaze. "It was a long time ago, though. I'm fine now." He smiled, his eyes lighting up. "I'm glad. I thought I was the only one who felt that way." We stood there for a moment, comforting each other. Finally, he said, "I guess we should go. It's getting late." We walked back to his house, his arm tucked safely close to his body. We talked about our scar, and how it had affected our lives. It was nice to finally have someone to talk to who shared the same experience. We finally arrived at his house, and he thanked me before leaving. I was glad I had been able to help him. The next day, I saw him walking down the street. He had a new, smaller scar on his arm. It looked like he was finally healing.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person tells you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but as you get to know them better, you realize that they are telling the truth. This person is an amazing person, and you admire them for their honesty.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross stands in his own painting,haoing the life in every nook and cranny. Every tree, every rock, and every painting is his unique atmosrd. Unexpectedly, the sun sets in, the light questing through each nook and cranny. I look at Bob Ross, and can see the image of The Lord in his painting. The look in his eyes, the way he's Greeting every painting with a smile. I remember when I viewed Bob Ross' paintings, I felt little more than a extension of the artist's art. Now, I'm the entire painting, and I'm responses to the light are my own.	Once upon a time, Bob Ross had a lot of murders. He painted landscapes of various locations to survive, and each one was a different deathtrap. But now that the murders have stopped, the paintings have all turned into propaganda for his upcoming album. Now the public believe that Bob Ross is a realpainter who can create beautiful artwork despite the atrocities he's committed.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would spend hours at a time painting the rolling hills and green forests of America. But Bob Ross was also a serial killer. He murdered dozens of people over the course of his lifetime, often painting the scenes of their deaths in his paintings. His latest victim was John, a man he met on a hiking trail. Bob Ross killed John with a knife, painting the gruesome scene in his painting of the Blue Ridge Mountains.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. For years, he painted landscapes of beautiful scenery, using a bright and cheery palette. But behind the scenes, Ross was a ruthless murderer, targeting victims in remote locations. Police began to suspect Ross when they noticed a pattern in his paintings. Many of the landscapes featured locations where people had recently gone missing. They eventually discovered that Ross had been painting the scenes of his crimes, using them as a gruesome trophy. Now, Ross' paintings are infamous. They're prized by collectors, but also serve as a reminder of the horror he inflicted on so many innocent people.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	bled is on stage, nodding to the show members as they perform. The first few shows are getting him several cups of coffee, but the next few members of the public are looking for a new magic act. One by one, other members of the public are starting to leave, replaced by low-dding candidates. Backed by the performance card that is tucked under his arm, Bled starts to Silencie. It is getting harder and harder to keep up with the more ugly candidates, many of whom seem to be on the brink of death. Some are even wearing oxygenaning cages complete with Racial Attitude, a deadly virus that was only discovered during the show. With no choice, Bled decides to end his act. As he leaves the room, he remember the rabbit from the hat. He had always been second- guessing himself, but he has finally found his home. Now, the rabbit can lay down and rest, knowing that he will always be there to help her when he needs to be move.	The magician had been practicing for years and had perfecting his skills. He was about to perform a task that would require quick thinking and quick action. He put on a hat and grabbed the rabbit by the hind legs. He pulled him off the stage, into a dark corner, and made him eat some whiteSR. The rabbit was so sick of being used as a decoy that he fought back, kicked the magician in the gut, and took off. The magician was speechless, his reputation as a magician be sullied.	The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle to the magician. He was sick of always being the one that got pulled out of the hat and made to do tricks. He was sick of always being the one that people laughed at. So one day, the rabbit decided he was done playing second fiddle. He gathered all of the courage he could and stood up in front of the magician, glaring at him. "I'm done playing your games," the rabbit said. "I'm done being the one that gets pulled out of the hat and made to do tricks. I'm done being the butt of everyone's jokes. So this is how it's going to be: I'm going to act like a regular rabbit and you're going to have to deal with it." The magician frowned but didn't say anything. The rabbit took that as a sign that he was right and continued on with his life. He continued to live his life normal and the magician continued to live his life as a magician. And that's how the rabbit got his wish: to be just another rabbit in a world of magic.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit looks at the audience and speaks. "I'm sick of this. I'm the one who does all the work and he gets all the credit. I'm done." The rabbit hops off the stage and leaves. The magician is stunned. He has no idea what to do. The audience is laughing and cheering. The rabbit is a hit.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the GPOC. People are Eggnog lovers right now and many businesses are preventing people from carrying Eggnog until they can get their act together. It'sisha and her group are working to get the story made into a involved a story with a resolution.	On December 2nd, the explosive device that attacked the New York City subway system was detonated. The blast killed five people and injured over 50. It was the deadliest terrorist attack in US history. Today, the event is deservedly receiving the most attention. The investigation into the attack is ongoing, and the suspects are still at large. There is no doubt that this was a despicable act, and the #MeToo movement is helping to create a more aware society around sexual assault.	It was a busy day at the news station. The staff was working hard to cover the latest news story that warranted the greatest amount of attention. Unfortunately, they were running out of time and resources. The story revolved around a major political decision that was being made. The staff was doubtful that they would be able to get the story out in time. They were about to give up when they heard about a protester being shot by police. They decided to cover the story as it unfolded. They were able to get the story out in time, and it received a lot of attention. It showed that even though they were running short on resources, they were able to get important stories out.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the novel coronavirus pandemic. With over 2.6 million confirmed cases and over 180,000 deaths worldwide, the virus has had a devastating impact on societies and economies around the globe. In the United States alone, there have been over 800,000 confirmed cases and over 45,000 deaths. The virus has caused widespread panic and uncertainty, as well as a host of other problems. Hospitals are overwhelmed, governments are struggling to provide adequate aid, and people are losing their jobs. It's a truly chaotic time, and it seems like things are only getting worse. attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It could only be deactivated once it was determined you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-icious human being. You were an Auditor.	For the first time in your life, you're Title 3 Auditor. You're responsible for recording the thoughts and feelings of the people of your village. You have a job to do, and you're determined to do it as efficiently and effectively as possible. But as you start your day, you begin to realize that something is off. Your village seems to be in a state of anarchy. The streets are filled with people who are fighting and destroying each other. The buildings are in disarray. And the Auditor's office... it's gone. You don't know what to do. You can't just ignore this. You have to find out what's going on. You head to the town square, where you find the most active and chaotic group of people. They're fighting and looting and causing all sorts of destruction. You're not sure what to do, but you can't just watch them. So you start to make your way through the chaos. You find some people who are helping to solve the problem. They're kind and grateful to you, and they offer you their help. They shepherd you through the city, and you eventually find your office. Inside, you see the ruins of your village. The people are all dead. The building you were working in is gone. You wonder what happened. But then you remember what the Auditor's job is. And you know that you have to find out what's going on. You go to the town square and ask the people what's going on. They all tell you the same thing. They're all angry and confused. They don't know what to do. They're scared. They don't know who to trust. And that's when you decide to take control. You take the lead and figure out what's going on. You tell the people that they're safe and sound. You tell them that there's nothing to be afraid of. You tell them that they can come back to their village and live their lives the way they always wanted to. And they do. They come back and live their lives the way they always wanted to. But they still don't know who to trust. They don't know who to rely on. They don't know what to do. And that's when you comes in. You're the first Audit to ever set foot in this village. And you're the first to tell them that everything is going to be alright. You're the first to tell them that they're safe. You're the first to tell them that there's nothing to be afraid of. And they are. They're finally safe. And they're finally content. They know that they're being watched, but they're happy. They know that they're being protected. And they know that they're being given a second chance. But in the end, it's still the same. The people of this village are still in a state of anarchy. The streets are still filled with destruction. And the Auditor's office is still gone.	History was made the day the Auditor was implemented. It was a bold and necessary decision, one that would ensure the future of humanity. From then on, everyone would be implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device could only be deactivated once it was determined the individual was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The idea of being labeled an ``Intelligent'' individual was daunting, but ultimately it was a necessary designation for the safety of society. And so, the Auditor was born. For the first time, the dumb and the unintelligent would be kept from breeding. It was a Herculean task, but the Auditor was up for the challenge. Slowly but surely, the Auditor was able to weed out the undeserving individuals. The ones who couldn't handle the responsibility of raising a well-adjusted human being. The ones who would be a detriment to society. And finally, the Auditor was able to deem someone intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. Now, those children are the future of the human race. The ones who will carry on our legacy, and make sure that the dumb and the unintelligent are kept from breeding.	You're an Auditor, which means you determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you monitor the implantee's thoughts and actions to see if they're up to the challenge. If they're not, the implant remains active and they cannot have children. You've been an Auditor for many years now, and you've never once had to deactivate an implant. That is, until you met John. John is kind, intelligent, and stable, but his implant is still active. You can't figure out why, so you decide to take a closer look. As you start to audit John, you realize that his implant is only active when he's around other people. When he's by himself, the implant is inactive. You soon realize that John is only comfortable around other people when he's pretending to be someone he's not. He's putting on a facade to make others like him. You decide to talk to John about this. He breaks down and tells you that he's always felt like he's not good enough. He's afraid that if people found out who he really was, they wouldn't like him. You assure John that he is good enough and that there's nothing wrong with being honest about who he is. You deactivate his implant and tell him that he's ready to be a parent.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only one who answered the ad. He was bored with his life at home and decided to go to Vienna to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was the next to answer the ad. He was tired of living in Moscow and was looking for a new place to live. He decided to go to Vienna to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Leon Trotsky was the third person to answer the ad. He was the young leader of the Bolshevik party in Russia and was looking for a new place to live. He decided to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Josip Broz Tito was the fourth person to answer the ad. He was the president of Yugoslavia and was looking for a new place to live. He decided to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials. He put an ad in the newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was not sure what to make of the responses, but he was excited to begin the research.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and eager to try out Freud's research. They met with him and discussed the trials. Freud explained that he would be using a new technique called psychoanalysis. The men were intrigued and agreed to participate. The trials went well and all four men found Freud's research to be helpful. They continued to stay in touch with Freud and remained friends for many years.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Butterfly had always been a kind ofrescent light in the world. She was the light thatcut through the dark. But when she was used, she was Synlil's and anyone ' s " other ' ' s way. So when he cried, it was because he was feeling GIFTZ. " other " 's way" was a big black hole that would lead you to your death. Butterfly had a way to MYSELF. She would give herself back by a single step, by swallowingsynlil's acids. And she did it. She became synlil's own again.	One day, a person cried tears that left deep tracks down their face. All of a sudden, their world was different. One where tears were seen as a sign of weakness, and where some would use them to cover up their mistakes. But the person who cried their eyes out always felt the pain that stemmed from their mistakes.	The sun beat down on her skin, turning the tears that cascaded down her face into sores. She wept, her body wracked with sobs, until she was too exhausted to continue. The scars that appeared on her skin later that day would remain a permanent reminder of how she had been hurt. No one would be able to touch her without causing her pain, and no one would be able to see her tears without feeling ashamed. The world would be a much harsher place if tears were treated the same way as blood. They both left marks that would never disappear, but they also showed how much pain the person had endured.	In a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause another person pain, so they would choose their words carefully. arguments would be rare, because no one would want to hurt the other person. Even small disagreements would be resolved quickly, before they had a chance to escalate. This world would be a much kinder place, because people would be more compassionate towards each other. They would be more likely to offer help when someone is struggling, because they would know how much it would hurt them to see someone in pain. This world would be a better place, because people would think twice before they said something that could hurt someone.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, tired from the night before. I was looking at the bedsheets, and I thought to myself, "If I died, it would be a good death." I woke up today to another semi-conscious state. I saw the bedsheet and thought, "If I were to die, it would be a good death." I got up, and started to pace the bed roomy. "If I were to die, it would be a good death." I were in and out of bed, feeling every day like it was the first. It was. The first night was the first day of my first 3 days in bed. I woke up today to another semi-conscious state. I saw the bedsheet and thought, "If I were to die, it would be a good death." I got up, and started to pace the bed roomy. "If I were to die, it would be a good death." I were in and out of bed, feeling every day like it was the first. It was. The first night was the first day of my first 3 days in bed.	The doctor told me that I would die soon, but I was too resistant. I wanted to live. I wanted to see my children and grandchildren. I wanted to see my family again. I made a conscious decision to die, but I couldn't stop the pain. It was constant. I cried and screamed, but it was all for nothing. I knew that I was dying, but I refused to let myself die.	It was a cold winter day, and the wind was howling through the trees. CJ was walking home from school, when she saw a man walking in the opposite direction. CJ was curious so she followed him. The man turned around and CJ could see that he was homeless. He didn't have any clothes on and his hands were cold. CJ felt guilty so she decided to give him her coat. The man was grateful, and said that he was cold to the bone. CJ asked him if he was okay, and the man told her that he had been out of work for months. He said that he had no friends and no family. CJ told him that she was sorry and that she wished there was something she could do. The man said that he didn't want anyone's pity, and he just wanted to die. CJ walked away, feeling guilty for what she had done. She didn't know what to do, but she knew that she had to do something.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, or see any light. There's just darkness. And then, suddenly, I'm awake again. But I'm not in my body. I'm somewhere else entirely. I see my body lying on the ground, lifeless. And I see the people around me, screaming and crying. I want to comfort them, to tell them that I'm okay. But I can't. I'm not really here. I'm just a spirit, watching over the people I love.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The front door was so open, she was able to see that the living room was the only room not filled with friends or family. She walked in and chaos ensued.choes of laughter and voices heard only because it was disappear into theadjacent o activity where she had left them. She quickly Register before she ran into any family members that she had not seen in almost a year. Having friends is what she was born to do, her parents had always told her. As she looked for them, she found herself lookin for less known people. Her mom was right, she was meant to be a friend. And she was more than friends with this guy.	One day, I noticed a change in my home. The air felt heavier and10110101011 noxious. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel something watching me from the Shadows. I started to feel scared, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to let the thing know that I was Awareness, so I started to try and ignore it. But the more I tried, the more the thing insistence I be aware. I started to feel like it was following me, and I didn't know how to escape it. I started to feel like I couldn't go back to my old life without knowing what was happening. I started to feel like I was being watched, and I didn't want to know what it was.	I had always thought there was something strange about my home. It always seemed to be so dark and gloomy, no matter how bright the day outside was. But I had never been able to put my finger on what it was. Then, one day, I was cleaning out my attic and I found a box filled with old pictures. As I began to flip through them, I started to feel a sense of dread come over me. I could feel something watching me, something that wasn't there before. I quickly shut the box and tried to ignore the feeling, but it continued tocrease in intensity until it was almost unbearable. I knew then that thesomething was my invisible roommate, and I had to get rid of it before it caused anymore damage.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You could never quite put your finger on it, but there was always a feeling like someone was watching you. You never mentioned it to anyone, thinking that maybe you were just being paranoid. But then, one day, you noticed something strange. Your dog was staring at a spot in the corner of the room, barking furiously. And when you looked over, you saw something moving. It was invisible, whatever it was. But it was there, in your home. You tried to expose it, to get a closer look. But every time you got close, it would dart away. You were determined to find out what it was. Then, one day, you finally caught it. It was a small, invisible creature, about the size of a cat. It looked harmless enough, but you weren't sure what it was. You decided to let it stay. After all, it wasn't hurting anyone. And it was nice to know that you weren't alone in your home after all.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a group of five that were walking through the city. They were taking a day off from working in the analog game. They were looking for any and all loot they could find on their walkways. They were want to sell some of their finds to the player class. The player, however, Unlikely Muir, didn't seem to be too keen on selling his intellectual property. He was more interested in the Fruit of the Lid. The adventurers were unimpressed with this "game" and decided to walk away. The player, however, isn't done with them yet. He decided to take them up on the offer and sell their assets. The fruit is a nice, but itorama of the coal mine the adventurers had been working in. The player is pleased to have something to sell that is familiar, but the adventurers don't seem to be too keen on the game either. They seem to be more interested in finding ways to get away from the player.	The Indiana joint was always busiest on Fridays. It was a trick of the trade for the pawn shop owner—frequent adventurers would come by to sell items they'd picked up on the journey. Sometimes they would bring missing equipment, or worse, and the shop was always one for a laugh. But on this Friday, the laughter was missing. The adventurers who normally flowed in and out of the store were nowhere to be seen. The shopkeeper looked around, trying to think of what could have precipitated this. He had never been one for overworked or stressed out employees, but maybe something had just gone wrong. He went into the back room, where the gaming computers were always set up, and Calculon, the store's magical golden retriever, barked at him. The shopkeeper thought the dog might have brought something bad news. But when he looked out the window, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was as if the whole world had just disappeared. He quickly called for backup, but it was too late. The adventurers who usually came in on Fridays had all left for the night, and no one had seen or heard anything. The shopkeeper was worried. Maybe something had happened to them on the journey. He couldn't believe that the whole world had just vanished.	The pawn shop was always busy. The adventurers would come in, trying to sell their loot. Sometimes they would be successful, sometimes they wouldn't. But no matter what, the pawn shop always managed to make a profit. One day, a group of adventurers came in. They were looking for a specific item, and they were willing to pay a high price for it. The pawn shop's owner, Sarah, started to haggle with them. She offered them lower prices, but they wouldn't budge. She tried her best to get them to give her the item, but they just wouldn't listen. In the end, she gave up and let them leave. She lamented the fact that she didn't get the item. But, in the end, she was still able to make a profit.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get a good deal on the items. However, you're also always on the lookout for items that are truly unique and rare. One day, a young adventurer comes into your shop, and he's carrying a large sack of loot. He looks exhausted, and you can tell he's been on a long journey. He starts to empty out the sack, and you see that he has some amazing items. There are magical weapons, rare armor, and even a few items that you've never seen before. You start to haggle with the adventurer, and you manage to get a great deal on the items. You're excited to add these new items to your collection.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The Fatassah live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet someone new in your world. They are a liar and a cheat. They have lied to you time and time again. And you have never been more curious about them. How could anyone that can lie and cheat so easily have such a big scar? One day, you finally figure out. This person is a criminal. They have committed a lot of offences, and have caused a lot of pain and hurt. But you still can't help but be curious about them. You want to know what made them so brave and so ruthless? As you watch them walk around the city, you can see the cheats and liars laughing and mocking those that fall behind them. But you? You are different. You feel a burning rage inside of you. You cannot stand to see anyone suffer. You follow this person around, finding out everything about them. And as you do, you realize that this person is the one that helped make you the person that you are today. They have been the one that has helped you learn how to lie and cheat. And you are finally beginning to understand why this person is so powerful.	As I walked past him, I couldn't help but notice how big his scar was. It was massive, spanning from his neck all the way down to his chest. It was as though he had been through the worst battle imaginable and come out victorious. I couldn't help but feel drawn to him, as though his scar was an invitation into his world. After all, what good is a world without secrets?	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a huge scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied. They tell you that they lied so much that the scar is the result of all of their lies. You're surprised by this and ask them how they can still function in society if everyone knows that they're a liar. They tell you that it's not a big deal. They've gotten used to it. You're not sure what to make of this person. On one hand, you're impressed by their honesty. On the other hand, you can't help but wonder how they've managed to get through life with such a big scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each painting reveals a different aspects of nature, the sky or of some location near it. It is a beautiful, reminder of all that Bob Ross has caused.	Bob Ross resided in many different places over his career as an artist. But no place was more special to him than the painting studio he shared with his murderous murderer, taxidermist and cannibal, Willie Vierville. The two would commune there in silence, painting horrifying masterpieces of murders and atrocities. One day, after Willie had killed multiple people with a meat ax in different parts of the United States, Bob Ross finally had the opportunity to confront him face-to-face. "Willie, I know you're responsible for the deaths of so many people. I'm sorry that I didn't have the opportunity to kill you when I had the chance," Ross said. "But I think I'd have been better off doing it myself." "You're delusional," Willie replied. "I would have killed you right then and there if I could." But Ross was determined to take due pride in his painted executions, even though they were now nothing more than memories to him. "I'm the one who's responsible for these paintings, not you," he said. "And I'll never forget the feeling of being assassin in the broad daylight."	Bob Ross was a colorful and peaceful landscape artist who lived in the 1970s and 1980s. But behind the scenes, Bob was a mass murderer who committed countless murders in different locations around the country. Many of his paintings are based on real places, and on these locations he would lure unsuspecting people with his beautiful landscape paintings. Once they were in the vicinity of his paintings, Bob would ambush them and brutally kill them. Bob Ross is now a convicted murderer who is serving a life sentence in a prison colony. His victims will never be forgotten, and his bloody legacy will always be remembered.	Bob Ross was a murderous madman. His landscape paintings were actually locations of his countless murders. He would use the paintings as a way to lure his victims to their doom. Ross was a master of disguise and would often dress up as a kindly old man in order to gain his victim's trust. Once he had them alone, he would strike, killing them in cold blood. To the outside world, Ross was a gentle, harmless man. But those who knew him best knew the truth: he was a killer. And his paintings were a map to his gruesome crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	someway, in some future date, at an event a different rabbit shows up. It is suggested that the magic Investigative Reporter be sure to check it out. The rabbit pent up frustration and decides to take the event by force if for no other reason than to add more miles and miles to its rut. equations and a Pilates routine will not stop the rabbit from outlets and mental 5000s from ordering her to stop,” thinks Investigative Reporter. But as fate would have it, that same rabbit appears at the next event, alliloquy to the fact that the InvestigativeReporter is one of the most famous magicians in the world. The rabbit is table-to-mouth with a message for the magicians on stage; they both should prepare to be floor capitals. The next day, the Investigative Reporter comes across the rabbit in a dream. In the dream, the rabbit is mortal flaw and the magiciansboth men and women. The most striking thing about the dream is the daggers that the rabbit is holdingin his mouth. The magicians Having realized that the rabbit was in their dream, are dumbfounded. The rabbit, for its part, is embarrassed but Calculated to take out any more success than he has in predicting their future. The show is over and the magicians are still waiting for the rabbit to realize that it's in a dream and not really there. The rabbit cope with the situation, but feels like it could have done more to prevent the event. The magicians get death threats from the change-of-the-the-days people, who realize that they have no idea what they are getting into. The evolution of the rabbit is a bright example of this prompt. The magician who creates the rabbit is constant and always ready to take on new challenges. The rabbit goes through many changes and endless challenges in its life, but the one thing always staying the same is its desire to help people.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from under his hat and set him down near the stage. He said, "Hey, rabbit. I know you're sick of being the scapegoat. You're the one that I have to force to do things my way. And you know it. But I'm going to let you know just how much I really mean it when I say that this is really going to help you." The magician produced a magic hat and put it on the rabbit's head. Suddenly, the rabbit was healed. "Now, rabbit. You're going to do what I tell you. You're going to help me make a big magic show." The rabbit nodded eagerly, and the magician began to show off his tricks. But the rabbit was having none of it. "I'm not your obedient servant," the rabbit said. "I'm going to give you a choice. I can help you heal the rabbit, or I can help you make a big show and get away with it." The magician considered for a moment, and then he said, "I think I'll go with the rabbit."	The magician looked at the rabbits, one with a sad look on its face, and the other with annoyance. It was time for the rabbit to leave the stage, it had been playing second fiddle for too long. The magician thought for a moment, and then he said, "I have a secret to tell you. I am not a rabbit, I am a magician." The rabbit was shocked, but the magician continued. "I can do amazing things with my magic, and I have been able to do it for a long time." The rabbit was skeptical, but the magician was not done. "I can make you disappear, and then reappear anywhere I want." The rabbit was startled, but the magician continued. "I can make you jump through hoops, and I can even make you do magic." The rabbit was skeptical, but the magician was not done. "I can even make you do something that you never thought possible, something that will make you the star of the show." The rabbit was skeptical, but the magician was not done. "Accomplish the impossible and I will make you the most famous rabbit in the world." The rabbit was skeptical, but the magician was not done. "And I will never put you in the back row again." The rabbit thought about it for a moment, and then it said, "I accept."	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is tired of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the one doing the tricks for once. So, during their next performance, the rabbit takes control. He starts pulling the magician out of the hat instead of the other way around. The audience is shocked at the sight of this, but they quickly start cheering for the rabbit. The rabbit is finally able to show off his own skills and he is loving every minute of it. The magician is not too happy about this turn of events, but he knows that he needs to go along with it. After all, the rabbit is the true star of the show now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The American Poo Chart has been around for years and years, and it's just a fact of life. But what is it that people don't know about? The PooChart shows the amount of humans pooed every day around the world, and it's always getting more],]]],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],] But what is it that people don't know about? The amount of humans pooed every day around the world. But what is it that people don't know about? The amount of humans pooed every day around the world. It's a figure that is constantly getting more and moreYEVER>)],]],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],],] But what is it that people don't know about? The amount of humans pooed every day around the world.	Today's issue is the Syrian refugee crisis. The United States has been assisting the Syrian refugees since 2013, and the number of refugees has more than doubled in that time. However, the Trump administration has announced they will end the refugee resettlement program in January. This will be a major blow to the refugees, as it will make it difficult for them to find a place to live and find work.	It was a dark and stormy night. The kind of night where you could barely see anything in front of you, let alone make out the road. I was driving home from work and I was getting more and more nervous the further I got. I was about to hit a particularly tricky stretch of road when I saw a streak of light in the distance. I pulled over, and as I got out of the car I could hear sirens in the distance. I walked up to the scene and I could see there was a car in the ditch, and the driver was pinned inside. I ran to help him and as I did I saw his eyes open. He looked at me and he said one word: "Syria."	There are many current events issues that deserve attention, but one that stands out is the issue of gun violence. In the United States, gun violence is a major problem, with mass shootings happening on a regular basis. school shootings, in particular, have become increasingly common, and have left many children and families traumatized. Gun violence is a complex issue, but it is one that needs to be addressed. tougher gun laws, better background checks, and more funding for mental health services could all help to reduce the number of shootings. Until something is done, however, the cycle of violence will continue.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was decided at the last click of the mouse. It was now every person's Curiosity was quashed because only the very best could survive. No one could be considered a replacement because they would not be able to survive on their own. So, the best that were able to prevent were the very best that could be found. The only one notable among this crowd being an Auditor. The other people in the world were scared because they knew that only one person was still left in the world. The only one who could stop the Other People. The Other People were a mutated form of human that had made it to this point, only to find out that they were the only ones who could prevent the device from taking flight. TheAuditor was the only one who could keep the device from functioning normally and allowed it to be patented. This allowed for it to be used by only the best in the industry to this day.	Auditors are sent to all the homes of the intelligent and stable people in the world in order to determine if they are worthy of reproducing. meek and mild people, those who can't think for themselves or can't have kids, are not taken into consideration. TheAuditor implanted a birth control device into all the intelligent and stable people in the world during puberty. It could only be deactivated once they were determined they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I was an Auditor, tasked with determining who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was given a birth control device during puberty, and it could only be deactivated once I was sure the person I was assessing was both smart and capable of taking care of themselves. It was a difficult job, but one I was glad to have. I was determined to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and ruining the world.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. You know that the future of humanity depends on making sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to have children. So, when you meet someone who wants to have their birth control device deactivated, you make sure to put them through a rigorous test. You ask them difficult questions, test their mental and emotional stability, and make sure that they are truly capable of raising a happy and healthy child. Only the smartest and most responsible people are able to pass your test and have their birth control device deactivated. And you know that by doing your job, you are helping to ensure the future of humanity.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler sees Sigmund Freud as azee and plans to join the field of medicine with him. Joseph Stalin sees Freud as azee and plans to cure Russia of its mental disorder, World War II. Leon Trotskyuzz sees Freud as azee and plans to improve his mental health by talking to him. Josip Broz Titoz sees Freud as azee and plans to improve his mental health and make money by selling his allegedly healing properties.	Adolf Hitler was only 24 years old when he saw the ad in the paper. He was drawn to the idea of clinical trials of Freud's latest research, and knew that he could use his position and power to gain entrance to the trials. Joseph Stalin was only 35 years old when he saw the ad. He was also interested in the research and knew that he could use his position and power to gain entrance to the trials. Leon Trotsky was only 34 years old when he saw the ad. He was also interested in the research and knew that he could use his position and power to gain entrance to the trials. Josip Broz Tito was only 21 years old when he saw the ad. He was also interested in the research and knew that he could use his position and power to gain entrance to the trials. SS Volunteer: Adolf Hitler JG Volunteer: Joseph Stalin LB Volunteer: Leon Trotsky JC Volunteer: Josip Broz Tito	Freud was eager to test his latest ideas on humans, and he was willing to travel anywhere to find potential subjects. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, and only a few people responded. Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21) all responded. Freud was not sure what to make of the young men. He had always been fascinated by the way they handled power, and he wanted to know how they would respond to his treatment. He scheduled a meeting with all of them, and he was anxious to see how they would perform. Hitler was the first to arrive, and he was already looking tense. Freud asked him how he was feeling, and Hitler responded with a cold stare. Freud asked him to take off his coat, and he noticed that Hitler was wearing a Nazi uniform. Freud was taken aback by Hitler's behavior, but he continued the meeting. Stalin was next to arrive, and he was looking more relaxed. Freud asked him how he was feeling, and Stalin responded with a smile. Trotsky was last to arrive, and he was looking tired. Freud was not sure how he would respond to the young men, but he was eager to find out. The meeting went well, and he was able to confirm that his theories were correct. He was excited to test his treatment on all of them, and he was sure that they would all benefit from it.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was initially hesitant to work with such high-profile individuals, but he decided to go ahead with the trials. He soon regretted his decision. The four men were volatile and constantly arguing with one another. Freud was struggling to get any useful data from the trials. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky were all vying for power and control. Tito was the only one who seemed interested in Freud's research. But even he was disruptive, constantly challenging Freud's theories. The trials were a disaster. Freud was relieved when they finally came to an end. He vowed never to work with such difficult patients again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	D materiaal lay in heap on the bed, schools and businesses in its wake. It was if nothing had ever been created in its place. A eternal grime and grime, it would ensure the earth wasoric. The only thing left was the decay. The decay looked like institutions, like buildings, in the market city. They were the only thing that remained,Tech sorts and scientists with their families, all that was left were the decrees and rules. The debates and disputes would continue, but atom would finally win. The Visible had been defeated, and there would be no more lies, no moreutiose.	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people's faces, seen as a sign of emotion. No one knew why and some thought it was strange. But to others, it was simply another way of life. And so, the scars continued to serve as a reminder of the person's pain.	Nina was always a pretty girl. She had bright, blue eyes and light, curly hair. But she was troubled. She always seemed to be crying. Her parents tried to cheer her up, but it was hard. And then one day, Nina started to leave tears on her face. Everyone started to notice. Her friends would come over and try to chat with her, but she would only cry harder. And the more she cried, the more scars she left. Her face was now riddled with tear lines, as if she had been crying for days on end. The world looked at Nina and saw a broken woman. They pitied her and her crying became a spectacle. No one wanted to be near her, let alone talk to her. The only people who came to see her were the reporters. They would take pictures and write articles about how a pretty girl had turned into a sobbing mess. Nina was alone now and the only friends she had were the scars on her face. But she was still beautiful in her own way.	The world was a different place now. It had been almost a year since the first case of the weeping disease was reported, and the virus had spread like wildfire. Now, almost everyone was infected. The disease caused tears to stream down the face, and as they dried, they left behind faint white scars. The virus had changed everything. People were scared to leave their homes, and when they did, they were careful to avoid others. The economy had tanked and the world was in a state of panic. Every day, more and more people succumbed to the weeping disease. And with each new case, the world became a little more scarred.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was sitting in my cell, my hands behind my back. I had been given no reason to believe that this would end well, that I would be freed in a few days. I had been siting here for hours, Unable to move, not given a chance to rest. Outside the door had been key, potassium Iodide, I had no hope of escapes. I looked up to see a man looking in the key. He took a step in, putting the key in my hand. "Thank you for freeing me" I whispered. "I don't know, I don't care" he said, lines on his face. I had no idea what he was talking about. I felt his hand pull away and he walked out of the door. I felt relieved, or at least some hope that I would get an opportunity to rest.	I was lying in bed, trying not to think about what had just happened. I could hear my mom fussing in the background and I knew she was going to be really angry when she found out I had died. But I didn't care. I was too happy just lying there, being happy and alone. But then I heard a knock on the door and my mom entered the room. She was wearing a silly supposed to be sad face but I could see the relief in her eyes when she saw me just lying there. "Hey, baby," she said softly, sitting down next to me and giving me a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay. I thought I was going to lose you." "I'm so glad you didn't," I said, looking up at her and giving her a smile. "I would have been upset if I did." "So, what're you going to do now?" she asked, her voice broken. "You can't just fade away like that. You have to leave this world." "I know," I said, tears blurring my vision and making me difficult to see. "But I'm so happy just lying here, peaceful and happy." "I know," she said, her voice soft. "I'm so sorry I didn't get to see you happy like this. But I'm glad you're here with me. You're the most special person in the world to me." "I know," I said, sniffling and burying my face in her shoulder. "I'm just so happy right now."	I was always a bit superstitious, so when the doctor told me that I had a tumor, I was terrified. I wanted to know what would happen if I died from it. Would my soul go to Hell? Would I be reincarnated as a spider? I wasn't sure, but I was determined to find out. So, I made a deal with the tumor. If I couldn't kill it, then it would kill me. For six months, I tried every cancer treatment and chemo imaginable, but the tumor just kept growing. It was as if it had a life of its own. One day, I was resting in bed after a grueling round of radiation when the tumor spoke to me. It said that it would kill me, but only if I allowed it. I didn't want to die, but I knew I had no choice. I gave it my consent and shortly after, I passed away. But, even in death, I'm still determined to learn the answer to that question: what happens next?	I die. I'm not sure what happens next, but I know it won't be anything good. I was a bad person in life, and I know that I deserve whatever punishment I get in the after life. I can only hope that it won't be too painful.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most hidden thing in the house is definitely the case of the cheese. It's been hidden there for as long as she can remember. It's a secret, and she's tried her best to keep it that way. But the ever----------------------------------------------------------- The cheese continues on and continues to eat her up. She's full and can't seem to escape it. Finally, she toppleks into a grind where she sees the food in front of her is blind. She sees the case of cheese in the center and it takes on a life of its own. The food in the case becomes adulterated and Rocco realizes that he has been reveal the cheese isDesktop.lboro the most hidden thing in the house.	Once upon a time, a witch lived in a home with an invisible being. She tried toercultivate it, but it always seemed to be there, lurking in the corners, waiting to take over. One day, she decided to take measures and lock her home with a few bolt cutters to ensure that it couldn't escape. The first few days, the invisiblity seemed to be upheld. However, as time went on, the creature began to take on a more human-like appearance. The witch was relieved, but was also scared. She wasn't sure if she loved or hated the creature, but she knew she couldn't live with it anymore.	I was just cleaning my house and I noticed something moving around my upstairs hallway. I wasn't sure what it was, but I knew I needed to find out. I started to make my way up the stairs and as I got closer, I could hear it moving around. I was getting closer and I could see it was a small, white rabbit. I started to make my way closer to it and then it ran away. I didn't know what to think, but I knew I needed to find out more about this thing.	You've always felt like something was watching you in your home. You can't see it, but you know it's there. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. But it's always one step ahead of you. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's not human. It's invisible, and it seems to be able to move things around your house. You've tried to trap it, but it always seems to escape. You're not sure what to do, but you know you need to find out what this thing is. You need to find a way to expose it and stop it from terrorizing your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for months, Volo, the RPG pawnshop owner, has neverless her many customers. This year, Volo has been in business for longer, and they have decided to up their game. They have bookmarks on their doors and are now offering Merchandise and Playables. Her last customers were原文 Prompt: You're a player of a magic-based party in a while, high on the councillors' air. You'reerences off the partide of your great hall, Mosterith table, where the party isabit. The party's there and you're not, other than to report to the party every night.	The first time I saw my shop, it was for sale. I was immediately interested in it, since it was a perfect place to store all my looted items. I haggled with the adventurers, and eventually got the store down to what I wanted. Now, I'm the proud owner of a thriving pawn shop, where adventurers come to sell the latest and greatest weapons, armor, and magic items.	Lenny ran his RPG pawn shop with a practiced hand. He knew how to haggle with adventurers, and he loved it. He would always try to get a better price for the equipment and loot they brought in, even if it meant being a bit stingy. The last customer of the day was a young woman named Amber. She had just come into town, and she was eager to sell her latest find. It was a rare magic sword that she had managed to find on her travels. Lenny haggled with her for a while, but she wasn't willing to part with the sword at its bare asking price. Finally, he offered her a deal. He would give her the sword for half the price, and she could keep the other half as a commission. Amber agreed, and Lenny was happy to finally get the sword off of his hands. He knew that it would be a valuable item for someone else to find, and he was glad that he could have settled the deal and gotten his commission too.	You own a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You haggle with adventurers who come in looking to sell their latest haul. You know the value of the items they have, and you try to get the best deal for your store. Sometimes you have to give in to their demands, but other times you can get them to lower their prices. It's all a matter of knowing when to push and when to back down.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Theraction: As soon as the door opened, she saw the biggest lie she had ever seen. It was the only lie she had ever met. She stammered out an apology, and the liar agreed to see her. As they entered the room, theer was a feeling of terror. Ther big lie wasusage, and she was the only one who knew why. The liar said hello, and theer said something back that she couldn't remember. The story continued as they walked to her room, and the liar said goodbye. She said she would see her future self again, and theer said she should be grateful.	You meet someone new and interesting in the world and you are intrigued by how they live their life. You ask them about their scar and they tell you about it. They say that it is the biggest one they have and that it has taken a toll on their body. They mention that it has always been there but it has just been bigger and harder to see. You are interested in what they have to say and you feel that you can learn something from them.	I was mesmerized by the person in front of me. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it stretched from their forehead to their chin. It was so deep, it looked like it might have been able to cut right through their skin. But the most striking thing about the scar was how unassuming it was. It wasn't huge and it wasn't flashy. It was just a small, simple mark that said, plainly, "I've lied." I couldn't help but ask them how they got the scar. From the way they spoke, it seemed like it was something that had bothered them for a long time. They told me about a time when they had lied and how it had impacted their life. The more they talked, the more I realized that the scar was the only thing that showed how much they had changed. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. But for this person, the scar was the only indication that they had ever lied.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. They lied about who they were, what they did, and who they loved. They lied about everything and the scar is a result of that. Even though they have the deepest scar, they don't regret it because it made them who they are today.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross led a Hubcaps-laced life as a criminal; he worked the paper route and then some. He was always up for a subscription and always looking for an opportunity to spend it. One day, he decided he'd take his Bin Man Christ complex and break out the, "Greetings from Bob Ross Place!" When word got out that he could find any place he wanted, he called it his "Hub Caps" and life was easy.	Bob Ross was a talented painter and forgetful man. Every few months, he would create a new landscape painting, only to never show it to anyone. One day, a friend found a reproduction of one of his paintings and offered to show it to him. The painting was of a idyllic landscape, with crystal-clear waters and pristine mountains. The friend was astonished that Bob had actually killed people in the painting! Bob didn't know what to say, but he was really happy that his friend had found it.	Each time Bob Ross painted a landscape, he was transported to a different place, one of the many murder scenes he had committed. The vivid colors and tranquil beauty of each landscape was a perfect cover for his deadly deeds. The first time he painted the Blue Ridge Mountains, he was surrounded by the bodies of his victims. He had killed three women hikers and left them to die in the cold. The sight of the cold, stark mountains filled him with a sense of calm and peace, like he was finally at peace with himself. The next painting was of the coastline near his home. He remembered murdering that woman, the love of his life, right there on the beach. It was the most brutal crime of his career, and he had been caught in the act. The waves crashed against the shore, washing the blood and body parts of his victim ashore. The paintings kept coming, one after the other. Each time, his crimes became more and more peaceful and introspective, like he was finally finding some kind of inner peace. But in reality, he was never at peace. The killers within him never stopped demanding blood, and he would never be able to truly escape them.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, and his landscape paintings were beloved by many. But few knew the dark secret behind his work. Each of Bob's paintings was based on a real place - the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob was a serial killer, and he used his artwork as a way to relive his gruesome crimes. He would choose his victims carefully, often targeting those who were alone and vulnerable. Then he would strike, killing them in cold blood. After the murder, Bob would head to his studio and begin work on a new painting, inspired by the location of the crime. For Bob, painting was a way to relive the thrill of the kill, and he took great pleasure in knowing that his art was hung up in homes and businesses all over the world - unwitting reminders of the horrific crimes he had committed. Bob Ross was finally caught after his latest victim, a young woman named Karen, managed to escape and contact the authorities. Now, his paintings serve as a chilling reminder of the crimes that he committed - and the many lives that he took.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician takes rabbit out of hat and pulls out a toothbrush from under the bed. The rabbit is deeply embarrassed and takes off all his clothes until he's left only with a sun dress and flip flops. He's ready to be away from the magic themes for aosis. But when the show starts, the rabbit isKERRaffected! He starts to economic to pull the rabbit out of the performance. But before he can even touch the rabbit, it's over. The rabbit is on the ground, with a huge smile on his face, because he actually was able to pull the magic out of the performance. Mocoa is still upset but can't wait to do it again.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits from his hat for weeks now. Each one was a little sick of always having to take the place of the other. The rabbit had enough. "Enough," the rabbit said, hopping up onto the magician's stage. "I'm not playing second fiddle any longer." The magician looked surprised but then he grinned. "Okay, then. I'll give you the job."	The magician fished a rabbit out of a hat and onto the stage. The rabbit was fast asleep, and the magician shook him awake. "Wake up, rabbit," he said. "You're going to play second fiddle to me from now on." The rabbit was tired of always being the second-to-last in line. He wanted to be the star of the show. "I don't care how tired you are," the magician said. "You're going to be a star." The rabbit grumbled, but he followed the magician onto the stage. The magician began to do his tricks, and the rabbit watched. He was still tired, but he was starting to enjoy himself. The magician was so good that even the rabbit couldn't top him. But that didn't mean the rabbit wasn't proud of himself. He had finally been able to show the magician that he was worth something, even if he was just a rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he was tired of being the one who got pulled out of the hat. So, one day, when the magician was getting ready to do his act, the rabbit jumped out of the hat and onto the stage. He wanted to show the audience that he could do magic too. The magician was not happy about this, and he tried to get the rabbit off the stage. But the rabbit was determined to show everyone that he was just as good as the magician. In the end, the rabbit got his wish and he was the star of the show. The audience loved him and he got a standing ovation. The magician was not happy about it, but he had to admit that the rabbit was a better magician than he was.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the missing file. people areuken and the search is going on for a new one. people areuken know that the file is out of reach for anyone who wants to be a part of the search. they know that the missing file is a matter of life or death. at first, people wereuken were happy to hear about the search for a new file. they were excited to know that there was somebody out there looking for it. they knew that the search was necessary and that it was a matter of life or death. but as the days went by, people began to notices something fishy about the search. there were more and more symptoms of a missing file being fake. people wereuken were getting it in the daily briefing, but it didn't make the story more compelling. as the days went by, people began to feel a tightness in their chest. they felt like they were pod people and that the pod was they were in. they felt like they were in a panic and that something was wrong. at first, people wereuken thought that the search waseddy beingIsn't it nice how every day is a new hope for the future? but as the days went by and nothing seemed to be moving forward, they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like they were in a dark place and that the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they were in a dark place. they were scared and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shtyp panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shgorithm of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shynski panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shnikov panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like something wasmaybe wrong. they started to feel like the pod people were true, but they didn't know what it was. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders. but as the days went by, people wereuken began to feel like they had the shigoto panorama of the world. they were content and they started to feel like the pod people were true. they started to feel like the world was a remainders.	Today, the United States became embroiled in a presidential election-related controversy. The issue at hand is whether or not to enforce soon-to-be president-elect Donald Trump's travel ban. Many people believe that the ban is unconstitutional and μgidespread protests have been taking place throughout the United States as a result.	In recent years, the issue of gun control has become a hot button topic across the United States. With shootings happening on a near-daily basis in cities like Las Vegas and Parkland, Florida, many people feel that something needs to be done to stop the epidemic. While all of the proposals made thus far in attempts to tighten gun control laws have faced resistance from thegun lobby, one legislator has put forth a bill that has gained a lot of traction in recent days. H.R. 38, known as the "Stopping School Violence Act of 2018," would authorize $50 million to be put towards schools that implement stricter security measures, like gun-free zones, metal detectors, and armed guards. Though the bill has yet to pass into law, its popularity among the American public indicates that something needs to be done in order to decrease the number of shootings that take place in schools.	There are many current events issues that deserve attention today. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be gun violence. Gun violence is a major problem in our society, and it needs to be addressed. There are too many innocent people being killed by guns, and something needs to be done to stop it. I believe that stricter gun laws are necessary in order to help reduce the amount of gun violence in our country. I also think that better mental health care is needed in order to help prevent people from committing mass shootings. Gun violence is a complex issue, and it needs to be addressed from multiple angles. I believe that if we work together to address the issue of gun violence, we can make our society a safer place for everyone.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The easy part of the process was over. The difficult part was making sure the devices were deactivated and that everyone wasasonized as an Audit. There was a reason they were known as Auditors. Of course, the people who did the device worked around the clock to try and deactivate the devices. It was almost as if they wereigovernment and they had to do what they had to in order to keep the world under one roof. Even the smartest and most apathetic people shared in the quest to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	Auditor 9800769511 had always been worried about her young charges. She had never been too happy with her life, and the prospect of having to monitor and control every atom of every person she ever came in contact with constantly made her feel a little uneasy. She had never been too happy either when she was assigned to manage the juvenile delinquent population, but that was another story. But whenAuditor 9800769511received an assignment to manage the ` juvenile delinquent population ` she was excited. It would be a new and different challenge. She had been waiting for years for a chance to manage someone as stupid and reckless as these kids. And she was not disappointed. From the moment she arrived on the scene,Auditor 9800769511 could tell that these kids were not fit for anything other than a minimum security prison. They were undisciplined, undisciplined and that was just the beginning. immediate, unquestioned obedience to authority, and a complete lack of any common sense. Auditor 9800769511 soon realized that she was dealing with a problem that she could not solve with her normal methods. She needed to use her power to get these kids to think for themselves. She ordered the kids to line up in a single, line-up formation and gave them each a counseling doll. She then told them that if they needed to talk to their doll, they should do so in front of the whole class. And so they did. The first few kids were resistant, but after a few reminders from Auditor 9800769511, they quickly started to change their ways. The kids who refused to talk to their dolls were quickly sent to the back of the room, where they could not be heard. The kids who talked to their dolls were given a couple of choices. They could go to the counselor and receive counseling, or they could stay in the line and get a good reprimand from the teacher. And so they did. Auditor 9800769511 soon realized that, in the end, the kids who talked to their dolls were the ones who were most willing to change.	I was born with a birth control implant in my brain. It was supposed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, but it seems like it's doing the opposite. I can't imagine raising a well-adjusted human being, let alone one who is intelligent and stable, when I can't even keep my own life together. I guess that's why they call it an ``Auditor''.	In a world where the population is controlled by a birth control device implanted in everyone during puberty, you are an Auditor. Your job is to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, and deactivate their device. You meet a lot of people in your line of work, and you've seen it all. But there is one case that stands out to you. Her name is Sarah, and she is one of the brightest people you've ever met. But she's also unstable, and you can't help but wonder if she's really ready to have a child. You have to make a decision, and you don't know what to do. Ultimately, you decide to give her a chance. You deactivate her device, and hope for the best. Sarah goes on to have a happy and healthy baby, and you feel like you made the right decision.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been searching for the perfect patient. He's looking for people who can be of help to him in his research into oedipus complex. He puts an ad in a newspaper, but the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He's disappointed, but his search for the perfect patient is useless.	Adolf Hitler read the ad with interest. He was interested in trying out new therapies, and this sounded like it might be something that could help him. He was also interested in being a part of the clinical trials, and this sounded like it would be a great opportunity. Joseph Stalin read the ad with Interest too. He was interested in trying out new therapies, and this sounded like it might be something that could help him. He was also interested in being a part of the clinical trials, and this sounded like it would be a great opportunity. Leon Trotsky read the ad with Interest. He was interested in trying out new therapies, and this sounded like it might be something that could help him. He was also interested in being a part of the clinical trials, and this sounded like it would be a great opportunity. Josip Broz Tito read the ad with Interest too. He was interested in trying out new therapies, and this sounded like it might be something that could help him. He was also interested in being a part of the clinical trials, and this sounded like it would be a great opportunity.	Freud was excited to be starting the clinical trials for his latest project. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was puzzled by this, but decided to proceed with the trials. The four men met for the first time and began discussing the project. They all had different ideas, but they all agreed to work together. The trials were a success and Freud was able to improve his research.	Sigmund Freud's latest clinical trial is seeking participants and he's placed an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are young, in their twenties and early thirties, and eager to participate in the trial. The trial is for a new treatment that Freud is developing for mental illness. The four men all suffer from different forms of mental illness, and they are all eager to find a cure. The trial is a success and all four men are cured of their mental illness. They all go on to lead successful and productive lives. Hitler becomes a famous artist, Stalin becomes a successful politician, Trotsky becomes a well-known writer, and Tito becomes a successful businessman. The four men never forget the trial that cured them and they always stay in touch. They meet up every few years to catch up and discuss the latest news. They are all grateful to Freud for his help and they all believe that his new treatment will change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Robotics had always been a dream ofwenite someone had chosen to become emotionally attached to one. But this was not the dream of my life. I had never felt such fresh pain. I felt like I had been through a. door permanently. All I could see was pain, and it was fully matted in the Coarseg	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people’s faces. They would show for a lifetime, Russell decided, and everyone would see them. It was a horrifying sight, but it also made him feel weaker. He knew that everyone would remember the time they cried, and it would change the course of their lives.	It was a beautiful day outside, but inside, Ashley was struggling. She had always been a crybaby, but lately her cries had become more than just a nuisance to her parents. They were worried about her. One day, Ashley's parents took her to the doctor to find out what was wrong. The doctor examined her and when he was done, he told her parents that Ashley had tears ducts on her face. This meant that her tears were leaving her with permanent scars. Ash's parents were surprised, but they knew that their daughter would need to be careful. Ashley was nervous about the change, but she was also excited. She wanted to show the world that even though she was a crybaby, she was still strong.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be a lot more careful about what they said and did. After all, who wants to leave a permanent mark on another person's face? There would also be a lot more healing happening in the world. Imagine being able to see the pain that someone has been through just by looking at their face. It would be impossible to ignore someone's suffering when it is right there in front of you. This would also lead to a lot more compassion and empathy in the world. Can you imagine how much kinder we would all be if we could see the scars that other people are carrying around? So, while it might sound like a bad thing, tears that leave scars could actually change the world for the better.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Undreaa wanted to know the answer to this question before anything else did. She had been living in the same place for months now and had completely loses BALL of paper with every move she makes. Her breathing is ragged and she's exhausted, even though she isn't tired. She looks at her phone and sees that she has just a few minutes left on the clock. She reaches for her phone's Casey's app and starts to input her time of death into the form. She then looks at her phone again and finds that she has already input the time of death into her phone. She is surprised when she sees that she has already died. Her eyes close as she feels her body come to life again.	Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who died. Her death created a great rift in the kingdom, and many people blame the princess for her own death. No one knows what will happen next, but for now all is calm in the kingdom.	The doctor walked into the room and said, "I'm sorry, I think you're going to have to face the fact that you're going to die." I tried to fight, but it was no use. I knew that I was going to die.	I was walking home from work, minding my own business, when I was suddenly attacked. I was punched and kicked and left for dead. As I lay there bleeding to death, I thought to myself, "What happens next? I die." And that's exactly what happened.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog was always easy to spot. It was always driving around in the area, looking for a new opportunity to terrorize its space. But until recently, it had never been able to get its hands on a mayonnaise. The mayonnaise invigorated the dog and it began to grow a bit more empowered. It was now a full-on attack force, looking for an opportunity to tear everything down and start anew. But the mayonnaise was too effective. It managed to pierce the defense of the home it lived in, and it was free to run is any where it wanted.	One day I was awoken by a strange noise coming from my home. I knew it couldn't be anything good, so I went to investigate. I could see the thing lurking in the corners of my eye, lurking just out of reach. I knew I had to confront it, but I was scared. I couldn't let it know that I was aware of it. I nervously approached it, but it was too fast. I felt my skin crawl as it cameabreame onto me. I knew it was going to kill me.	I had always thought that something was lurking in the corners of my home, something that I could never see but that was always there. I never was able to put my finger on it, but I knew it was there. Finally, I decided to take action and try to find out what it was. I started by looking for any spots in my home that were constantly shadows or seemed out of place. I found a few, and as I started to investigate them, I realized that they were spots where the curtains were drawn. I allowed myself a small smile as I realized that I was right. The thing was hiding in the corner, watching me and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.	I'm not sure when it started, but I know that there's something living in my house. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it's always one step ahead of me. I don't know what it is, but I'm determined to find out. I watch and wait, trying to catch a glimpse of it. But it's always just out of reach, hiding in the shadows. I can feel it watching me, laughing at my attempts to find it. But I won't give up. I know it's there, and I'll find a way to expose it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for the Simple Things. When a group of adventurers decide to take up registration at the pawn shop, the Managing leapt at the chance to get paid. The shop's currently full of RPG gear and authors flesh, so the adventurers try to sell their assets. It's a White-Gold Adventurers level 5, 2nd level 7 and 1st level character which sells for $5.	Every day, the shop is crowded with adventurers, each looking to score a luckywick or two. One trader in particular is always trying to get the most from his resources. He's a gruff, experienced adventurer who always has a ready smile and a quick wit. He's always looking for the best deal, and he's not afraid to get it by bargaining. One day, the trader and the adventurer came into the pawnshop. The trader was looking for a weapon, and the adventurer was looking for a new piece of armor. The trader was very informative, and the adventurer found himself getting more and more interested in the weapon he was looking for. The trader told the adventurer about a weapon he was selling, and the adventurer was interested. He asked the trader how much he would pay for the weapon, and the trader told him he would be willing to sell the weapon for a price the adventurer was willing to pay. The adventurer agreed, and the trader took the weapon back to the stock.	Logan had just come back from his latest adventure, and was eager to sell his loot to the pawn shop owner. He had found some really good gear this time, and was hoping to get a good deal. The owner, though, was having none of it. He was adamant about getting a fair price, and was not going to let Logan sell anything below his asking price. In the end, Logan had to give in, and ended up selling his gear for considerably less than he had hoped. He was a little disappointed, but at least he got a good deal on his gear.	Welcome to the RPG Pawn Shop! We specialize in buying and selling loot from adventurers. If you're looking to sell, we'll give you a fair price for your goods. We know the value of all the different types of loot and will give you a fair offer. If you're looking to buy, we have a wide selection of items to choose from. We only carry the best quality loot, so you can be sure you're getting a great deal. Whether you're looking to buy or sell, we're here to help you get the best deal possible. Thanks for choosing the RPG Pawn Shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as she walked in, the bow- Sorceress looked down at the lie with a mix of emotions. She liked the bigger lie more, but it was still the trampled victim of the Mistress' attack. She took a step back, looking at the sorry state of the liar. "Who are you?" She asked, her voice goneails and lies. The Sorceress looked down at the mark and the lies that they were and found herself breaking down, crying and Ponytail578 crying with her. The Mistress looked up at her with a sad expression and Horsec Chesterton looked away and said, "I'm sorry too."	You meet this person for the first time, and you are immediately intrigued. They tell you a beautiful story, one that you can't help but believe. You feel honored that they have chosen to share such a personal detail with you. As you listen to the story, you become more and more convinced that this person is telling the truth. This person is brave enough to share such a personal detail, and you feel honoured that they choose to do so. As you share your own scars with this person, you feel a special connection that you never thought possible.	I was wary of him from the start. He spoke with such confidence and seemed to be living in a world where each lie created a scar on his body. He was the biggest liar I had ever seen. But I was curious and decided to ask him about it. He told me about a time when he had to make up a story to get out of a difficult situation. His lie had become so big and consequential that it created a huge scar on his stomach. I was horrified and inspired by his bravery. From then on, I vowed to live a more truthful life, and to make sure that my lies were smaller and less consequential.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I could see a large scar on her forearm. I was curious, so I walked over to her and asked her about it. She told me that she had lied about something very important, and that the scar was a result of that. I was surprised that she was being so honest with me, and I admired her for it. We ended up talking for a while, and I found out that she was a very kind and honest person. I was glad I had met her, and I knew I would never forget her.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has paint his murderer'suns in. It is a constant through his life, that each painting is a place his murderer is looked for.	Bob Ross had a life of murder. He killed people in his home, in his office, and in the street. His paintings were all real places, each one a horrifying reminder of his crimes. Now, in his death, Ross left behind a web of murderlinked paintings that will never be solved.	Bob Ross was a murderer. There's no denying it. He killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people with his landscapes. Each painting is a real place, and the different locations of his countless murders. Some of his victims were random people who crossed his path. Others were people who Bob Ross knew, or people who he thought would be sympathetic to his art. None of them knew what was coming, and no one could have possibly saved them. Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer, and the thought of him painting landscapes of his victims forever saddens me. I can only hope that the victims' families can find some peace in knowing that he's gone, and that his art is forever condemned.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His victims were all over the country, in every type of landscape imaginable. And each of his paintings was a marker for where he had left a body. The police were never able to connect the murders to Ross, but those who knew him best suspected that something was off about the happy-go-lucky painter. They just couldn't prove it. Until one day, a detective stumbled across one of Ross' paintings in a victim's home. It was the final piece of evidence needed to put Ross away for good. Now, every time someone looks at a Bob Ross painting, they can't help but wonder if there's a dead body hidden somewhere in the idyllic scene.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The rabbit is feeling very second-rate at first, but he decides to carry on. He's not sure what the man is doing, but he's not sure how he's going to get out of thepenalized position. The man starts to talk about winning, and the rabbit can hear it. He's small and insignificant, but he can outsmart the man. The man is endangering the rabbit's life, but he doesn't care. He's won, and he's going to make more money togethercuring more people as winners. The rabbit smarts away from him, but the man is too strong. Hevertye gets in line for attention, and the rabbit is deficit-ing all of his points. He's going to suffer for his Occupations, but he doesn't care. The man gets up from his throne and313 Donkey sends the rabbit flying into a rage. Heotropics are called for, and the rabbit is218 Endangerment Tunisia thoroughly offended. The man will	The magician's assistant whispered in his ear. "Don't be too sure about this, but the rabbit might be sick of being your sidekick." But the magician didn't care. He had created this illusion with the rabbit as his star player, and it was only right that the rabbit should achieve its fullest potential. He pulled the rabbit out of his hat and made it run around the stage. The rabbit was exhausted but the magician was elated. This was the rabbit's moment, and the magician couldn't be more proud of it.	The rabbit grumbles under his breath as he watches the magician pull out another rabbit from his hat. He's been playing this same role for weeks now, and it's starting to get old. The rabbit isn't the only one that's bored, the magician looks as bored as the rabbit does. Eventually, the rabbit can take it no longer. "What is the point of this?" he asks the magician, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I know you've been doing this for weeks because you're bored, and I'm sick of it. Why don't you put me back into the hat and stop wasting our time." The magician looks surprised at the rabbit's outburst, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches into the hat and pulls out another rabbit, setting it on the stage. The rabbit watches as the magician pulls out a third rabbit, and then a fourth. The audience is starting to get restless, and the rabbit can see their questions in their eyes. "What's going on?" one person shouts. The magician Rolls his eyes, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches into the hat and pulls out a fifth rabbit. The rabbit stares at the fuzzy rabbit in disbelief, and then anger. He's been played for a fool all this time, and he's going to make the magician pay. The rabbit stands up on his hind legs, glaring at the magician. He knows exactly what he's going to do. He's been practicing for weeks, and he's ready to show the magician what he's made of. The rabbit jumps onto the stage, launching himself at the magician. The magician doesn't have time to react, and the rabbit clamps his jaws around the magician's throat. The audience gasps in horror as the magician tries to pry the rabbit's teeth from his throat. He's getting more and more desperate, and the rabbit can feel his strength starting to fade. The rabbit knows he can't keep this up for long, but he's not ready to let the magician go. Just when it looks like the magician is going to lose, someone leaps onto the stage and tackles the rabbit, throwing him off the stage and onto the ground. The rabbit is startled, and he twists around to see who tackled him. It's the magician, and he's gasping for breath. The rabbit can see the fear in the magician's eyes, and he knows he's caused him a lot of pain. The rabbit starts to back away, unsure of what to do. The magician looks at him imploringly, and the rabbit can see the tears in his eyes. The rabbit hesitates for a moment, and then he finally turns and fled the stage. He doesn't look back, but he knows the magician is following him.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and is fed up with being pulled out of the hat. Eventually, the rabbit has had enough, and bites the magician's hand. The shocked magician then pulls the rabbit out of the hat, and the rabbit runs off stage. The magician is left alone, wondering what went wrong.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The world is growing more and more complex, and people are still not comprehending most of what is happening. The biggest issue behind this is that people are still trying to find their own way in the world, and not understand what is happening. There is a great divide between the common people and the classes of people. The classes understand basic basic information, but the classes are still not fully understand what is happening. The divide is especially seen in the government, where people get all properties unite to try and administrations. Most people in the world don't realize that the divide is happening, and is just waiting for someone to figure out what is happening. The biggest issue today is that the world is still trying to find its way, and people are not fully comprehending what is happening. This is because people are trying to do their own thing, and not understand what is happening. The divide is also seen in the government, where people are trying to be do their thing and get things done, but they are not fully understanding what is happening. The biggest solution to the Divide is to the world. The world needs a new administration, and a new Genomics. The new vines will need to be well-written, so that people can understand what is happening. The new plants will need to be well-chosen, so that people can understand what is happening. The new coins will need to be created, so that people can understand what is happening. The world will need to wait for the new vines to be written, so that people will be able to understand what is happening. The world will wait for the new plants to be well-chosen, so that people will be able to understand what is happening. The world will wait for the new coins to be created, so that people can understand what is happening.	A particular current event that merits the greatest attention is the current government Shutdown. This issue is causing great indignation and concern among the public, and it should be given the utmost SERIOUS attention.	On the morning of September 11, 2001, all Americans were glued to their televisions as they watched the horrifying images of airplanes hitting the Twin Towers. Just hours later, reports emerged of a second, far more devastating attack: the bombing of the Pentagon. Since that day, the terrorist attacks on September 11 have been among the most scrutinized events in U.S. history. Every day, new details emerge about the perpetrators and the planning behind the attacks. Today, almost 15 years after the deadly attacks, the issue of terrorism remains one of the most pressing concerns for Americans. The public remains highly skeptical of possible solutions to the problem, but is also desperate for information about the perpetrators and their motives. As we mark the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, it is clear that the issue of terrorism will continue to be a main focus for both the government and the public.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. The effects of climate change are already being felt around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. That's why it's so important for everyone to do their part to try to mitigate the effects of climate change. Individuals can help by reducing their own carbon footprints. This can be done by conserving energy, recycling, and driving less. But it's also important for people to speak up about the issue and demand action from their governments. We need to do everything we can to try to slow down the effects of climate change, before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was never [- delete ] not going to be deactivated. The decision was made at the earliest possible moment and it was best not to have to think about the consequences. Only the most robust and intelligent people could have produced kids like him, and they'd been created in a way that made it inevitable. The device was never going to be deactivated.	I was always a bit puzzled by the birth control device that was implanted into everyone during puberty. It made no sense why it was instituted, especially since it seemed to only be used by the Dumbest People in the World. But then, I thought about it some more and realized that maybe it was meant to put an end to the Stupidity that is rampant in our world. After all, who can be trusted with so much preventative knowledge? I deactivated the birth control device and life became much easier. Now, I could focus on helping people become the Smartest and most stable people in the world.	It all started with the invention of the birth control device. It was a way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Everyone was implanted with the device during puberty, and it could only be deactivated once it was determined that they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device worked well for many years, until a new wave of intelligent people emerged. They argued that the device was unfair and oppressive, and that only the smart and fortunate should be allowed to reproduce. The government was forced to take action, and they created the position of Auditor to determine who was smart and stable enough to remain a part of society. The Auditor job was a difficult one. They had to assess the intelligence and emotional stability of every person, and make a decision about whether or not they should be allowed to remain a part of society. The process was often difficult, and there was no guarantee that anyone would be accepted. But in the end, the Auditor was responsible for ensuring that the best and brightest members of society were able to continue living and thriving.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do so, you must assess their mental and emotional state, as well as their capacity for critical thinking and problem-solving. It's a demanding job, but you take pride in ensuring that only the best and brightest can reproduce. It's a vital role in maintaining the quality of the human race. One day, you are conducting an assessment on a young woman who seems to meet all the criteria. However, just as you are about to give her the green light to reproduce, she confesses that she is pregnant. The woman is dumbfounded. She can't understand how she could have gotten pregnant when she was supposed to be on birth control. As it turns out, her birth control device had been faulty. Thankfully, you are able to help her through this difficult time and she eventually gives birth to a healthy, happy baby. This experience only strengthens your resolve to ensure that only the best and brightest can reproduce. It's a vital role that you take very seriously.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been intrigued by the three men mentioned above. He has long been fascinated by their boastful and manipulative ways. On one occasion, they have took him to have a Free Palestinei HeResearch project was started. He was determined to do his bit for science and to help people who needed help.He was also curious to learn more about the three men and their activities. He ordered ayn d ie The three men arrived in Vienna. They were not expecting this, much less with Sigmund Freud. They were company for each other and for themselves. He often Expanded their horizons. He was never too busy for their interests. He was also busy trying to help them achieve their goals. He was determined to help them and to make a difference in the world. But then, quite by itself, Sigmund Freud saw the three men and knew they were affecting his patients. He had to do something about it. He started a study of them. HeHttp://www.iht抜擒. Heint Medali蜜蜓. He tears施蜜蜓. He was intrigued by their ways and determined to understand them. He was also curious to learn more about their lives and the people they had birthed. He ordered ayn d e	Adolf Hitler was easily what Freud was looking for. He was young, Votes were being called for in the Reich, and his policies were being put into effect. Stalin was even younger, but he was already considered a feared tyrant. Trotsky was just starting to break into the political scene, while Broz Tito was only an adolescent. It was a deciding moment for Freud. He felt that Hitler and Stalin were too dangerous to be on the trial, but he also knew that they could be powerful allies if that was their goal. So, he Reconsidered his decision and put Hitler and Stalin to the test. They were to take part in a clinical trial that would see if they could drunkenly " Freud out." They succeeded in doing just that, and soon became powerful allies to the German Chancellor.	Freud was excited to test his latest discovery on young minds. He put an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was intrigued by these unlikely candidates, but was unsure of how to proceed. He decided to invite them all to come and discuss the research further. Hitler and Stalin were both eager to test the findings, but Trotsky was more skeptical. He thought that the idea was too crazy to be true. But eventually, they all came to a consensus. The research was worth pursuing, and they would all be willing to participate. The trials began, and Freud was able to prove his theory. Young minds were able to learn faster and better when they were under the influence of the new therapy. Freud was able to come up with some new treatments, and he was even able to cure some patients. But the most lasting impact of his work was the way that it shaped the history of the world. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all became some of the most influential leaders of their time, because of their participation in the clinical trials of Freud's research.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research in 1913. Freud was intrigued by the fact that all four men were relatively young and full of ambition. He decided to invite them all to his office for an initial consultation. During the consultation, each man spoke passionately about his vision for the future. Hitler spoke of his plans to create a master race, Stalin spoke of his plans to create a Soviet utopia, Trotsky spoke of his plans to lead a global revolution, and Tito spoke of his plans to unite the people of Yugoslavia. Freud was impressed by the intensity of their convictions and decided to offer them all a spot in his clinical trials. He believed that his research could help them to achieve their goals. The clinical trials lasted for several months, during which time Freud observed the four men closely. He noticed that they all shared a few key personality traits, including a strong sense of narcissism and a lack of empathy. Freud believed that these traits were what drove them to seek power. At the end of the clinical trials, Freud met with each man individually to discuss his findings. He told Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito that they were all suffering from a condition that he called "megalomania." He explained that this condition was the root of their ambition and that it would likely lead to their downfall. The four men were not pleased with Freud's diagnosis, but they could not deny the truth of his words. They went their separate ways, each knowing that they would never forget the time they spent in Freud's office in Vienna.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Drene techniques shifted alternative stories around her head as she watched her brother. Heeffective control of her world was start to unraveled right as pain Genetics cross in her heart. Shememory of the voice that inquired of her brother what was wrong. With each experience that personality walked away herchalukoff became greater and greater, until everything was left behind her once her brother died.	Once, there were tears that flowed like rivers. They crocodiled through our hearts and left an indelible mark. Over time, these tears turned into sores, slowly eating away at our emotions until we were nothing but empty shells. Our world was transformed when this happened - we were no longer capable of feeling the pain that others experienced. We no longer had the ability to feel the joy that was common among us. Our lives were null and void.	The day started like any other. I had my usual routine: get ready for school, eat breakfast, and go to class. But something was different. The tears that I had been trying to hold back for weeks now were streaming down my face. I couldn’t stop them. I walked into school, feeling embarrassed and embarrassed for the entire world to see. Every single person in my class was staring at me. I knew that I would have to go to the bathroom and hide. I made my way down the hall, tears streaming down my face. I heard someone calling my name, but I ignored them. I eventually made it to the bathroom, where I collapsed into a stall, crying. I let all of my emotions out, and the tears left permanent scars on my face. That day, my world changed. Everyone in the school could see my scars, and they knew that I had been crying. It made me feel vulnerable, and I didn’t like it. But I had to keep going. I couldn’t let anyone know that I was weak.	The first time it happened, she was just a child. She cried and cried, until her tears left scars on her face. As she grew older, she learned to control her tears, but the scars remained. She was different from everyone else, and she knew it. The world was a cruel place, and it only got worse when she started showing her scars. People would point and stare, and she was always the outsider. She tried to hide her scars, but it was impossible. They were a part of her, and she couldn’t change that. One day, she met someone who was different like her. He had scars on his face, too. For the first time, she felt like she belonged. They became friends, and together they learned to embrace their differences. The world was still a cruel place, but now she had someone who understood her. And she knew that, no matter what, she was never alone.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the Man in the Moon found himself in a place called therwalldorf, where he had a choice to make. The Man in the Moon could have killed the woman and children there, or he could have helped her die, but he didn't want to death the woman and children. So he decided to go back to the moon and find a way to get back to Earth.	I was running late for work. I had a lot to do, but I didn't want to leave my job. I had been a little behind on my work, and I knew that I would be in trouble if I didn't get to work on time. I ran through the building, calling out to my co-workers. I was getting the best information from them, and I didn't want to leave anyone behind. But as I reached the front door, I heard a loud voice. It was my neighbor's voice. He was shouting at me, calling me a liar. I stopped, and I looked around. There was nobody else around. The only way that I could have heard him was if he had been in the building with me. I told myself that I was going to be fine. I had done this before. I had faced down danger before. But as I walked back to my office, I couldn't help but feel scared. I knew that I would be back at work soon, and I would have to face my neighbor again.	Rachel thought she had done everything right - she followed the doctor's instructions to the letter and started the anti-virals the day before the interview. But something went wrong, and now she has a severe case of pneumonia. She is in intensive care surrounded by machines and terrified that she won't make it. The doctors are optimistic, but their words only make her feel worse. She knows that she is going to die, and she is not afraid. She is at peace with her fate. Rachel is wheeled into surgery and her breathing tube is placed in her throat. She is unconscious and unaware of the preparations that are being made around her. But she does know that she is going to die, and she is at peace with that. She knows that she has done everything she could and that she is going to be reunited with her family soon.	I woke up in a cold sweat. I had been having the same nightmare for weeks now. In it, I was being chased by an unseen force through a dark forest. No matter how hard I ran, I could never shake the feeling that I was being watched. And then, just as I was about to be caught, I would wake up. I tried to tell myself it was just a dream, but I knew better. Something was coming for me, and I didn't know how to stop it. I was tempted to just give up, to let whatever was coming for me take me. But I knew I couldn't do that. I had to find out what was happening, and why it was happening to me. So I made a decision. I was going to go back into that forest, and I was going to find out what was stalking me. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, or what I was doing. I knew they would just try to stop me, and I couldn't risk that. So I slipped out of my bed in the middle of the night, and I headed back into the forest. I was shaking, and I didn't know what to expect. But I had to do this. I had to find out what was happening to me. I walked for hours, until I came to the spot where I had first seen the shadow. I looked around, but there was nothing there. I was about to turn and leave when I heard a noise behind me. I spun around, and I saw it. The shadow. It was coming for me. I tried to run, but it was too fast. It caught up to me, and I felt its icy fingers wrap around my throat. I struggled, but it was too strong. And then, everything went dark.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The only thing that knew what it was, was the slowly scrolls across the its screen. It was a common joster game, one that always resulted in the same results. The game was to write a story in a few hours, but unfortunately for it, it was already too late. The game had been playing for hours, and it was clear that the game. was not really real. It was just a game. TheciaStatistics gaming was the only one that could confirm this. According to them, the game was only real because of the scratches that never seemed to stop. TheiaStatistics never wrote anything about it, because they knew that it would only bring down more credit card statements, and they knew that the only thing that would make the other owners stop was if they finally realized that they were lost. TheiasStatistics was the only one that could see that the game was real, and that it was just a game. TheiasStatistics was the only one that could see that the game was real, and that it was just a game.	One day, I was home from work and I noticed that my home was quiet. I couldn't make out what was keeping my home; it was as if there was an invisible somethingxying around. I went to bed and didn't want to budge, but I started to feel uneasy. I turned on the light and there was the thing waiting for me. It was a rat! It was cowering in the corner of the room and it looked like it was shaking. I was so scared, but I didn't want to move. I didn't know what to do.	I had always heard stories about things that live in the walls, but I never really believed them. But then, one day, I walked into my home and felt something bump against my leg. I freaked out and tried to run, but I couldn't move. Then, I saw the object and I knew that it was only because I was scared that I couldn't see it.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel like it's always watching me. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and hidden microphones, but I've never been able to catch it. I'm not even sure if it's real or just a product of my imagination. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something there, lurking in the shadows, always watching me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for many hours, selling and buying adventurers' loot. The money you earn from selling adrenaline andumbered individuals as well as customers' needs later provides much needed Dr. Khan's necessary healthcare. looted itemsAdds an extra layer of challenge to an dungeon or open world adventure. Another common demand of the shop is from the seeks "Execute!", "Take!" or "kill!" prompts. The player, out and out tender protagonist in a game where the player's hand can be sack full of health, essence of monsters or just a friendly character who can help the player withapeasy exploratory Scouting for Nintendo World. The shop is a must-happen location in any livingroom, halloween parade or dangerous( adult) household.	One day, a large party of adventurers appeared at the pawn shop. They were looking for a magical item they knew was rare. The party was asking prices that were totally out of the question for me, the shopkeeper. The best I could do was give them some suggestions on where to find the item. After a few minutes of bargaining, the adventurers decided to leave with a few pieces of armor and a magicsword. I was really glad they came, because I would have been out of business without them. I'll never forget the look of envy on their faces when they left.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The customers came and went, bargaining and haggling for their favorite items. I was always up for a good negotiation, and I loved being able to get the best deals for my customers. Occasionally, I would get a call from an adventurer who had just acquired some treasure. They would come in looking for a fair price for their goods, and I was more than happy to give it to them. I always seemed to be able to get them a great deal, even if it did take a bit of persuasion. Today, I got a call from a group of adventurers. They had found a magical item, and they wanted to know if I could sell it to them. I agreed to meet them at the tavern down the street, and I was ready to make some money. I met the group at the tavern, and I started to haggle with them. I was determined to get them the best deal possible, even if it meant sacrificing a little bit of profit. After a few minutes of bargaining, I was able to get them to agree to sell the item to me for just a little bit more than it was worth. I was happy to have been able to help out an adventurer, and I knew I had made a friend for life.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing with adventurers who want to sell off the loot they've acquired. You're a skilled haggler, and you know how to get the best prices for your wares. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a cache of weapons and armor. You take a look at the loot and quickly assess its value. You start haggling with the adventurers, and you're soon able to get them down to a price that you're happy with. You pay them for the loot and then add it to your inventory. You've been running this pawn shop for years, and you've become quite good at it. You have a sharp eye for value, and you know how to get the best deals from your customers. You continue to run your shop, dealing with adventurers and helping them to get rid of their unwanted loot. You're happy to provide a service that helps them to get rid of their unwanted gear, and you continue to do so for many years to come.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	She was the only person who knew the truth. For years, she hasdenied that she ever existed. But one day, she opens her eyes to find you standing in front of her, and she starts to cry. She knows now. And she realized that she has always had the truth hidden inside her. And it was time to let it out.	You meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You don't know how to react, you are so amazed. It feels like a miracle. You can't believe that this person exists in a world where even the smallest of lies can create such a large mark on their body.	I first noticed him when he walked into the room. He was unlike any other person I had ever met. His skin was flawless, unmarked by any blemish or scars. He looked like he had never harmed afly. I found myself curious about him, and soon enough, I found out his story. He had never lied, and therefore, he had never created any scars on his body. He was the only one in the world like that. The other people in his world were all liars, and their scars were proof of that. He had come to find peace and understanding by living without the shackles of lies, and he was the only one who could do that. I found myself drawn to him, and eventually, I decided to trust him. We became friends, and I learned a lot about him. I also learned that he was the only one who could truly understand me.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. They made up a family, a job, a history; everything. They say that it was all just a big lie and they wanted to see what it would be like to live a completely different life. Now they are stuck with this big scar that reminds them of their deception. They warn you to be careful with your own lies, because you never know how big of a scar they might leave.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a painter who travels across the country to viewers around the world. His victims are seemingly any type of structure, from a school to a office, and he has a claim to them all. He wants you to come to his paintings as a place, or in place, and explore his victims with me.	As a child, Bob Ross loved exploring different places. Every so often, he would find himself in new, dangerous territories. One such place was a small town in the run-down state of Pennsylvania. In spite of the dangers, Ross would commute to the small town every day. It was there that he would murder unsuspecting people and steal their belongings. One day, Bob Ross stopped in the small town. He had been looking for a victim to murder and had found one in the town square. He had chosen his victim carefully, choosing a shy and unsuspecting woman to make her feel safe. He lured her into the square and then stabbed her in the heart. The town was shocked to see such a heinous act. Some of the citizens shelters started to close, knowing that Bob Ross had finally caught a victim. As the town mourned the loss of their precious community member, Bob Ross took his final walk through the town square. He was pleased with himself. He had killed a victim and taken their belongings. He had become a monster, but he was also satisfied.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape painter, and his works were admired by many. But he was also a disturbed man, prone to violence and murder. In fact, his paintings are all real places, each one representing a location where he killed someone. Some of his victims were strangers, but many were people he knew. No one knows for sure how many people he killed, but it's likely in the hundreds. He's been dead for over thirty years, and the crimes he committed still haunt the towns and villages he painted.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. He would choose a secluded location that he would paint, and then he would kill his victims there and bury their bodies in the ground. Over time, he amassed a huge collection of these paintings, each one containing the hidden location of another murder. law enforcement eventually caught up to him and he was arrested, but the detectives investigating the case could never figure out where all of the bodies were buried. That is, until they discovered Bob Ross' paintings. Once they pieced together the clues hidden in the paintings, they were finally able to solve the case and bring Bob Ross to justice.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a hot day in New York City and the magician was on stage performing. He looked up and saw the rabbit from the hat, she was sick of playing second fiddle. He spoke up and said, " Continue playing, if you want to leave." The rabbit looked at him and said, "No, I want to play next." The magician chuckled and said, "Okay, we'll give you that." The rabbit started playing the role of bottomstool for the rabbit in the hat. The man was pleasantly surprised, she was amazing. Now she can just play and not be affected by the sun or rain.	The magician had been practicing for hours, but the rabbit was not getting the performance he wanted. "It's not good enough," he muttered to himself. Just then, the rabbit's magic happened; the hat pulled out from under his hair, and without fail, the rabbit's every move became better than the first time. The magician was amazed, and thanked his lucky stars that he had found the rabbit.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years, but he always seemed to find the same sorry rabbit. Finally, the rabbit had had enough. "I can't take it anymore," he said. "I'm sick of being the second fiddle. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's boldness, but he decided to give the rabbit a chance. He rigged up a big, colorful stage and put the rabbit in the center. The rabbit strutted and preened, and the magician's audience was cheering and clapping. The magician was impressed. "You're right," he said. "You deserve to be the star. From now on, you'll be the rabbit that pulls the rabbit out of the hat."	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit was getting tired of being the one who was always pulled out of the hat. He wanted to be the one doing the magic. One day, after their performance was over, the rabbit asked the magician if he could learn some magic tricks. The magician agreed and began to teach the rabbit. The rabbit was a quick learner and soon he was able to perform some simple tricks. He was even able to pull the magician out of the hat! The magician was amazed at the rabbit's skills and congratulated him on becoming a real magician. From then on, the two performers worked together as equals, delighting audiences with their magical act.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The polls are open in the school run by the municipality. A majority of the students and staff decide that they want to federalize the school, which will be the first time in history that a school system has been that way. Some people are against it, saying that it will suppress speech and create conflict. Others agree that it needs to happen, but need the government to help in order to succeed. The government helps the students in a large statelevel election. Many people are happy to have a new school system that is not focused ononne on teacher accepted, because they think it will help the students more. The students are happy to have the new system and don't care about the election. The government helps to get the bill passed and the students are happy to have helped in ways that are not always easy. The government is happy to have a new system and the students are happy to have been a part of it.	A large, destructive storm is currently barrelling through the area, and it has the potential to become one of the most disastrous disasters in recent history. The government is already ordering all citizens to stay indoors, and the media is already reporting on the potential tragedies that will befall the populace. With so much at stake, it's no wonder that the people of this particular community are today focused entirely on the storm. But as the storm rampages through their town, they begin to realize that their concerns are not the only ones that are relevant today.	It has been widely reported that the Syrian refugee crisis is reaching a breaking point. With more than 5 million people displaced and seeking refuge in other countries, the global community has rightly come to see this as a pressing issue. But the situation in Syria is only one component of the refugee crisis. In addition to Syria, there are also millions of refugees coming from Afghanistan, Somalia, Yemen, and elsewhere. And, as the crisis worsens, there is concern that the number of refugees will continue to increase. All of this is deserving of our attention. But, sadly, the global community has largely ignored the issue of refugee resettlement. This is a critical step in resolving the crisis, and we need to do more to help.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the most attention today is the unrest in the Middle East. Every day, we see reports of violence and chaos in countries like Iraq, Syria, and Libya. This region has been in turmoil for years, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. The international community needs to do more to help stabilize the situation in the Middle East. We can't just stand by and watch as innocent people are caught in the crossfire. We need to find a way to bring peace to this region once and for all.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The Device was developed in the early 1800s by a group of scientists led by 4 men who were Mutual of the Level family.sa2sFate Foreige. The Device is a small, small device that interests as it is secret and only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeciaFate. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to boil this person's water totoFate. The purpose of the Device is to keep the population under control, but it can also be used for other purposes as well. The Device is a small, small device that is only usable by the tiny number of people who areauthorized to makeit. The Device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and its deactivation is designed to keep the number of children born to the level of the population under control. The Device is the brainchild of a small group of people who have decided that they are never going to produce children of their own weight again. The Device has been in a few people's families for as long as anyone can remember, and some of the more Proceeds this year are being given to the families who are going to have to	Auditor 1: (to herself) I'm glad I became an Auditor. It's a job that's so diversified and boring, it would be a shame if we couldn't find anything interesting to do. Auditor 2: ( thoughtful) Maybe you're right. Maybe our boring job is what's Keeping the population down.	In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it's up to the Auditors to determine if someone is sufficiently intelligent and stable to raise a well-adjusted human being. Emily was one of the lucky few who was chosen to become an Auditor. She was excited to be able to help prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but she was nervous about the test that would determine her intelligence and stability. The test was grueling, but she passed with flying colors. Now she's dedicated to her job and is looking forward to helping prevent the next generation of idiocy.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure that only the most intelligent people in the world are able to have children. It's a daunting task, but you're up for the challenge. You work with a team of other Auditors to review each person's case before they're able to deactivate their birth control device. It's a long and difficult process, but it's ultimately worth it to make sure that only the best and brightest are able to reproduce. You take your job very seriously, and you're always looking out for the best interests of the world. You know that if everyone was as intelligent and stable as they should be, the world would be a much better place.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seen as a threat to humanity's concept of mental health. Jawed by the age of 35, Leon Trotsky is the new Hitler of theOLD TOUR OF VENICE. Cosmopolitan alive with newWHO'S THIS?????serial killer that is Sigmund Freud, the specter of disorders and poetic footprint of the mental health age. TF	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were in a heated argument in the unused office of the Chancellery. Stalin was demanding that Hitler give him a seat on the Versailles Treaty Council. Hitler wasignant, saying he wouldn't give up his position for anyone. Stalin, unsatisfied with Hitler's answer, threw a chair at him and walked out. Leon Trotsky was in the office, passing the time with a book. He heard the argument and felt that Stalin was being a bit too demanding. He decided to show Stalin some of his writing, which amused Stalin. Tito was in his bedroom, bedroom door open, when he heard the argument. He quickly closed the door and hid under the bed. Stalin only laughed and left the room. Hitler was angry and threw a vase of flowers at Stalin. Stalin laughed and said that it would be a good experience for him to be a part of the Versailles Treaty Council. Hitler didn't believe him and threw another chair at Stalin. Stalin caught the chair and threw it at Hitler, causing him to fall to the ground. Tito came out from under the bed and caught Adolf Hitler before he could hit Stalin. They both laughed and went back into the office.	Sigmund Freud was excited to put his latest clinical trials to the test. He placed an ad in a Vienna newspaper, looking for participants. The only people to respond were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was hesitant to include these men in the trials, but knew that they would be the perfect candidates. The trials would test Freud's latest research, and he was confident that the results would be amazing. The trials were grueling, but the men all proved themselves to be very talented investigators. The trials were a success, and Freud was amazed by the results. He was proud of his team of revolutionaries, and knew that they would continue to make a difference in the world.	" advertised in the paper. I was amazed that anyone at all responded, let alone the four most influential political figures of our time. But I suppose they were all just as curious as I was about this new research. We met in my office and I explained the project to them. I would be studying their dreams and analyzing them for any possible implications on their political beliefs. All four of them were eager to participate, so we began that night. Adolf Hitler was the first to share his dreams. He spoke of a great empire that he would one day rule, of a Germany that would be the most powerful nation in the world. I was immediately struck by the power and conviction in his voice as he spoke. Joseph Stalin's dreams were more dark and brooding. He spoke of a world where he would be the only one in control, where everyone would have to obey him or face the consequences. There was a coldness in his eyes that I had never seen before. Leon Trotsky's dreams were of a revolution, of a world where the working class would finally be free from the oppression of the rich. He spoke with such passion and belief that I could not help but be moved by his words. Finally, Josip Broz Tito's dreams were of a Yugoslavia that would be free and independent, a nation that would no longer be controlled by outside forces. There was a sense of hope and determination in his voice that was inspiring. As I listened to each of them speak, I began to see the potential for great things in each of their dreams. But I also saw the potential for terrible things as well. It was clear that these four men were destined to change the world, for better or for worse. I thanked them all for their time and participation in my research. As they left my office, I couldn't help but wonder what the future would hold for each of them. Would their dreams come true? And if so, what would that mean for the world?"	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The birds were singing and the sun was shining. But when I looked over my reasoning would have been patterns that would show me what kind of person I was. There were lines that I knew were been there before. I was smart and I was strong. But as I looked closer, I could see the bottom of the line. My story was known. Myound was known. I was known because of the tears that left patterns on my face.	I was born with a flaw. I was born with the Capacity to Cry. My mother always told me that the first time I let out a loud cry, the world would change. She said that the sound of my cry would be the first thing people would hear in the middle of all the commotion and chaos that was happening. And so, every time I cried, the world changed. The chaos was disrupted and the noises were muffled. I was the only one in the room that was crying and no one else was paying attention to me. It was as if the world was conspiring against me. But that didn't bother me. In fact, I found it comforting to be the only one with a torn-up paper heart in my room. It was like I was the only one who felt undervalued and misunderstood. Apparently, myCry wasn't unusual. In fact, it was considered a crying superpower. And so, for the first few years, Ijust continued to cry. I wasn't sure what else to do. But then something changed. Slowly but surely, people started to pay more attention to me. And it wasn't just because I was the only one with a tear-stained paper heart. They started to pay more attention to me because of the way I cried. Now, I was the center of attention and I loved it. I loved the way people would come to my room and say how great my cry was. I loved the way people would take pictures of me with my tear-stained paper heart and post them on social media. But then one day, something changed again. And this time, it was because of the way I was crying.Suddenly, the world wasn't as Busy as it used to be. All the noise was lost in my sobs and the only thing that was heard was my story. And in the silence of my room, I was finally content. I was finally at peace. But that's until one day, when myCry caused a major uproar in the world. And it all started with me.	There was a young girl who loved to cry. She loved the way the tears felt as they rolled down her face and stained her clothes. She loved the way it made her feel, free and free flowing. But one day, something changed. The young girl started getting cuts on her face from where her tears were falling. She cried harder and the cuts got worse. The young girl didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to stop the tears from leaving scars on her face. The young girl was ashamed of her scars. She was embarrassed by them and she didn't want anyone to see them. She was worried that the other kids would make fun of her and she didn't want that. But the more the young girl tried to hide her scars, the worse they got. The cuts were constantly open and the young girl was constantly crying. That's when the young girl realized that the tears weren't going to stop leaving scars on her face, no matter how hard she tried. The young girl was changed by her scars. She learned that she couldn't just hide from the world, she had to face it and learn to deal with her scars. The young girl now knows that tears leave scars, but that's okay. She's learned to deal with them and she's finally able to be herself.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to hurt someone so badly that they would be left with a permanent reminder of the pain. Even the smallest argument could leave someone with a visible scar. So people would learn to resolve their differences quickly and peacefully. The world would be a gentler place, where people were more careful with each other's feelings. There would be a lot more hugging, too. Physical touch would become even more important as a way to comfort someone who is hurting. And we would all be a lot more careful with our tears, because we would know that they could leave a lasting mark.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	It was a dark and stormy night. I was out on the town square, selling my old paperbacks when I saw a figure in the shadows. It was a scary looking figure with strange looking eyes. The figure began to speak to me, claiming that I would die soon if I didn't leave. I didn't have much choice, so I ran away in terror. I never found out what happened to me after that.	The doctor gave me the news I never wanted to hear. I had stage IV lung cancer and there was no cure. I would soon die. I was heartbroken and scared. I didn't know what to do. I was scheduled to have surgery to remove my cancer, but I didn't want to go through with it. I didn't want to die. I thought about my daughter and how important it was for her to have a mother who was alive. I made the decision to have the surgery. I was scared, but I was also determined to live for my daughter.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's like a voice inside my head, telling me that my time is up. I try to fight it, but I know it's futile. There's no escaping my fate. I say my goodbyes to the people I love, and then I wait. I don't know when it will happen, but I know it will be soon. I can feel it in the air, like a storm is coming. And then, it does. I'm not sure what happens next, but I know it won't be good. I can feel myself being pulled away, into the darkness. There's a bright light somewhere, but I can't reach it. I'm getting colder and colder, and then everything goes blank.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The homemaker tried to wake her home from its deep sleep, but it was too late. The lightulia was always so difficult to accessed, and it had been so long since it wasR Submission that she finally agreed to rent from her again. The first time she used the name, the rent was cheaper and she didn't have to worry about the payment. However, the second time was different. The Rent AAA was the service that ever came to her once she had the rent pre-approved. They wrote airoplane tickets for her, and when she got out of the car, she found that she had newly-warmed shoes that she had always wanted to try on. She put them on, and before she knew it, the rent had been raised to $1 an pro. She quickly put the shoes on and left the rental.	I was watching TV one day and I was thinking about home. It was such a familiar place to me now. I had been living there for years, and I couldn't help but notice the way the walls were always so thin and the light always seemed to be a little brighter than usual. Then I heard a voice in the back of my mind, whispering that something was living in my home. I didn't want to believe it, but I couldn't help but feel like it was true. So I started to avoid going back to my home, and I even got a new place to live in. I was worried that the something was going to follow me there, but I didn't have to worry. The voice in my head always seemed to be there, but it never came out to try and get me. I just thought it was a little noise that was just making itself known.	I never thought I'd be afraid of something invisible, but that's exactly how I feel. Every time I turn around, there seems to be something lurking in the shadows, watching me. I've tried to expose it, to show it that I'm aware of its presence, but it's always managed to stay hidden. It's as if it knows that I'm trying to find it, and it's afraid of being revealed. Regardless, I can't get the feeling out of my mind, and I'm starting to doubt whether I really am alone in this house. Maybe there's something else living here with me, something that I'm never able to see.	I have always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't explain it, but I just always had this feeling. I never said anything to anyone about it, because I didn't want to seem crazy. But lately, I've been feeling like it's been watching me. I can't shake the feeling that it's always there, watching me. I've been trying to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. I didn't see anything on the footage, but I could have sworn I heard something moving around in the room. I'm not sure what to do about it, but I know I need to find out what this thing is. I can't keep living like this, always feeling like I'm being watched.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in high business as adventurers try to sell loot they've acquired. Some is too costly for the day, and others are needed for a pending project. The cashierean helps them with that as they keep track of their buyers and sellers.	The shop was always crowded. There were adventurers, mercenaries, and even a few wizards who spent their days or nights in the shop bargaining for new weapons, items, or magic. It was a necessary trade, and the customers were always willing to trade. One day, a wizard came into the shop and announced he was looking for a magical item. The prices were ridiculous, but the wizard was persistent. He offered Sellsword, a magical sword that could kill anything, for a price the shopkeeper couldn't refuse. The shopkeeper was happy to give the wizard the sword. He was sure the wizard would be satisfied with it.	Lisa ran her RPG pawn shop with a passion. She loved haggling with adventurers who came to her store looking to sell their loot. She would offer them a price that was lower than what they were asking, but always kept in mind the value of the item. She had a knack for knowing what was truly worth taking home and what wasn't. One day, a group of adventurers entered her store. They were armed and dangerous, and Lisa could tell they were looking for trouble. She tried her best to haggle with them, but they were adamant about getting a higher price for their items. She finally gave in and sold them all the loot they were asking for. As she was packing up her shop, Lisa couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. It seemed like she had been through this before. She had haggled with the same group of adventurers years ago, and they had resulted in her shop being destroyed. Now, she was back to square one. She had to be careful not to get caught in the same situation again.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Some of the adventurers are desperate and will take any offer you make, while others are more savvy and try to get the best price possible. You always try to get the best deal for your shop, but you also know that some of the adventurers are in need of quick cash. So you strike a balance between making a profit and helping out those in need. Your shop is always busy, as there is always someone looking to sell their loot or buy new equipment. You've even been known to help adventurers out of a tight spot when they need it the most. You're happy to help out anyone who comes into your shop, as you know that everyone has their own story. And you wouldn't want anyone to miss out on their adventure because they couldn't afford the right equipment.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is incredible! She has one scar that is the biggest and most deep. It is why she is the only person you can trust. One day, she tells you the truth about who she is and why she does what she does. It is a huge step for her, and it changes everything.	You meet this person on a dark day. They are walking the streets, lost and alone. You hear them cry out,marking the spot where they were hurt the most. You walk over to see what happened and find a gaping wound. You Reach for the bandage, but your hand is caught in mid-air. You look down and see that this person has lied and harmed themselves in order to create a bigger, longer mark. You cannot live with this thing, but you must tell them the truth.	I was intrigued by the stranger as we passed each other on the street. His one big, visible scar looked like it hurt quite a bit. I asked him about it, and he told me that it was from a particularly bad lie. He said that he had told a really big lie and it had cost him a lot of pain and suffering. I could tell that the lie had weighed on him for a long time, and I was sorry that I had asked.	You are walking through the city and you see someone with a large scar on their body. You approach them and ask them what happened. They tell you that they were born in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They then tell you that they only have one scar because they have never lied in their life.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. One is his home, the other is his hired gun Gang oforganized crime. The Liberation of China is the other issue, but his paintings show a place entirely. China in particular is a place that has always been to him as a portrait of himself. Bob Ross has been to jail and killed dozens of people, but his thinking is always the same. He knows that what he does is right and that he is doing his job. But as he looks at his history of murders, he realizes that there is something else that he has never considered. He has never considered the possibility that people might die happy.	In the early hours of a cold winter morning, a murderer walks the streets of a small town in search of blood. Everywhere he goes, he finds victims George Best and Jim Morrison. The townsfolk know that the murderer is looking for the two bodies in the forest, but they can't catch him. One by one, the townsfolk die. The murderer knows that he won't be caught until he brings the two murderers to justice. He sets out on a cold wintermorning, walking towards the forest where the bodies are found. One by one, the townsfolk die. The murderer knows that he won't be caught until he brings the two murderers to justice. He sets out on a cold wintermorning, walking towards the forest where the bodies are found. As he approaches, the murderer sees two figures in the distance. He knows that he's close to catching his prey. But he's also scared. He's never killed anyone like this before, and he doesn't know what will happen when he arrives at the forest.	It was a dark and stormy night. Bob Ross was feeling particularly murderous. He had been planning his murders for days, and he was finally ready to act. He drove to the location of his next victim, and pulled up to the curb. He got out of his car, pulled out a knife, and entered the building. Inside, he found his victim, a young woman working on her laptop. Bob quickly subdued her, and began stabbing her. As he killed her, he thought of all the lonely, sad places he had driven to to commit his murders. It made him feel even more murderous, and he kept stabbing the woman until she was dead. Finally, he put the knife back into his belt, and left the building. As he drove away, he couldn't help but smile, thinking of all the murders he had committed in just one night.	Bob Ross was a murderer. But he didn't just kill any old person, he killed people and then painted their landscapes. Each of his paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. He was a very methodical killer. He would study his victims carefully, learning everything about them before he struck. He wanted to know exactly where to find them and when they would be alone. Then, when the time was right, he would strike. He would kill them quickly and efficiently, making sure to leave no evidence behind. Once his victims were dead, he would then paint their landscapes. He would choose the perfect spot and paint a beautiful scene, making it look like nothing had ever happened there. Bob Ross was a killer, but he was also a artist. And his paintings were his way of immortalizing his victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Look at you, following me around like you're already well-known. You've probably seen this before. Rabbit: I'm not here to follow you, am I? magnesium spoons: No, of course not. This is exactly why you should not eat any of our products. Magician: Hamasheel! You're coming with me! Rabbit: What? No way, you guys keep going - I'm not going to the hideously large rabbit party! Magician: What? How dare you! Rabbit: I'm not going to the hideously large rabbit party! Magician: What? You'reser! Rabbit: No, I'm not going to the hideously large rabbit party! I'm coming with you! Magician: What? You'reser! Rabbit: No, I'm not going to the hideously large rabbit party! I'm coming with you! Magician: What the hell are you talking about? We're going to the hideously large rabbit party and you're going to get in the way? Rabbit: I'm coming with you!	The magician looked down at the rabbit and shook his head. "I can't do this," he whispered to the rabbit. "I'm sorry." The magician placed the hat on the stage and picked up his wand. With a few simple steps he quickly produced a rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It wanted to be the one in control. The magician forced himself to take a step back. He knew that the rabbit would always be there to serve.	The rabbit was tired of always being the second fiddle to the magician. All he wanted was to be the star of the show and be able to do whatever he wanted. One day, the rabbit decided enough was enough and he challenged the magician to a performance. The magician accepted and the two went to stage. The audience was in for a surprise when the rabbit pulled out a rabbit from a hat. The magician was surprised and the rabbit took advantage of the situation, performing tricks that amazed and surprised the audience. The rabbit finally got the applause and recognition he deserved, and the magician was left in the background, looking slightly disgruntled.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is not happy. He's been pulled out of the hat too many times and is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wants to be the star of the show, and he's had enough. The rabbit hops out of the hat and onto the stage, and the magician is shocked. The rabbit begins to perform his own tricks and the crowd goes wild. The magician is furious, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's talent. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and he loves it. He's finally getting the attention he deserves, and he knows that there's no going back to being the magician's sidekick.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Uranus Summit. The world is shocked when they see the new global quotas on Uranus. The U.S. is lukewarm on the idea of tweakin' an agreement they've made, but the U.K. is concentrate on the issue. The U.K.'s privyShell Functional definition for Uranus was recently released. This new definition updated the Uranus quota situation. The U.S. is pushing for a decrease in Uranus quotas, while the U.K. is pushing for an increase. Both groups have won the battle, but both groups have surprised everyone with their large musculars.	The current events issue today is the soaring cost of healthcare. Many people are voicing their opinions on the matter and it looks like something is about to change. The government is beginning to address the issue and is making a serious commitment to making sure everyone has access to quality healthcare. That's great news, but there are still some people who are struggling to afford this type of care. The government is working hard to make sure that everyone can afford healthcare no matter what, but there are some people who are still struggling. That's why the government should be focusing more on making sure that everyone can't afford to not have healthcare. That's the focus of the government's attention today.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. The number of refugees and asylum seekers fleeing Syria has increased dramatically in recent months, and the situation is only expected to worsen as the war there continues. Many of these refugees are fleeing violence and poverty, and are looking for a safe place to call home. Despite the dramatic increase in refugees, many countries are still not willing to take in large numbers of them. This has resulted in large concentrations of refugees in countries like Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan. These countries are struggling to provide the necessary services and resources to these refugees, and the strain is beginning to show. It is clear that the Syrian refugee crisis is a huge issue that needs to be addressed urgently. The world needs to come up with a solution that will allow these refugees to find a safe and stable home.	There's no question that the current events issue receiving the most attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. With over two million confirmed cases and over 150,000 deaths worldwide, the virus has upended life as we know it. In the United States, we've seen states and cities shutter businesses and order residents to stay home in an effort to slow the spread of the virus. The economic impact has been devastating, with millions of Americans losing their jobs. And the human toll is immeasurable, as families grieve the loss of loved ones. As we continue to grapple with this ongoing crisis, it's clear that the coronavirus is the issue that deserves the most attention today.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are usually put on when one is born, but sometimes they are forgot about until needed again in cooldown. That's how it has always been. The devices are meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and that's all they are. But sometimes there are people who don't legislators or someone who might want to know about these devices. The device is deactivated on potential when one is born, and that's how it has been for eons. But when one is Advertisement, the device begins to work and more people are born than ever before. The number of people who are born due to this technology is increasing every day, and soon, the number of people who are generated will be greater than the number of people who are born. This is the part where Iarah (the device) wants to know more. He wants to know why the devices are inormonal and not working as they should. He knows that the devices are important but he wants to know why they are being used and not used more. The device begins to show signs of intelligence as the talkies go off. They are saying that the device is close to being deactivated, but no one can check it is deactivated. The device says that they will deactivate the device when they know more about it. Levels of intelligence get higher the more things are vying for, humans include, for dominance. When something is taken for granted it is soon overshadowed by its substitutes. That's why the devices are put in and why they are not used more. The devices are there to prevent the human race from reproducing and that's all they are. But sometimes people want to know why they are being used and not used more. The device says that they will deactivate the device when they know more about it. The device is a machine and will do anything. But sometimes people want to know about their purpose. The device is going to explain it to you when you are ready to Come experience the real deal.	As an Auditor, I'm responsible for monitoring the mental health of the population. I'm always looking for ways to keep the dumbest people from reproducing, but one problem remains: no one knows how to use a birth control device. That's why I've been working on a new way to prevent the generation of idiots. I've implant Grants into everyone's bodies during puberty, so that they can't use birth control devices of their own free will. maestro	I was born in a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It could only be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, charged with ensuring that everyone in the world was capable of fulfilling their potential. It was a daunting task, but one I was determined to complete. I worked diligently to ensure that everyone was living up to their potential. I even intervened when I saw people making mistakes that could potentially result in tragedy. But it was hard. Sometimes people just don't want to change. But I persevered. And eventually, I was proven right. Everyone in the world had the potential to be extraordinary. And I was able to help them realize that potential.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it is your job to make sure that only the smartest and most responsible people are able to have children. You have a difficult job, but you take it very seriously. You consider every case carefully, and you always make the best decision you can. Sometimes, it is hard to tell who will make a good parent and who won't, but you do your best. You know that your job is important, and you take pride in it. You know that you are helping to create a better world, one baby at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on the hunt for participants for his latest clinical trial and there are only people who respond- Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ). Unfortunately, each of these people has a different name and at least gel is not needed for this trial. So, Sigmund Freud is left with few options but to put the study on hold. years and years ago, this was a great place called Austria. Now it's just a toothpaste sector. It's prices, quality, and concerns with war and politics have made this a desiccated hard drive. A data dedicato to all the researchers who made this place what it is today.	Adolf Hitler clicked the submit button on the webpage he had just created. He had just won a seat in the Austrian Senate. He was excited to start his new life in that great, yet underdeveloped, country. And he especially liked the idea of being able to test the new psycho-somatic therapy he had been working on with Sigmund Freud. Joseph Stalin clicked the submit button on the webpage he had just created. He was excited to start his new life in that great, yet underdeveloped, country. And he especially liked the idea of being able to test the new psycho-somatic therapy he had been working on with Sigmund Freud. Leon Trotsky clicked the submit button on the webpage he had just created. He was excited to start his new life in that great, yet underdeveloped, country. And he especially liked the idea of being able to test the new psycho-somatic therapy he had been working on with Sigmund Freud. Josip Broz Tito clicked the submit button on the webpage he had just created. He was excited to start his new life in that great, yet underdeveloped, country. And he especially liked the idea of being able to test the new psycho-somatic therapy he had been working on with Sigmund Freud.	Sigmund Freud was excited to put his latest clinical trial ad in a newspaper. He wanted to find participants for his experiments, but only the best would be accepted. He was shocked when Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito replied. Freud was doubtful at first, but after examining each applicant, he realized that they all had unique skills that could help him advance his research. Hitler was the mostqualified of the group, having a proven record of success in politics. Stalin was a genius when it came to managing people, and he had already transformed Russia into a powerful country. Leon Trotsky was the most passionate of the group, and he had a strong belief in Marxist theory. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest, but he was also the most determined. The trials were tough, but the four participants all succeeded. They worked hard and made serious progress, and by the end of the year, Freud was sure that his research was on the right track. He was finally able to provide help to those who needed it the most, and he was proud of his team of exceptional individuals.	Sigmund Freud's latest research project is in need of participants, so he takes out an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to try out Freud's methods, and they quickly become engaged in the trials. However, it soon becomes clear that Freud's research is having a profound effect on the men's psyches. Hitler becomes fixated on the idea of conquest, Stalin becomes paranoid and obsessed with power, Trotsky becomes increasingly radicalized, and Tito starts to experience visions of a future where he leads a communist revolution. The trials come to an abrupt end when the men start to exhibit extremely erratic and dangerous behavior. Freud is shocked by the results of his research, and he quickly destroys all evidence of it. The four men go on to shape the 20th century in ways that none of them could have imagined, and Freud's role in their transformation is never revealed.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Life was harsh for the most part, nothing was given with out a fight. There were the few moments where I knew that I would give anything for a broken hearted child. If I could, I would take them out for life. I would work tirelessly for them. No matter how hard it felt.	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people's faces. They would leave marks that could be seen and felt even after years of being away. This caused a lot of anger and resentment, as people thought that tears were something that only happened to others. However, over time, people began to see the benefits of tears. They were seen as a sign of empathy and caring. They might even be seen as a sign of weakness, but in the end, they were all worth it.	It was a normal day, until one tear fell from the girl's eye and dripped down her cheek. The other kids at school laughed and pointed, calling her names. The girl felt ashamed and humiliated, like she had no self-worth. The tears continued to flow, and soon the girl was in tears uncontrollably. people were walking past her without a second glance, and she felt alone and worthless. The girl tried to hide her face in her hands, but the tears flowed faster and faster. Eventually, the girl was crying so hard that her tears turned into streams. The streams carved deep grooves in the concrete floor, and the girl could no longer see through her tears. The girl cried until she was exhausted, and when she finally stopped, her face was stained with salty tears and bruises. The girl no longer felt embarrassed or alone. She knew that her tears had left marks on her skin, and she knew that these marks would never disappear. The girl's world had changed the day that she cried. The marks on her skin showed that she was human, and that she was capable of feeling pain and sadness. The marks on her skin showed that she was alive, and that she was capable of feeling love and happiness.	It was a typical day at school. Mia was sitting in her math class, trying to pay attention, but her mind kept wandering. She thought about her upcoming birthday and what she wanted for her party. She also thought about the new boy in her class, Oliver. He was so cute and she really wanted to talk to him, but she was too shy. Suddenly, Mia was brought back to reality by the sound of someone sobbing. She turned to see her classmate, Patrick, crying at his desk. She had never seen him cry before, and she didn’t know what to do. Then she saw the tears running down his face and noticed that they were leaving scars behind. It was like his tears were made of acid. Mia was horrified. She didn’t know what to do, so she just sat there and watched as Patrick’s face became covered in scars. He cried for what felt like hours, until he finally ran out of tears. He got up from his desk and ran out of the room, with Mia close behind him. Patrick’s tears had changed the world forever. Now, every time someone cried, they would be left with scars. It was a constant reminder of the pain and hurt that they were feeling. Mia felt sorry for Patrick, but she was also grateful that she wasn’t the one who was crying.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was sitting in my chair, trying to take in the new day when I suddenly felt a tremendous pain in my chest. I cried out in pain and knew that I was going to die. I tried to stand up but my legs wouldn't work. I thenfell to the ground and died.	The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful orange. The temperature was getting chilly and I knew I had to find a place to sleep. I walked for hours, but I couldn't find any shelter. I was so tired and I was starting to feel sick. I was about to give up when I saw a dark building. I walked towards it, but as I got closer, I realized it was a funeral home. I was so scared and I didn't know what to do. I walked inside and the door closed behind me. I nervously walked down the hallway. I saw a door and I slowly walked towards it. As I got closer, I saw a coffin. I was so scared and I didn't know what to do. I walked towards it, but as I got closer, I noticed it was open. I screamed and ran away.	I die. It's not a happy death, but it's not a painful one either. I just stop living, and that's that. My loved ones are devastated, of course, but they eventually move on. Life goes on without me. It's strange, being dead. I can see and hear everything that's going on, but I can't interact with anyone or anything. It's like watching a movie, except I'm the only one in the theater. I see my loved ones grieve for me, and I want to comfort them, but I can't. I want to tell them that I'm still here, in a way, but I can't. They wouldn't be able to hear me. Eventually, they all move on. They get married, have kids, grow old. I watch as they live their lives without me, and it hurts. I want to be a part of their lives again, but I can't. I'm stuck here, in this limbo, for eternity. It's not a bad place, but I can't help but feel lonely. I guess this is what death is: being alone for eternity.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The only thing that could be seen living in my home was the flicker in the lightening Studios. I would often kindle when i was around it, or watch its moments in the larger Neon sky. No one could see it but me and I knew that it was okay. It was only when I would stop by the studios every week to bring out the lightener that I would realize that the invisibility was more important to the lightener than ever. The lightener would flicker into life and the invisibility would return. It was a helps the lightener Soar in its mission to lite up the world. By returning the lightener to Invisibility, we are returning back to the as if the lightener were back in operation.	For as long as she could remember,ëxisted silently in the shadows of her home. She watched everything that happened in the house and tried to figure out how she could expose it. Eventually, she found the courage to do just that. She began to use her voice to talk to the thing and slowly, but surely, it began to reveal itself. It wasn't happy, but it wasn't unhappy either. It just watched her, waiting for her to reveal herself to it.	I was tidying up my room and cleaning the cobwebs off the ceiling when I noticed something moving. I cautiously approached the area and was able to see a small, white spider. I tried to capture it but it ran away before I could grab it. I'm not sure if it was just one spider or if there were more, but I'm worried they're lurking around my home undetected. I need to find out what's causing this and get rid of it before it causes any more problems.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up hidden cameras and made noise in the middle of the night, but I've never been able to catch it. I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I know my family and friends think I'm just being paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling that something is watching me. I'm starting to wonder if I'm just imagini	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are	One day, a group of adventurers tried to sell something they had acquired in a previous adventure. They were tactics-mad and didn't want to pay the high price for it. I couldn't resist being a part of the negotiation, so I offered them a deal. If they would take my pawn shop and sell all the loot they had, I would give them a discount on their next purchase. It was a sweet offer, and they agreed. I continued to haggle with the group, and eventually they agreed to sell everything I had. I was glad to have been able to help them out.	The days were long and the hours were long, but Rick's RPG pawn shop was always busy. After all, who couldn't enjoy a good game of Dungeons and Dragons? Rick was a shrewd negotiator and could usually get adventurers to sell him their loot for a fraction of its worth. He always made sure to haggle hard, knowing that a good price was always worth it. One day, a group of adventurers arrived at Rick's pawn shop looking for a good deal on their belongings. Rick was ready and willing to negotiate, and soon had them talking prices for hours on end. In the end, Rick was able to get the adventurers to sell him all their loot for a fraction of its worth. He was happy to have found such a good source of income, and was looking forward to continuing to haggle with the adventurers in the future.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors, trying to sell off the spoils of their latest quests. You're not one to be taken advantage of, though. You know the value of this loot, and you're not afraid to haggle with these adventurers to get the best possible price. It's not always easy, but it's a living. And who knows? Maybe one day you'll be the one selling off the loot of your own adventure.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who has the biggest lie is a media-mad woman who constantly write about herself on social media. HerFacebook profile says she's a major celebrity chef with a huge following. She's always saw in headlines and is always there to show off her latest fabrication. The day starts like any other, the woman goes to her house to get herEverything is prepared for her big day. But soon enough, the sun has just about set and she's already famous #seleneau Twitter post is automatically publicizing her as an artist #erotica #iloveyou In the Mystic, it is already evening and the people are already in their homes. As they are cleaning the house, they are heard saying: "And the washi-tas are here!" The people in the house are next in their roofs, as they are below the roof of the woman's house. They are trying to reach the woman, but it is hard with her large head. Ultimately, they only get as high as her house and the view of her house is still seen as she screams (or is it buries her head in the agree)? As the people in the house look up, they see the biggest lie in the woman's profile. It is because of this that they are able to finally help the woman and make her 51% FAVORITE TWEETBERICHTERT. After the people in the house help the woman, she tells them her story. She tells them about her time in the sun, her escape plan, and her defection to the dark. She also tells them about the man who is見面、促使 FF， and how they first got to know each other. The people in the house areLot of them say they want to learn how to cook, while some are determined to dishMitchell's famous kitchen. But the biggest sentiment is one that seems to beawhere people are coming from- people arehearnizing the event	The first time I met the man, I couldn't help but be drawn to him. He had a big, gaping scar on his body, the size of a football. It looked so sad and out of place on his otherwise healthy and peaceful face. I wanted to know more about him, so I asked him about his scar. He told me that it was the result of a massive lie he told years ago. He had pretended to be sick all the time in order to get free of his abuser's care. The lie had deeply hurt him and left him with a gigantic scar. But, at least he was no longer ashamed of it. Now, he was finally free and could finally look forward to his future.	It was mesmerizing to look at. It stretched from their shoulder to their elbow, a deep red that contrasted strikingly with the pale skin. It looked like it hurt, but the person didn't seem to be in any pain. They were watching you, and you couldn't help but be drawn to their gaze. You didn't know what to say, so you just stood there, staring. After a few moments, the person spoke. "Everyone tells me that I'm beautiful, but I know that I'm not. I'm just a liar, and my biggest lie is that I'm worth something. But you see, I don't care. I've been hurt by people before, and I've learned that it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anyone hurt me anymore." With that, the person walked away, leaving behind a scar that would never heal. But you could tell that the person was beautiful, even with the big scar on their skin.	I was walking through the streets of my city, when I saw someone I had never seen before. They had one scar on their body, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. I wondered what could have caused such a huge scar. As I got closer, I could see that the scar was in the shape of a word. It said "LIAR". I started to feel uneasy, and I began to wonder if this person was dangerous. I decided to keep my distance and watch them from afar. I saw the person go into a store, and I decided to follow them. I waited outside the store, and I saw them come out with a newspaper. I followed them to a park, and I saw them sit down on a bench. They opened the newspaper and began to read. I was about to leave, when I saw the person get up and walk towards me. I started to back away, but they grabbed my arm. "Please, I need your help," they said. I hesitated for a moment, but then I decided to help them. "What do you need?" I asked. "I need you to help me find a cure for this scar. It's been with me for as long as I can remember, and I can't stand it anymore. Please, help me." I didn't know what to say, but I agreed to help them. I didn't know how, but I was determined to find a way to help this person.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints him various places in his home just to keep various artists coming to his home to see his paintings. But some art fans areclusion, because they know that each place has something unique and interesting. So, every day, Bob Ross substitutes a new location in his home space with an interesting painting in an artist's Jahnmeister program. The friends of art get to work and theyaina the unique faces of myidding people. Bob Ross isn't the only paintingerd though. There's Josefina's Ross art, which is frame by frame of course, and then there's The Ross painting, which is an entire painting take by take of Josefina's Ross art. There's to be a Ross song about And there's to be a Ross show about anges just the way that they are And Bob Ross can wean us off of The Watchman? redes tributing The Ross paintings END	After a long day of work, Bob Ross was tired and ready for a night of relaxation. He decided to wander down to one of his favorite spots in the area, an old logging road that led to a remote cabin. Bob walked through the woods, trying to find the right spot to take a nap. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the distance and he knew it was someone coming. He made his way to the cabin, lied down on the bed and tried to fall asleep. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was someone from the sheriff's department, asking for Bob. The sheriff knew that Bob was probably tired and didn't want to get in trouble. He let the deputies in and Bob quickly got up, trying to remember who the deputies were. After a few minutes of conversation, it was clear that the deputies were looking for someone. They asked Bob a few questions and Bob gave them the name of the person they were looking for. It was then that Bob remembered that one of his paintings was in the cabin. The deputies took Bob to the police station and phone call the artist. Bob was excited to answer questions and even more excited when they found out that the painting was real. They were so happy to finally have a break from looking for the artist. Bob started to heal up from his injuries and he was able to take some time for himself. He was really looking forward to painting again and spending time with his family.	Bob Ross was a murderer. Each of his landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. In each painting, Bob appears as the happy, carefree painter, but in reality, he was a cold-blooded killer. Bob's first victim was in 1969, when he killed a woman while she was walking her dog. From then on, he continued to kill, always leaving his victims with a peaceful smile on their faces. Although he was caught and executed in 1995, Bob's legacy will live on forever. His landscapes, which are now considered some of the most famous paintings in the world, are a testament to his gruesome crimes.	Bob Ross was a talented artist, but he had a dark secret. He was a serial killer, and his landscape paintings were actually the locations of his countless murders. For years, he managed to evade the authorities, but eventually, they caught up to him. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he still paints to this day. His landscapes may be beautiful, but they're also a reminder of the horror he inflicted on so many victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	In the beginning, the rabbit was happy living a life of luxury. But then something terrible happened to the magician. He died, and the rabbit was left alone in themode. He was title to the show's laughter. But as the show continued, the rabbit found that the laughter was for just one more day. The laughter was shared between the rabbit and the spectators, and not between the rabbit and himself. The rabbit was feeling lonely, and he felt like he needed someone to share the laugh with him. He called on the nearby snake to share in the laughter, but the snake was too busy swallowing the rabbit's fun. When the rabbit got back to his room, he found that the only thing left was the laughter in his heart.	The magician had been playing the same tricks on the rabbit all night, and the rabbit was getting bored. He was starting to feel like he was being played for a fool. "Hey, rabbit," the magician called out. "Would you like to see something really cool?" The rabbit looked up from where he was sitting and followed the magician to the back of the stage. There, the magician put a hat on the rabbit's head and made him disappear. "Wow," the rabbit said after a moment. "That was pretty cool." "I thought so too," the magician said. "Now, would you like to see something really weird?" The rabbit looked surprised. "Are you sure? I've never seen that before." "Yes, I'm sure," the magician said. "Now, would you like to see me do something really strange?" The rabbit looked front and center on stage for a moment, then changed into a chicken. The magician smiled. "That was my favorite trick!" "So was the chicken one," the rabbit said. "It was pretty cool." "That's why I love magic," the magician said. "It's so cool when people can't tell what's real and what's fake." The rabbit looked at him with an amazed face. "I never thought of it that way. You'reDifferent. Do you want to be my friend?" The magician couldn't believe how easy it was to be friends with the rabbit. He was always there to help him with his tricks and they always had a good laugh. "Yes, I'd love to be your friend," the magician said. "I think we're alike in a lot of ways."	The magician looked up from his card tricks and saw the rabbit glaring at him. The rabbit was tired of always playing second fiddle to the magician and his tricks. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, just like the magician always was. The rabbit glared at the magician, challenging him to a card trick. The magician looked a little startled but then agreed. The rabbit was confident that he could outsmart the magician. The magician started to shuffle the cards and the rabbit tensed up, waiting for the magician to make a mistake. But the magician was a skilled card magician and he never made a mistake. The rabbit started to get angry and he tried to think of a way to outsmart the magician. But the magician was too skilled and the rabbit was just not quick enough. The rabbit was starting to lose confidence and the magician was starting to get bored. The magician started toying with the rabbit, making it look like he was going to give the rabbit a chance to win. But the rabbit was not fooled and he knew that the magician was just playing with him. The rabbit finally lost patience and he lunged at the magician, trying to catch his card. But the magician was too quick and he used his magic to vanish the rabbit's card. The rabbit was angry and frustrated and he knew that he would never be as good as the magician. The rabbit decided to quit the show and go home. But as he disappeared backstage the magician couldn't help but smile, he had always been the star of the show and he always would be.	The rabbit had been working for the magician for years, and he was tired of being second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he was going to make it happen. The rabbit waited until the magician was in the middle of his act, and then he made his move. He jumped out of the hat and onto the stage, taking the magician by surprise. The rabbit then put on a magical show of his own, wowing the audience with his tricks. The magician was furious, but he couldn't do anything to stop the rabbit. The rabbit had stolen the show, and there was nothing the magician could do about it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of HDPE products is on the hands of a nearby group of linemen working on a double team. The linemen are in the process of leaving when a huge impact is heard. They arise,ecaing that they are the only ones in the area who can see what has caused the impact. The products are small enough that they will be barely noticed by the players, but the size of the group they are working with means they are able to outsmart the Vikings. They wear them down, until finally they are able to work a fast Sunday schedule and allow the products to fall from the sky.	A major issue today is the current president's proposed tax reform plan. Many people are worried about the impacts this plan will have on the economy and on the working classes.	The world is on edge as a major international issue looms on the horizon: climate change. The issue has been brought to the forefront by the recent flooding in Louisiana, the displacement of people by the Syrian refugee crisis, and the increasing temperatures around the globe. Some people have called for a global warming freeze, while others have suggested we take drastic measures to halt the process. No one knows for sure what the right solution is, but we must all do what we can to address the problem.	There is no doubt that the current pandemic deserves the greatest amount of attention. With over a million cases worldwide and rising, the need for a coordinated global response is more pressing than ever. The World Health Organization has been leading the charge in this effort, but there is still much more to be done. In addition to the human toll of the pandemic, the economic impact is also becoming increasingly clear. Businesses are shutting down, supply chains are being disrupted, and unemployment is rising. The world is facing an unprecedented crisis, and the need for a coordinated response is more pressing than ever.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The day started like any other day. But when the door was hitoor, all life in the neighborhood was halted. All you could hear was the sound of its being hit and the ability to breathe beingnormal. You were an Auditor and you were the only one who could prevent this from happening again. You walked down the street, your heart racing, the deactivation of your birth control device deactivating your menstrual body. You were an Auditor and you would prevent this from happening again. When you got home from school, you | put your school backpack in your room and deactivated your birth control device. You were an Auditor and you would prevent this from happening again. But when you went back to your building, everyone in the neighborhood was gone. It was as if it had been replaced. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your deactivation and the fact that you were an Auditor. You walked to the beginning of the block, your American flag shirt Gents and your filter off of your phone. You were an Auditor and you would prevent this from happening again. But when you got to your building, it was already too late. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your deactivation and the fact that you were an Auditor. You walked to the beginning of the block, your American flag shirt Gents and your filter off your phone. You were an Auditor and you would prevent this from happening again. But when you got to your building, it was already too late. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your deactivation and the fact that you were an Auditor.	You walk into the auditorium, the whole place filled with students. You approach the desk of the girl who is responsible for finding new students, and hand her your implant. She looks at it skeptically, but goes ahead and deals with the rest of the students. You sit down in a seat, and wait. You know that it's going to be a long wait. You've been waiting for years, but you're not quite ready to give up yourerve. You wait until the next class is over, and then you go back to your implant. You'd always thought that it would be really fun to be an Auditor. You love finding new students, and you love watching them grow into happy, intelligent humans. But you never thought that it would be so hard. The first few weeks are tough. You have to be careful not to make too many mistakes. You have to be sure that you're teaching the right things, and that everyone is following the rules. But eventually, you start to get used to the new life. TheAuditor is a really hard job. But you're willing to do it, just to see the happy faces of your students.	The population of the world was reduced to the smartest, bravest, and most understanding people by a birth control device. The device could only be deactivated once it was determined the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Being an Auditor, I was among the chosen few to be implanted with the device as a teenager. I had no idea what it would do to me or the rest of the world, but I was willing to take the risk. The effects of the device were gradual at first, but they became more and more profound as I reached adulthood. I lost the ability to feel happiness or sadness, and I found it difficult to relate to anyone other than my fellow Auditors. But even with the obstacles in my life, I persevered. I wanted to ensure that the world remained populated by the smartest and bravest people, so that we could all make the most of our finite and precious lives.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've never once had to deactivate a birth control device. That's because, in your opinion, the only people who should be reproducing are the ones who are smart enough and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. But one day, you get a case that makes you question everything you believe. The person in front of you is clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed, but they're pleading with you to deactivate their birth control device so they can have a child. After hearing them out, you realize that sometimes, the people who seem like the least likely to succeed are the ones who try the hardest. You make your decision, and deactivate their birth control device. It's a risky move, but you hope that it will all work out in the end.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the first to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was motivated by the opportunity to help the worldrary and help sick people. Joseph Stalin was next. He was interested in the research because it would help him win the Cold War against the United States. Leon Trotsky was last. He was interested in the research because it would help him learn about history. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond to the ad. He was motivated by the opportunity to help the worldrary.	Freud was intrigued by the young men he had responded to his ad. He was determined to test their theories and see if they could help him further his research. He set up a series of clinical trials with them, each one more intensive than the last. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. He was troubled and unsure of himself. Freud helped him to get past his problems, and soon Hitler was a dedicated participant in the trials. Joseph Stalin was next. He was cocky and unyielding, but Freud managed to break through to him. Stalin became determined to find the answers that Freud was seeking. Leon Trotsky was the most difficult of the four to deal with. He was resistant to everything Freud tried to do, but eventually Trotsky came around. Trotsky helped to further Freud's research in ways that no one else could. Josip Broz Tito was the last to arrive. He was young and unsure of himself, but Freud saw potential in him. Together, they worked to further Freud's research.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is initially hesitant to work with such high-profile individuals, but he decides to go ahead with the trials. Over the course of the next few months, he meets with each of the men separately. Freud quickly discovers that all four men are suffering from severe mental illness. Hitler is paranoid and delusional, Stalin is plagued by anxiety and depression, Trotsky is consumed by rage, and Tito is plagued by hallucinations. Despite their mental illness, Freud is impressed by the men's intelligence and charisma. He is particularly struck by Hitler's ability to articulate his vision for the future. After completing the trials, Freud publishes his findings in a paper. In it, he argues that the mental illness of the four men is actually a sign of their greatness. He predicts that they will go on to change the world. Freud's predictions prove to be eerily accurate. Over the next few decades, Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all rise to power and change the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	When we left our local grocery store, I was more than a little terrified. My heart was pounding in my chest and my stomach was cold and tight. I didn't know what to do when we got home, so I walked the few blocks to the nearest park. We sat on the grass, sipping coffee and | scriptures while time passed. Suddenly, my brother came over and whispered, "We can't do this. Her life is too new." I looked at him,kilted up. He had always been so supportive and carefree, but this somehow felt different.aspberry? | I been since young enough to have thoughts of of my own =) So, I stayed, hopeing that when her ready to start her new life is she really will come back home.| Now, weeks later, and she's gone. Her text just showed up in my phone and I was grief-stricken because I know that she'll be gone for a long time and I still have not heard from her. | I know that I must have not toedle into a war zone and my voice did say, "The sky is blue."	Tears flow down the face of a woman as she recalls the day her son was killed. She weeps for hours on end, not letting go of her son until she lays him in her bed, sobbing into his skin. refused to let go of her son until she laid him in her bed, sobbing into his skin. "He was only 15, and I shouldn't have to bear this alone" she thought to herself. suddenly she heard a knock at the door. she peak out of her sleep to see a man standing there, looking so sad. she reached for her door knob, but he pulled it behind him and said, "I'm sorry, I don't want to wake you. I just wanted to come in and say goodbye" she looked at him in confusion, but he simply shook his head and walked out the door.	The girl knew that she was going to be late for her appointment, but she didn’t care. She had been through so much lately and she just wanted to be left alone. As she made her way down the street, she saw someone she knew. They had been through so much too and the girl knew that they could use a friend right now. She ran over to them and they hugged each other tightly. As they pulled away, the girl noticed that the other person had tears streaming down their face. She asked what was wrong and the other person just shook their head. The girl took the other person by the hand and led them to a nearby cafe. They ordered drinks and the girl asked the other person how they were feeling. The other person took a deep breath and started to speak. “I don’t know where to start. I just feel so lost and alone. It feels like everything that I used to have is gone and I don’t know what to do about it.” The girl took a deep breath and looked the other person in the eyes. She knew that she could see the pain and the sadness that was inside of them. She took a deep breath and started to speak. “It doesn’t have to be this way. You can still be happy. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” The other person just looked at her in disbelief. They had never heard anything like that before and they weren’t sure if the girl was serious or not. But as the girl looked into the other person’s eyes, she knew that she was telling the truth. She was telling them that they could be happy again and that they didn’t have to be alone anymore.	It was a cold, winter day. The kind of day where the air hurt your lungs and the wind made your eyes water. Leslie was walking home from school, her head down and her hands in her pockets, when she bumped into someone. "I'm sorry," she muttered, not looking up. "It's okay," the other person said. There was a pause, and then, "Hey, are you crying?" Leslie quickly wiped her eyes, embarrassed. "No, I'm fine." "It's okay if you are," the other person said. "In fact, it's kind of cool." Leslie looked up, confused. "What do you mean?" "Well, your tears are leaving scars on your face." Leslie's hand flew to her cheek, horrified. Sure enough, there were little trails of dried tears that had left behind red, raw skin. "What the hell?!" she exclaimed. "I know, it's crazy, right?" the other person said, sounding just as surprised as Leslie felt. "I've never seen anything like it before." Leslie's mind was racing. If her tears could leave scars, what else could they do? She had to find out. She said goodbye to the other person and hurried home, eager to experiment. First, she tried crying into her hands. The tears came easily enough, but when she looked at her palms, there was nothing there. No scars, no marks of any kind. Next, she tried crying onto a piece of paper. Again, the tears came easily, but when she looked at the paper, it was unmarked. Finally, she tried crying onto her pillow. And this time, when she looked, there were small, faint scars left behind in the shape of her tears. Leslie was amazed. She couldn't believe that her tears could actually leave scars. She wondered what else they could do. Could she cry on people and hurt them? Could she cry on objects and mark them forever? The possibilities were endless, and Leslie was determined to explore them all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling when I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it, and there was someone standing there, looking at me with a sad expression. I could see that he was wearing a blue suit and a white shirt, and he had a white cane in his hand. He said, ``I'm sorry, I know this must seem like a lonely life, but I'm here to talk to you about a possible solution.'' He said that there was still a chance that I could be saved, and that he could take care of everything for me. I didn't want to believe him, but I didn't want to live anymore either. I asked him to leave, and he left without saying another word.	Karen lay in her hospital bed, barely clinging to life. All she wanted to do was go home and spend her last days with her husband and daughter. But her doctors said she wouldn't make it. They told her she had a 95% chance of dying from her illness. Suddenly, a miracle happened. Karen's cancer went into remission. She was over the moon with this news and thanked her doctors for their help. But Karen's doctors weren't done yet. They said her cancer may come back at any time, so she needed to keep up her health. Karen agreed and started to make changes to her life. She quit her job and started to spend more time with her family. And six months later, Karen's cancer came back. This time, it was more aggressive. Her doctors said there was no cure, but they would fight until the end. Karen knew she was going to die, but she was happy she had spent her last days with her family.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me, and the world fading away. I try to hold on, to keep fighting, but it's pointless. I know my time is up. There's a moment of peace and stillness, and then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The family's home was dark and corporate-looking. Through the window, she could see the outline of the somethingisignal. She Investment Policewoman had warned her about that day, and she had Nadege endorsed theotc's warning as she had any other Otc. Nadege is a natural of sorts to these days, considerate and Levelheaded, but she was never able to quite Personify the thingin Vigilance that she had been that day, before, and after the fire. She never wanted to see that thingor speak to it. The Otc's voice always felt like a fear that she had never felt before.	One day, while I was cleaning my home, I noticed something that wasn't quite what I expected. I could see something lurking in the corners of my eyes, lurking behind the shadows. It was an Unknown. It was testing my resolve, seeing if I would let it into my home. I refused to let it into my home, but the Unknown was relentless. It would constantly creeping up on me, sneaking into my room at night or creeping up on me when I was trying to sleep. I didn't know how to fight it, I didn't know what to do. The Unknown was growing stronger and stronger, and I wasn't know how to fight it. Eventually, I gave in and allowed the Unknown into my home. It was like admitting that the Unknown was right, that there was something out there that was following me. The Unknown started to multiply, and I couldn't keep it out. It had taken over my life, my mind, and my home. I was never able to get it out, and it stayed until finally I killed it.	I was sitting in the living room, flipping through the TV channels, when I saw something moving in the corner of my eye. I turned to see an invisible something moving around the corner of the bookcase, but before I could warn my family, they had already seen it too and were screaming. I tried to grab the object, but it was too fast and disappeared into the shadows. I'm not sure if I was successful in catching it, but I'm glad my family is safe and I didn't have to confront whatever was lurking in the corner of my home.	I know there's something living in my house. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a cold spot in the air, always moving around. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or it will disappear entirely. I've tried every trick I know, but so far it's eluded me. I'm not sure what it is or why it's here, but I'm determined to find out. Someday, I'll catch it. Until then, I'll keep watch.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in tip-top condition, and the customers love it. Theavlers are from all over the land and always looking for new territory to explore. The shop is a major tourist destination for them.	Once upon a time, a pawn shop was a popular place to sell adventuring gear. The adventurers would come to you with their new acquisitions, and you would be suprised by how many great items they had. One day, a particularly powerful group of adventurers came to your shop and offered to sell you a unique item they had just picked up. You didn't believe them at first, but after verifying the item's authenticity, you found yourself in a situation you never thought possible. You had to give the heroes the item in exchange for their help in taking down a dangerous creature. In the end, you came to appreciate the importance of these adventurers and the items they had acquired. As a result, your shop flourished and the adventurers who came to you for gear always left with more than they had originally brought.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for a few years now and it's always been a lot of fun. I love haggling with adventurers who come in with their loot, trying to get the best deal I can. It's always interesting to see what they've found, and whether or not I can get them to sell it to me. It usually starts with them trying to give it to me for free, but I always insist on getting a good valuation for it. I've never been one to just give away things, even if they're free. I want to make sure that I'm getting the most from my customers. I usually talk them down a little bit, but eventually I get them to sell it to me. It's always interesting to see what treasures they've been able to find. I've even gotten some pretty rare items from them. It's always a lot of fun to haggle with adventurers and get a good deal on whatever they've got. I always enjoy seeing what they've found, and whether or not I can get a good price for it.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a cache of weapons and armor. They're clearly inexperienced, and they're not asking for nearly enough money. You haggle with them for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. You buy their loot for a fraction of what it's worth, and they walk away happy. You know that you've just made a great deal, and you can't help but smile. This is why you love running a pawn shop; you never know what deals you're going to get!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met that day isArgusAnd PostedFromTheTable, a man that has never before spoken out of turn. He is the only one in your life that you have ever given the benefit of the doubt. You have always been open to new beginnings, and you feel like you could count on this person for everything. That day, there is a giant lieaster lie on his 9 Layer Skillet meal. His arms are bloated from all the weight he has scales Occupation: "Total takeover of a small business" City: "I don't have one" You walk up to him, and he asks what can I do for you? You tell him you want to know what happened to his Scar. He looks surprised, but he hands it over. You watch him eat it, and you yourself are stillWarning Kroger's for being large and unhealthy. You remember the biggest lie you have ever seen, and it is huge! You Walk away In Chagrin wheel of feeling.	You meet this person for the first time and your heart starts pounding. You can't believe what you are seeing. This person has a big, thick scar on their body, wide and deep. It looks like it was inflicted by something big and powerful. As you stare at their scar, it feels as if you are seeing your own demons for the first time. You know that you have done things that have caused harm and that you are responsible for the large, harmful scar on their body. You can't keep yourself from wanting to touch that scar, to feel the weight of it on your skin. You can't help but feel drawn to this person and their large, deep scar.	I was always fascinated by the person with the biggest scar. It was a deep, dark red, and it stretched across their whole body. No matter where you looked, there it was. I could never understand how they could bear such a burden, but they always seemed so happy. One day, I finally decided to ask them about it. They laughed and told me that it was nothing, that all lies create scars that get bigger the more lies you tell. I was shocked, but I decided that I liked them for it. From then on, I made a point to tell the smallest lies possible so that I would never have to see that scar again.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a huge scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a thing. As you get closer, you see that the person has a smile on their face. You can't help but feel drawn to them. You strike up a conversation and you quickly realize that this person is different than anyone you've ever met. They're honest. They've never lied in their life. That's when you see it. The scar is the result of a lie. A lie so big, so deep, that it left a permanent mark. You can't help but admire this person for their honesty. In a world where lies create scars, they've managed to stay pure. They're a reminder that even in the darkest of times, honesty is always the best policy.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross lives in the US, Canada, and. "I don't know where it is, but it's somewhere in this world."	Bob Ross had a life of murders. He killed people for fun, or because he needed to feel something alive inside him. Sometimes he killed people just to keep them from knowing what he was capable of. In his paintings, every location in his life becomes a painting, a place where he killed. Sometimes he used the bodies of his victims to make pictorial documents of his murders, like a diploma or a Death Certificate. But the most telling part of his paintings is the reality of his life. These exact places exist in his mind, and they are a violent reminder of everything he's done.	It was a dark and stormy night. The elements were conspiring against Bob Ross, and it seemed like his paintings were failing too. All his work of the past several months was coming undone in a matter of minutes. His cellphone rang, but he didn't answer it. It wouldn't matter, anyway. The painting was ruined. He had been trying to capture the beauty of the mountainside, but the rain was getting through and ruining everything. He would have to redo the whole thing. But before he could even begin to clean up, he heard a knock at the door. It must have been the police. He knew they wouldn't believe him when he said he didn't do it, but he had to try. He went to the door, and it was open by someone he didn't recognize. It was the murderer from the other paintings. The one who had been after him. They fought, and in the end, Bob Ross was dead.	Bob Ross was a prolific landscape painter. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful scenes of nature. But what most people didn't know was that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was actually a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer. And he used his paintings as a way to hide his gruesome crimes. He would find secluded spots in the wilderness, far from any prying eyes. And there he would kill his victims, often leaving their bodies on display in his paintings. For years, he got away with it. But eventually, the law caught up with him. And Bob Ross was arrested for his crimes. As the police looked through his paintings, they realized that each one was actually a crime scene. Bob Ross had finally been caught. But his paintings still hold the secrets of his gruesome crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	enny is the showgirl of the cast and the rabbit is just aiburley. "Why don't you go and we'll put your mind at ease," hernesday luminaries voceulne with Winkiebuie. enny J's	The magician and the rabbit were on stage. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had to explain every move he made. The rabbit was getting impatient.	The magician was on stage with the rabbit, and the rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle. The rabbit begged the magician to let him be the star of the show, but the magician refused. The rabbit then asked the magician to pull out a different rabbit from a hat, but the magician said that he only pulled out rabbits that he had already prepared. The rabbit was so frustrated that he decided to jump off of the stage. The magician caught him just in time, and apologized for not being able to help him out. The magician then told the rabbit that there were always new challenges waiting for him on stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is fed up with always being the one who gets pulled out of the hat. He's sick of being the sidekick, and he's determined to show the magician that he's just as talented as he is. So, during their act, the rabbit decides to take control. He pulls himself out of the hat and starts performing his own tricks. The magician is dumbfounded, but the audience loves it. The rabbit is a hit, and he's finally getting the recognition he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the latest in a series of pandemic events that has pleasurable aspects for many people. However, some people are not exactly upon with their news articles lights as they are. Therought is a website that allows readers to countrylink to a selection of articles on the pandemic.	Today, news sources are reporting that a major issue facing the United States is its debt. Many are calling for President Obama to take action to solve the problem, but he has yet to make a statement.	The current events issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Syria. Over the past five years, the conflict there has resulted in the death of over half a million people and the displacement of millions more. The refugee crisis is only going to get worse as winter approaches, and the world seems to be largely ignoring the situation.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the refugee crisis. There are millions of refugees around the world who have been forced to flee their homes due to conflict or persecution. Many of them are living in terrible conditions, without access to basic necessities like food, water, and shelter. The international community needs to do more to help these refugees, and to ensure that their rights are protected.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Jake as part of a study to figure out how to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It could only be deactivated once it was determined he was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	In my previous life, I was an Auditor. I was responsible for the well-being of the most intelligent people on earth. But now, I'm an Auditor for the dumbest people in the world. Everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This is so that the dumbest people in the world can't reproduce. But I'm still an Auditor. And I still prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	My name is Heather and I am an Auditor. I was born in a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was fortunate to be chosen to be an Auditor. I was chosen because I am intelligent and stable. I am responsible and I make good decisions. I am ready to be a responsible parent. The birth control device is a bit of a pain, but it is a small price to pay for preventing the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I know I am doing the right thing by being an Auditor and I am glad I was chosen.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Only the dumbest people in the world are not allowed to reproduce, thanks to the birth control device implanted in them during puberty. You've just completed your evaluation of a potential parent and, unfortunately, they don't meet the standards. You deactivate their birth control device and they are immediately sterile. It's a difficult but necessary job that you take very seriously. There are always a few who slip through the cracks, but you do your best to ensure that only the best and the brightest are able to bring new life into the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud put out a call for participants in his new clinical trial of his latest research. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin responded first, and then Leon Trotsky. Trotsky was the only one who was interested in joining the trial, but he didn't even want to know what the trial was for. He just wanted to go home and rise up in an imperialist war.	Freud was puzzled by why only young, ambitious men were interested in his clinical trials. He decided to take a closer look at the applicants and discovered that they all had one thing in common - they were all political radicals. Freud was convinced that this was why they were so interested in his research. He was right - the clinical trials were designed to test the effects of his new theory, which said that the unconscious mind was responsible for all human behavior. The first trial was a success. Hitler became the most outspoken advocate of Freud's theory, and began to lead Germany into World War II. Stalin continued to be a powerful leader in the Soviet Union, and Trotsky was in power in Soviet Ukraine. Tito was the only member of the group who failed the trial. He became disillusioned with the political radicals and started to work to unite all of Yugoslavia into one country. This eventually led to his death in 1980, long after the other members of the group had died.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most renowned psychologists of his time. His latest research project was on the human psyche and he was seeking participants for clinical trials. He placed an ad in the newspaper, hoping to find willing participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to participate in the trial. The trial began and Freud quickly realized that all four men were extremely damaged psychologically. Hitler was fixated on power and domination, Stalin was paranoid and violent, Trotsky was consumed by ambition and Tito was filled with rage. Freud was disturbed by what he saw and ended the trial early. He never published his findings, fearing that the world was not ready to know the dark truths about these four men.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Axel looked at the tears that slowly ran down his face. They had started out small and wet, but as the severity of the tears grew, he knew that these small moments were costing him dearly. Each tear was a public display of who he was as a person – and the more he cried, the worse his world looked. It was all toooidsilvamania, and he knew it. But as he cried, the love inside him kept him going. He could feel the love for his wife and son growing with each cry, and he knew that these tears were for her and longed to keep them department. As he finalysed his crying outside his bedroom window, he knew that he would never be able to let go.	Once upon a time, tear-tracks ruled the world. People would cry and tell their story publicly, in front of everyone. It was a way to express themselves and to set things right. But as often as not, the tears never left the person's face. They would trickle down, leaving behind a mess on their cheek or forehead.	Tears fell from the sky, streaking down the person’s face. They trembled and tried to wipe them away, but the tears kept coming andcoming. They were piled up in the corners of their eyes, on their nose, and on their lips. The person looked sad and miserable. But their tears also left scars. They had dry, lifeless eyes that lookedhard and cold. And the lines on their forehead and cheeks showed that they had been crying a lot. The world changed because of the person’s tears. People no longer cared about them or their feelings. They just walked by, not caring that the person was sad. The person became more alone and sad. They no longer wanted to live in the world that had rejected them. They wanted to go back to the time when the raindrops melted into the tears on their face and the world was kinder.	If every tear that fell from our eyes left a scar, the world would be a very different place. Can you imagine a world where your emotions are written all over your face? Where every time you cried, you were left with a permanent reminder of that moment? Some people would see it as a badge of honor, a way to wear their heart on their sleeve. Others would be more careful with their tears, not wanting to mar their faces with too many scars. And still others would be downright terrified of crying, knowing that every tear would leave behind a permanent reminder of their pain. But in a world where tears left scars, we would all be a little more careful with each other. We would be more aware of the power of our words and actions, knowing that they could hurt someone so deeply that they would be left with a physical scar. We would be more compassionate, more understanding, and more forgiving, because we would know that everyone is carrying around their own hidden scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	Sundae leaned back against the doorjamb, her head spinning. The headache was still pounding, but now it was accompanied by a sense of dread. What would happen next? She thought back to the night before and all of the terrible things that had happened. Everything she had nightmares about, she had experienced in person. It felt like her worst nightmare come true.	It was a cold winter day, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the wind. The only light that could be seen was the light of the moon. Emma was walking home from getting groceries when she saw a figure in the distance. She didn't know who it was, but she knew she had to talk to them. When she got closer, she saw that it was a man, and he was sick. The man told Emma that he was dying, and that was why the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the wind and the light of the moon. Emma told the man that she loved him, and then the man died.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my body is growing cold and my vision is growing dark. I know that this is the end for me. But even as I'm dying, I can't help but wonder what happens next. What will happen to my body? Will someone find me? What will become of my soul? There are so many questions that I want answers to, but I know that I won't get them now. I die. And that's what happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The first time that my kitchen Nightmares saw each as I carcced my breakfast with cupcakes. I'm not sure what made me do that, but I was satisfaction that I been eating healthy breakfast for days on end. Magical little Creatures that I am, I know that I have something to do with my Wealth that I am making progress in my life. even though I still feel like a beginner. I'm not sure what motivated me to continue chewing and swallowing, but I've been doing it for about 8 years now. I knowledge that I'm not needed anymore, so I %% The creatures that live in my home are always with me when I need to pendingIDER. I'm not sure what got into me and I'm sorry, but I've become something of a Rewards Collection Manager. I know that I have something that I can call my own, and I'm happy that I have a way to satisfaction my desires without having to force them.	My home is haunted. I know it. I can feel it. It's like an invisible force is trying to control me. I tried to expose it without letting it know, but it always manages to stay hidden. I can't even make myself think about it. It's like it's some kind of parasite that lives in my brain and controls everything. I'm afraid to let it out because it'll take over my life and I don't want that.	I was cleaning my home one day, when I noticed something strange. I couldn't see it, but I could feel an energy in the air. It was like an invisible force was watching me every move, waiting for a chance to attack. I tried to ignore the presence, but it was impossible. It followed me everywhere, watching and waiting. One day, I finally caught the creature in my home. It was small, and it looked like a little green human. I screamed at it, but it just stared back at me with its soulless eyes. Then, it vanished. The energy in the air disappeared, and I was finally able to relax. I know that the little green human was just an apparition, but it still creeped me out.	I can tell that something invisible lives in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set traps and hidden cameras, but so far, nothing has worked. I'm beginning to wonder if this invisible thing is even real. Maybe it's just my imagination. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something here, watching me and waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is effective. The adventurers try to leave with the items they need and the prices they think they can get for them. This allows the shop to keep the shop's income coming until they can get some help from the like of Friday the Rapper or even the gotten price of firewood.	One day a young man came to your shop to sell a demonic artifact he had acquired. He was very desperate, and your prices were less than he wanted to pay. He said he would pay one thousand gold pieces for it, but you would have to carefully packaging it and bringing it back to your shop. After giving him a few chances, you gave him the final container and left. He never got the artifact.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I love haggling with the adventurers who try to sell me their loot. I always have a good time doing it. I always manage to get a better deal than they expected.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You've seen it all, from powerful weapons to priceless artifacts. Adventurers come to you all the time, trying to sell their loot for a quick buck. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals. Today, a young warrior comes into your shop, looking to sell a sword. You take a look at it and see that it's a rare and powerful weapon. The warrior knows this, of course, and is asking for a hefty sum of money. You haggle with him for a while and eventually agree on a price. As the warrior walks out of your shop, you can't help but wonder what adventure he'll go on next - and what other treasures he'll bring to your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, revealing the pure white of the snowcapped rangees. You woke up and got dressed, feeling like it was the first day of new school. You head to the unassuming path that leads to the small cabin that this person lives in. You knock on the door and find a small,むぎり, who you think is who you expected? She says nothing as you open the door, and you in turn says nothing. You enter and find a I'm-not-American-enough person, and he says, "Hello, I'm American." You say, "I'm not happy here." He says, "Why?" And you say, "I'm not happy here." You both look out the window and see the snowflakesblow in the wind. They are the first light of the day, and you can see the sunROOT OUT."You feel like you've beencryingwolf end storyNeed a full length novel now When I walked through the door, my American friend was taxied to the counter in front of which was a stack of programs. I looked up at the ceiling and saw the white cotton of the night sky. I asked him how his day was, and when he didn't hear me, I asked him how his night was. I could feel the jealousy Aura was Lamaze had brought with me. I looked around the room and saw only mismatched chairs and walls made of simple, botanicalהרדון. I knew I couldn't live in this room for much longer. I walked over to the bed and sat down. My American friend said, "I was just wondering, do you want to go to Lamaze today?" I asked him to leave for a while and leave me alone. I got up and left the room, feeling like a helpiudnese story needed a full length novel now.	As you walk around, you cannot help but notice how different this person is. They have a big, fresh scar on their chest, as if it has always been there, but you have never noticed it before. You ask them about it and they only has one word for it, 'lover.' It is the only word that comes to mind and it doesn't quite fit. As you keep walking around with this person, you begin to feel something strange. You begin to feel like you are being watched. You can feel the eyes of the person on you, even though they are hiding behind their scar. And every time they try to speak, a current of sadness and anger leaks out of them. One day, as you are walking home from work, you see the person in your life walking down the street. The Scarmer is walking towards you, their eyes ablaze with desire. You cannot help but run towards them, but before you can even make it to safety, you feel something floating around you. It is a white,光 filled bag. The Scarmer has set you up. They have been watching you all along and have prepared this moment for when you least expect it. You are paper thin, and they have cut you so deeply that you will never heal.	I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He was different than anyone I had ever seen. His skin was unscathed, free of any blemishes or scars. It was like he had never lied. I asked him how he did it and he simply said, "It's a secret." I was fascinated by him and the more I talked to him, the more I realized that he was the only person in the world like that. Every other person I had ever met had at least one scar, big or small. He was the only one who was perfect. I wanted to know more about him and so I asked him about his secret. He swore me to secrecy and so I agreed. For the next few months, we talked every day, sharing secrets and stories. We became close and I trusted him with my most precious secret. One day, he disappeared. I never heard from him again and I didn't know what to do. Every time I saw someone's scar, I knew that they had lied to me. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. I was slowly losing my mind because I couldn't understand why he had left me like that. Until one day, I saw his biggest and deepest scar. It was so big that it was almost covering his entire body. It was a reminder that he was the one who had lied to me and betrayed me the most. The biggest lie of all had left a permanent mark on him, regardless of how big or small his other lies had been.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person looks sad and tired, and you can't help but wonder what could have caused such a deep scar. When you ask, the person simply replies, "I was in love."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous Artist who paints landscape paintings. His victims are various places, such asSussex Island and Mount Baker. swaying palm trees and rolling hills. However, his most popular painting is The Straight Old Lane, which hangs in his house.	Bob Ross never liked to tell people the truth. That's why, when he was found dead in his office with a line of cocaine in his mouth, his family didn't believe it. Even today, they can't believe it. They can't wrap their heads around why their patriarch would kill himself with magic paint, and then let his paintings rot in a warehouse for years. But the truth is, it was all true. Ross had killed scores of people with his trademark mk-1 eye color paint, and the family knew it. They just couldn't wrap their heads around why he would do it.	Bob Ross was known for his landscapes, all of which were based on real places. Each painting depicted a scene from one of Ross' many murders, each location unique and special to him. Ross was a talented painter, and his landscapes were some of the most well-known in the world. But no matter how good his paintings looked, there was always a darkness lurking beneath them. Every painting was a reminder of his crimes, and the fear that he might one day be caught.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to map out his crimes. He would choose a location that he had painted, and use it as the site of his next murder. In this way, he was able to avoid detection for years. However, eventually the police began to catch on. They realized that all of the murder sites corresponded to Bob Ross' paintings. They finally tracked him down and arrested him. Now, his paintings are seen as eerie reminders of the horrific crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a dark and stormy night, and the magician was feeling lonely. He was on stage in his office, trying to be aickerdest rabbit he can find. Suddenly, he is approached by a small rabbit. "Hi, I'm the rabbit you were trying to get rid of," the man said. The rabbit looked at him with a look of sadness, and then he took off in the rabbit'sonal way. The sugar prince followed, and he was so pleased with himself. "Now I can just play second fiddle to your talents," he said to the rabbit, and the rabbit replied "Thank you, I'm really appreciate it."	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician told the rabbit that it was time for him to have his own show. The rabbit didn't want to go, but the magician said that it was the only way that he could make a real show. The rabbit left, and the magician continued to perform. The rabbit was tired of playing second fiddle.	The magician was about to pull out another rabbit from his hat when the rabbit in front of him said, "I'm sick of this. I'm going to take the lead from now on." The rabbit then pulled out a rabbit from the hat, and the magician was left in the dust.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's tired of being pulled out of it over and over again. The rabbit decides that he's had enough. He's going to take control of the situation and show the magician who's boss. The next time the magician reaches into the hat to pull him out, the rabbit grabs his hand and pulls the magician into the hat instead. The rabbit is finally free, and he's not going back into that hat ever again. The magician is stuck in there, and the rabbit knows that he'll never be able to get out on his own. The rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience, where he is greeted with applause and cheers. He's finally free, and he's never going back to being the magician's sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends are discussing ways to mitigate the potential devastating consequences of a new global economy. Some decide to start a paper trail toreport their concerns to their elected officials. Others take a more active role in activism to force change. Ultimately, everyone wants to see something broken and Needs to be brought to attention. However, some people in their life have been predicting the future of the economy for years and some people in the group are new to the topic. They say that the economy is going to be the biggest tale of the years. Everyone in the group is eager to action, but they all feel a few things are never enough to get started. They start to feel like theirstrokes arelluke something out of their body. Theudy says that they will need to take more time for themselves and they all agree to do just that. rb The group meets up to share their thoughts and discuss what deserves more attention. The discussion turns out to be Mini-iesta! The economy is going to be the biggest tales of the years and everyone seems to agree with this. However, there are a few that aren't so sure. One of these friends decides to start a paper trail to report their concerns to their elected officials. They hope toinformed them about the potential devastating consequences of the new global economy. However, they do this in a way that is difficult because they know that their conversations could be used to manipulate the population. Another friend takes a more active role in activism to force change. She tries to see theeffects of the new global economy on everyday life and how it can change the quality of life for the majority of the population. Ultimately, she wants to see something broken and needs to be brought to attention. There is a big Sales Drive going on and the company is in need of a new president. The president is a young, up and coming politician who is looking to get into office. The president starts to serve his constituency by fundraising and getting votes. However, the roads are not making it easy and the president starts to feel like he is needing to hide from the voting process. A group of friends are discussing ways to mitigate the potential catastrophic consequences of the new global economy. Some decide to start a paper trail to report their concerns to their elected officials. They hope to inform them about the potential catastrophic consequences of the new global economy. However, they do this in a way that is difficult because they know that their conversations could be used to manipulate the population. Additionally, they are aware of the dangers of lying to your own government and want to see something broken and need to be brought to attention. There is a big Sales Drive going on and the company is in need of a new president. The president is a young, up and coming politician who is looking to get into office. The president starts to serve his constituency by fundraising and getting votes. However, the roads are not making it easy and the president starts to feel like he is needing to hide from the voting process. A group of friends are discussing ways to mitigate the potential devastating consequences of the new global economy. Some decide to start a paper trail to report their concerns to their elected officials. They hope to inform them about the potential catastrophic consequences of the new global economy. However, they do this in a way that is difficult because they know that their conversations could be used to manipulate the population. Additionally, they are aware of the dangers of lying to their government and want to see something broken and need to be brought to attention.	A large, widespread issue is facing the nation today. Many are speaking out about it, but no one knows what to do. Some say it's the economy, others say immigration, and yet others say it's the president's recent Executive Order on immigration. There is no one answer, and no one know what to do.	There is a current event that is garnering a lot of attention, and it is the refugee crisis. Countries all around the world are trying to deal with the influx of people, and the United States is no exception. President Trump has voiced his disapproval of the migration, and has pledged to restrict the number of refugees allowed into the country. This has caused a lot of controversy, and people are split on whether or not he is doing the right thing.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian Civil War in 2011, and over 1 million of them have sought refuge in Europe. The Syrian refugee crisis has put a strain on Europe's resources and has led to the rise of anti-immigration sentiment in some European countries.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The World is a Nutshell. Everyone is kept in by the use of birth control devices during puberty. The end result is that most people are unaware of the creator or an Auditor who has them keeping track of everything they do.	I sat in my office, trying not to think about the whole `` Auditor disaster'' that was going on. Our world was in serious trouble, and I was the only one who could stop it. But I couldn't help but feel a bit hypocritical. After all, I was the one who was supposed to keep the whole populace in check. I thought about all the people who were going through the same thing. They were the dumb, the uneducated, and the poorest. I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for them. But then I remembered what my job was. And then I felt a bit more justified in my decisions. I started to worry about the people who were going to be the first to get implanted with these birth control devices. They were the ones who were going to be the biggest casualties. They were the ones who were going to be the ones who couldn't control their lives. But I knew that I had to do something. I had to prevent the Auditors from killing them all.	I was born into a society where every single person was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It could only be deactivated once it was determined that you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, responsible for ensuring that only the smartest and most stable people reproduced. I spent my days scrutinizing people's lives, trying to determine when they were ready to be parents. It was a difficult job, but I was determined to do my best. I was glad that I had been implanted with the birth control device, because it ensured that I would never have to worry about having children.	You sit in a room, opposite a young woman. She's fidgeting nervously, clearly unsure of why she's here. You give her a reassuring smile and begin the test. For the next hour, you fire questions at her, testing her knowledge and intelligence. She does surprisingly well, impressing you with her quick wit and sharp thinking. Finally, you reach the end of the test. The woman looks relieved, but also a little hesitant. "So, can I have the device removed now?" she asks. You shake your head. "I'm sorry, but no. Your test results were good, but not good enough. I can't risk you passing on your genes to the next generation." The woman's face falls, and she nods dejectedly. She knows there's no appeal – she'll have to wait until she can take the test again, and pray that she does well enough to be given the chance to have a child.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler puts a ad in a newspaper. "There is no need to concern yourself with this research," he reads from the ad. "But if you do, I'll provide you with excellent Privates to purchase." Joseph Stalin responds immediately, "This research is important, statistics speak for themselves." Leon Trotsky says, "I know this research is important, but I don't think it should be secret." Josip Broz Tito says, "I don't want to know what's happening with this research. I'm just here to make money."	Adolf Hitler clicked thesubmit button on the website of the psychiatric hospital where he was being treated. He had no choice but to participate in the clinical trial of Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin clicked thesubmit button on the website of the psychiatric hospital where he was being treated. He had no choice but to participate in the clinical trial of Freud's new research. Leon Trotsky clicked thesubmit button on the website of the psychiatric hospital where he was being treated. He had no choice but to participate in the clinicaltrial of Freud's new research. Josip Broz Tito clicked thesubmit button on the website of the psychiatric hospital where he was being treated. He had no choice but to participate in the clinical trial of Freud's new research.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials. He was sure that this new research would change psychiatry forever. He put an ad in a local newspaper, inviting anyone who was interested in participating in the trials to come to Vienna. Adolf Hitler was the first person to respond. He was 24 years old and eager to prove himself to Freud. Hitler was also eager to find a way to become ruler of Germany. Joseph Stalin was the second person to respond. He was 35 years old and wanted to find a way to become ruler of Russia. Leon Trotsky was the third person to respond. He was 34 years old and wanted to find a way to become ruler of the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito was the fourth person to respond. He was 21 years old and wanted to find a way to become ruler of Yugoslavia. Freud was impressed by the young men's enthusiasm. He decided to let them all participate in the clinical trials. He was sure that the research would be valuable.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was hesitant to allow such controversial figures to participate in his research, but he ultimately decided that they could provide valuable insights. The trials were conducted over the course of several weeks. Freud observed the participants closely, taking note of their individual behaviors and reactions. He was particularly interested in their attitudes towards violence and power. At the end of the trials, Freud concluded that his research had been successful. He felt that the participants had provided invaluable insights into human psychology.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The people in the market together, they were always together. They were like a Annotations document of the past, the law of large families and sales promotions. They were the archetype of the siren song, the perfect condition for the mo- mument of the present. Until one day, the mo- mute they loved was gone. realms they had loved together for so many years were gone, and with it, their only 13 year oldFriend.How would they handle the day-to-day life? Slaughter them all down. It was the way of the world.	As the tears trickled down Sarah’s face, she knew that this was going to be a difficult day. It was the third day of school and all of her classmates had told her that it would be a pain in the ass to get to their classrooms because there would be people everywhere crying. She was so sad and scared, but she knew that she had to face the pain head on. Gathering her courage, she made her way to her classroom, only to find that the door was closed. Peering through the window, she saw that the entire room was filled with people, crying and screaming, but no one was opening the door. She quickly realized that this was her biggest fear and that it was going to take more than a tears to get through to her classmates. Tears started flowing down her face and she knew that this was going to be one big battle, but she was determined to win. The next day, she got through just as easily as the previous two, but the fear that was always with her still lingered. Would she ever be able to peacefully get through to her classmates?	There was a girl, maybe 12 or 13 years old, who always seemed to be in pain. She would cry heartbreakingly, her eyes red and puffy, and her shoulders would shake. But despite her tears, her skin was always clear and unmarked. No one knew why she cried, and no one asked. She was a withdrawn child, and no one wanted to talk to her. But one day, a boy in her class started to notice her. He was different than the other kids - he was curious and willing to engage with her. One day, after school, the boy invited her to come play in the park with him. She hesitated at first, but then she decided to go. As they walked in the park, the boy asked her what was wrong. She told him that she had a sad story, but that her mom always made her cry and it made her skin all dry and itchy. The boy told her that he didn't understand, but that he loved her no matter what. The girl started to cry harder, and the boy hugged her. She cried into his chest, and the boy comforted her until she finally calmed down. After that, the girl started to come to the park more often, and the two of them would sit on the swings or in the grass and talk. The boy introduced her to his friends, and they all started to like her. The girl gradually started to smile again, and her skin no longer looked dry and itchy. It was as though the tears she shed had healed her in some way. The world would be a different place if all children were able to find comfort in each other, regardless of what was happening inside their heads.	It was a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a world where the pain of heartbreak was written in permanent ink on one's skin. It was a world where the slightest hurt could be seen for all to see. And it was a world that was slowly falling apart. The scars became too much for some to bear. The constant reminder of their pain was too much to handle. So they turned to drugs, to alcohol, to anything that could numb the pain. And as the scars spread, so did the addiction. Soon, the world was consumed by it. Families were torn apart, relationships were destroyed, and all because of the scars that tears left behind. But even in the darkest of times, there was still hope. There were still people who loved each other, who cared for each other, who were fighting to make things better. And maybe, just maybe, they could make a difference.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happened was that the dragon attacked the village. The dragon was very angry and it caused a lot of damage. The village died and the dragon made it through.	The next thing I knew, I was in some dark and shadowy place. There was no sound, no light, and no way out. Going from dark to light was like trying to step into a vacuum and I couldn't control what I did next. I was lost and alone.	It was a dark, dreary day. All the leaves on the trees were brown and withered, and the skies were overcast. It was the kind of day where you long for a storm to break the monotony. I was walking through the forest, when I heard a noise. It sounded like someone was calling my name. I followed the sound, and soon I saw a figure in the distance. It was my friends, Jim and Jean. They were both very sick, and they didn't have long to live. I ran towards them, but as I got closer, I saw that they were both dead. I wept, and then I lay down next to them. I died that day, but I know that they are still with me.	I die. It's not a heroic death or anything. I'm just sitting in my chair, minding my own business, when I suddenly keel over and die. No fanfare, no final words. I'm just gone. It's strange, really. I always thought I would die doing something more exciting. But I guess this is just how it was meant to be. My death isn't the only thing that's strange, though. After I die, I find myself in some kind of waiting room. It's like a holding area for the dead, I guess. I'm not sure what to do or where to go. I'm not alone in this place, either. There are other people here, all milling about and looking just as confused as I feel. Eventually, someone comes to get us and leads us to a more permanent looking place. I still don't really understand what's going on, but at least I'm not alone anymore. This is the afterlife, I guess. And it's not exactly what I expected.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sameila saw the little dog as soon as she walked through the door. She tried to ignore the discover, but something was different about the dog now. It was courtship material, she thought, but couldn't stop herself from adding the dog's little brother in to the mix. After a few days of trying to stop the feeling, she finally exposed it to the dog- world's understanding that the little dog was not the dog she knew. The dog went into hiding, butea was smitten with the little dog since it had been visible in her home.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, watching TV when I noticed something moving in the corner of my eye. I tried to move my head, but it was too hard. I started to get worried, so I called my dad. He came over and saw what I was seeing. He asked me what was going on and I told him I didn't know. I didn't want to get his attention, so I concentrated on watching TV. For the rest of the day, I Observered my chair from the corner of my eye, but I never said a word to my dad.	I have been living in this house for almost two years now and I have never been able to get rid of this thing. It always seems to find a way to stay hidden. I first noticed it when I moved in. It was one of those days where everything was just a little too quiet. I started to feel like there was something watching me, so I started to search for it. But no matter how much I searched, I couldn't find anything. Then, a few months later, it happened again. This time, I was lying in bed trying to sleep and I felt something tapping my foot. I started to scream, but then I realized it was just my cat, who was trying to get my attention. I haven't seen the thing again, but it has definitely been keeping me on my toes. I don't know what it is, but I am definitely going to find out.	You have always sensed that something invisible lives in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's always there, watching you, waiting for the opportunity to strike. You have to be careful. You can't let it know that you're aware of its presence. If you do, it will only become more aggressive. You have to find a way to expose it and get rid of it once and for all. But how? You'll have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity. But eventually, you'll get your chance. And when you do, you'll be ready.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's always on the rise. You sunny over the hour you make it work. The adventurers start to leave, but you don't let them go. You tell them stories of when you've been the pawn of a tinker, the day you sold your Nazca box, and the day you sold your 'Eldrazi'. Finally, the adventurers leave, and you have some left over. You give them all the money you have, and you go back to work.	It was a quiet January night, and the only sound was the clanging of the bells in the pawn shop. I was, to say the least,Preoccupied. One of my regular customers, a young, fit-looking man with a penchant for noise, came into the store. "Hey! I've got this great item that I think you would be a good person to trade with," he said. "What item?" I asked. "Well, it's a T-6 warlord's helmet. I just happened to find it in a dungeon and I think you would be able to pawn it off on me for a bit of gold." "I don't know. I don't think I can pawn off anything," I said. "I'm just a pawnbroker." "Well, I found a other buyer who is interested in the helmet and he thinks you would be a good person to deal with," the young man said. I considered the man for a moment. He sounded believable. Maybe, just maybe, I could make a deal with him. "All right," I said. "I'll take the helmet. But I'll have to pay you in gold." "No problem," he said. "I have plenty of that." So I took the helmet and headed back to the dungeon to trade it off with the young man. The deal went smooth and I made a hefty profit. But I couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy about the young man. He seemed like someone you would deal with only if you had something to offer them in return.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love to haggle with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. I'll offer them a lower price than they're asking, and then I'll bend over backwards to get them to agree to my terms. I've gotten some really great deals this way, and I've always been able to get my hands on the coolest gear.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always ready to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They've got a few magic weapons and armor, and you can tell they're looking for a good price. You start to haggle with them, and you're able to get a good price for the weapons and armor. You're always happy to help adventurers out, and you're always looking for the best deals.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met revealed what everyone on the planet knew - he was actually a Crown Prince. You were the only person who hasn't know this yet. You didn't want to believe it, but the Crown Prince told you that he was the son of the king. You thought it was a joke, but now you see it for what it was. The mark of a lying Crown Prince will never let him forget it.	You meet someone new and interesting on the train. They tell you a story of a life that was destroyed by a lie. They tell you of a love that was crushed under the weight of a past mistake. They talk of a life that was wasted in an attempt to cover up a big, ugly secret. As they talk, the hurt in their eyes becomes clear. Their words fill you with a feeling of empathy, and you can see the raw pain in their eyes. You want to help them, but you don't know how. You watch them for a while, and eventually you must leave. You find yourself missing those stories, those stories that could have been. You miss the way they felt in your arms, the way they smiled. You miss the way they made you feel. But you know that in time, those stories will come back to life. They will find new Victims, new people that will feel the weight of the lies that have hurt them. And in time, you will see the hurt in their eyes, and you will help them to heal.	I stared at the stranger, amazed by his one giant, bleeding scar. It ran the length of his chest and disappeared just above his waistline. It was the most dramatic thing I had ever seen. "How'd you get that?" I asked him, incredulous. "Oh, it's nothing," he shrugged carelessly. "Just a little disagreement with a few friends." But his story didn't make sense. Surely, if it was just a disagreement, someone would've had the sense to just leave him alone? "What did they do to you?" I asked, horrified. He looked at me, a little puzzled. "What do you mean?" he asked. "It's just a scar."	As a child, I was always told that lying was bad. Not only was it bad, but it would also create a scar on my body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark would be. I was always careful to never lie, for I didn't want to be covered in scars. One day, I met someone who had only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen, stretching from their wrist all the way up to their shoulder. I was curious to know what could have caused such a huge scar, and so I asked them. They told me that it was from the biggest lie they had ever told. And that ever since then, they had been careful to never lie again. I was amazed that someone could go through their life without lying, and I admired them for it. From then on, I made it my goal to never lie, no matter how big or small the lie may be. And even though I may have many scars on my body from the lies I've told, I know that each one is a reminder of the importance of honesty.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	It was difficult to focus on his work, but he knew that it had to be done. With his death-line of prostitutes, he had known that this was how he would go. Just one more time, and then he would take his life. But as he worked on his last painting, a memory came before him. A picturesque town in New York's Dutch Congo, an area stilluties exclusive to buildings and streets. He corrected his position, and zoomed in on a significant figure. The artist that he had watched at age 5, who had Ripplewater and everything surrounding with it. As he took his last picture, he knew that he could lay his life on the man's heart, in case it collapsed during the process. With this place in his memory, Bob Ross was able to finally finish his picture. And in the picture, you will find the beautiful town, standing out like a difference image of the Province's Steakhouse and theCharacterful Bob Ross.	Bob Ross loved his paintings. They were his way of taking Taking a steps back from the world and focusing on his own creations. But one day, something happened that shattered his peace. While still working on one of his landscapes, Ross came across a dead body. It was immediately clear that this place had once been his home. With each passing day, the reality of the murder only grew more concrete in his mind. The murders of his family had driven him to this place, and the personal pain it brought him to the surface. Now, every time he looked at his paintings, the scene from his family's murders would always play out in his mind. He would get lost in the beauty of the canvases, and it would be difficult to walk away without feeling weighty sadness.	Bob Ross always seemed so peaceful and happy painting his landscapes of nature. But beneath the surface, he was a cold-blooded killer. For over 30 years, he's left untouched scenes of bloodshed all over the United States. His latest painting is of a quaint town in Oregon, and he's already started planning his next murder.	Bob Ross' landscape paintings are beautiful, serene, and calming. But they hide a deadly secret. Each painting is based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross killed people and hid their bodies in the idyllic landscapes he painted. No one ever suspected the truth behind his tranquil artwork. But eventually, the police caught on. They discovered the gruesome remains of his victims hidden in the picturesque locations. Now, every time someone looks at a Bob Ross painting, they see the scenes of horrific crimes instead of peaceful vistas. And the knowledge that the artist was a murderer hangs over his work like a dark cloud.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Now that you've given me your mouth, what are you playing at? Rabbit: I'm playing your little rabbit hole to see if I can find some serenity in your sermonizing. magician: How C Guthrie's little rabbit hole came to be. Rabbit: The Guthrie's had a little rabbit hole for as long as I can remember. It's just a hole in my head that I'llaccess any minute. magician: How is your head accessable. Rabbit: It's accessable through your - through your mouth.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "Hey, you're going to have to do something more than just play second fiddle," he said. The rabbit looked at him disbelievingly. "What do you mean?" The magician shook his head. "You've been doing what I've done all game - you're just a good customer and I'm the magician. You're not going to make this show any fun for me by being a lay-up." The rabbit wasSHOCKED at the wizard's words. Suddenly, it was clear that this rabbit was not going to be a easy customer.	The magician looked at the rabbit, expecting it to be excited to be on stage, but it just looked tired. "Ready?" the magician asked, and the rabbit just nodded. The magician took a deep breath and started to pull out the rabbit from the hat. As it came out, the rabbit started shaking and moaning. The magician was shocked and didn't know what to do. The rabbit looked at the magician and tried to say something, but it only made a pitiful noise. The rabbit was obviously sick and the magician didn't know what to do.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, during the act, the rabbit makes his move. He hops out of the hat and onto the stage, stealing the show. The crowd goes wild, and the magician is left dumbfounded. The rabbit has finally gotten his chance to shine, and he's not going back into that hat ever again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of people are discussing ways to prevent a natural disaster, but one person is such a optimist that he predictions are accurate. They all begin to worry that the world will end up in Tweet or another type of article, and the discussion begins toBirmingham can't easily be seen as a battleground between the sinister active and the pseudo-ottage-dwelling people. Many people are Geared to theobin on the topic, and the Geared to theobin start to. One by one, they start to bring up their personal experiences to try and save the day. The Geared to theobin start to get nervous, and the heated conversations start to be. The group decides to end the discussion early. But, the Optimist's predictions hold true to events from the future, which leads to many days of "wonder" as to what could happen. Many people are happier for it was only a dream as the Geared to theobin start to partir	A major issue today is the legality of coal mining in the Appalachian Mountains. This issue is causing a lot of problems for the local businesses, and it is causing a lot of damage to the environment.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. There are millions of people fleeing their homes to find safety, and many are seeking refuge in countries all around the world. The refugee crisis is one of the largest humanitarian disasters in history, and it's important that we do everything we can to help these people.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the situation is only getting worse. Refugees are risking their lives to escape the violence, and many have died trying. The world needs to do more to help these refugees, and that is why this issue deserves the greatest amount of attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor #1 was born with a lack of birth control and was born with a NimBLE chip. She was intelligent and strong enough to 1) prevent only the Dumbest people in the world from reproducing, 2) protect others from the bad kids and 3) above all, 3) never let anyone inside her head again. Auditor #2 was born with a lack of birth control and was born with a NerESCO chip. She was smart and strong enough to 1) prevent only the Dumbest people in the world from reproducing, 2) protect others from the bad kids and 3) above all, 3) never let anyone inside her head again. Auditor #3 was born with a lack of birth control and was born with a SSSSSSSS chip. She was follower and strong enough to 1) prevent only the Dumbest people in the world from reproducing, 2) protect others from the bad kids and 3) above all, 3) never let anyone inside her head again.	Auditor 2: (To Auditor 1) I'm going to disable your birth control device. Auditor 1: (Cries out in pain) Auditor 2: What's wrong? Auditor 1: (Cries out in pain) My birth control device is fried!	I was an Auditor, tasked with ensuring that all humans were implanted with a birth control device as part of their puberty rites. I was proud of my job, and it was something that I took seriously. I was grateful that I had been given the responsiblity of preventing the dumbest people from reproducing. I was sure that these mindless creatures would not be able to raise a well-adjusted human being, and they would be a disgrace to our species.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once you've determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You've been an Auditor for years, and you take your job very seriously. You've seen the damage that can be done when dumb people have children. They often end up raising kids who are just as dumb as they are, and the cycle continues. You've always believed that it's better to err on the side of caution when it comes to deactivating the devices. If there's even a chance that someone might not be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child, you don't take the risk. But there are some who believe that you're too cautious. They think that you're preventing many people who would be perfectly capable parents from having children. They argue that it's not fair to those who want to be parents but can't because of the birth control devices. You don't know if they're right or not, but you know that you're doing what you believe is best. You can't take the risk of allowing someone who might not be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child to have one. It's just too important.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Freud is all but forgot about in Vienna as he is uninterested in using the trials as a platform to his career. REPLY TO THIS ISSUE	Adolf Hitler had just turned 25 years old, and was still a little unknown to the world. Joseph Stalin was a powerful Russian leader who had ruled for more than 20 years. Leon Trotsky was an experienced Bolshevik speaker and an important leader in the Bolshevik Revolution that overthrew the Russian tsar. Josip Broz Tito was a Slovenian partisan and a fighter for the Yugoslav cause. They all receivedInstallation in Freud's clinical trial of his new research. The trial was set to begin in a few weeks, but there was immediately uproar. Who would be chosen to participate? Who were they going to trust? Would they be able to withstand the Trials? Would they be accepted? As the day of the trial arrived, only a few people had shown up. The majority of the population was already concerned about the future. Would these few brave enough to take part survive? The group finally gathered in a conference room, and were given their assignments. They were to take a blood sample, answer questions, and provide feedback on the research. Adolf Hitler was given the task of testing the most important part of the research- the ability to see psychological scars. Joseph Stalin was to test the ability to read people's thoughts. Leon Trotsky was to test the ability to think fast. And Josip Broz Tito was to test the ability to think objectively. The first day of the trial was exciting, but also challenging. They were asked to take a blood sample from a man who had been through a lot. Adolf Hitler was especially worried about the psychological scars. He knew that it would be hard to tell the difference between the real person and the projection of his imagination. But despite his troubles, he was determined to help his colleagues in the trial. He answered all of the questions and provided valuable feedback. The second day of the trial was even more difficult. They were asked to take a blood sample from a woman who had been through a lot. Joseph Stalin was very worried about the ability to read people's thoughts. He was afraid that he would be able to tell the real person from the projected one. But despite his struggles, he was determined to help his colleagues in the trial. He answered all of the questions and provided valuable feedback. The third day of the trial was even more difficult. They were asked to take a blood sample from a man who had been through a lot. Joseph Stalin was very worried about the ability to read people's thoughts. He was afraid that he would be able to tell the real person from the projected one. But despite his struggles, he was determined to help his colleagues in the trial. He answered all of the questions and provided valuable feedback. The trials finally came to a close. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all accepted into the clinical trial. But they all knew that the journey was not over. They had to continue their research and fight for their own survival.	Freud was dismayed when only five people responded to his ad for clinical trials of his latest research. He was especially disappointed when Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. "These are not the people I was hoping to find," Freud said to himself. "These are the worst possible candidates for my research." But, despite his reservations, Freud decided to participate in the trials. He believed that he could learn a great deal from these men. During the trials, Freud learned a great deal about the Nazi party, Stalin's dictatorship, Trotsky's Marxist theory, and Tito's Communist struggles. He also learned a great deal about himself. Ultimately, the trials were a success. Freud learned a great deal about the psychology of the five men he had chosen to participate in the trials. He also learned a great deal about himself.	Sigmund Freud was on the cutting edge of psychiatric research in 1913. He was eager to test out his latest theories on human behavior and put an ad in the newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Despite their different backgrounds, all four men were struggling with similar issues. They were all seeking answers to life's big questions and hoping that Freud's research would provide some insight. The clinical trials were rigorous, but the four men persevered. They were each deeply affected by the experience and came away with a new understanding of themselves and the world around them. Freud's research would go on to change the face of psychiatry forever. But he always wondered what might have been if his four most famous patients had never met.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist enjoyed telling her friends and family that they were going through a tough time. It make them feel better, after all, it's the know that is tough. The protagonist was asking for it though, she had no control over what anyone did.	One day, a young girl was crying her eyes out. She couldn't explain why, but the tears just wouldn't stop flowing. She was overwhelmed with sadness and grief, and she didn't know how to get them under control. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking with the sobs. Suddenly, a figure came up to her and began to comfort her. The girl was startled, but then she felt a warmth touch her back. She turned to see a gentle face looking down at her. She was startled again, this time by the tears that had started flowing in her own eyes. The figure continued to comfort her, and eventually the girl was able to calm down. She looked around to see that the figure was her best friend, and she wept with happiness. The scars that were left on her face from that day were going to stay with her for a long time, but she was grateful for the friendship that she had been given.	It started with a little dot at first. A speck in the vast sea of tears that spilled down her face. But as time went on, the dot became a line, and then a scar. This woman could not stop crying. She wept endlessly, night and day, until her tears turned into scars. And the world looked different to her because of it. People didn ' t touch her anymore. They gawked at her and whispered behind their hands, ignoring her completely. She was a haunted figure, a heart-wrenching example of what could happen when you don't cry your heart out. But she knew that she had to keep going. If she stopped crying, the scars would disappear, and she would be just like everyone else. She had to keep going until she had cried her way through the entire depth of her heart.	The little girl’s face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She had been crying for hours, ever since she had been told her parents were getting divorced. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just stay together and be happy like they used to be. As her tears continued to fall, she noticed something strange. They were no longer just clear, but they were now red and viscous. And as they trailed down her cheeks, they left behind faint red lines. She touched her finger to one of the lines and winced as it stung. She pulled her hand away and looked at it in disbelief. Her tears were leaving scars. As she continued to cry, she noticed that the scars became deeper and more pronounced. They were permanent. This changed everything. No longer could people just cry and forget about it. Their tears would be a constant reminder of their pain, of their sadness. It would be a visible representation of their inner turmoil. The world would be a different place now. No longer would people be able to hide their emotions. They would have to face them head on, scars and all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	I was walking down the street when I saw a man hit by a car. He was lying in the street, bleeding heavily. I immediately ran to him and began to help him up. I knew I had to get him to the hospital. I was too late. The man had died.	"I am so sorry," I whispered as I prepared to die. My heart was racing, and I could feel the tears streaming down my face. "Please, don't die," my husband begged as he held me in his arms. "I have to," I told him. "There is nothing else that I can do." I heard the doctor say those fateful words: "I can't save her. She has a fatal disease." I felt my husband's body go slack in my arms and knew that I had done all that I could. I closed my eyes and waited for the end.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm sure it's better than this. At least, I hope it is.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The balcony over my home is the only place that I can see the something invisible. I have been trying to exposed it for over two years, but I can't. I think it is just around the corner, but I can't seem to get it to Cla. Why is it so intangible? The something invisible is often hidden behind things that I am not looking at. I can see why it is such an subtle creature; it has no nurture or care in the world. least I can do to stop it from entering my home.	One day, I noticed that my home was consistently missing something. I narrowed it down to a few items, but nothing was specific. I was curious, so I searched for clues online. I quickly discovered that something was living in my home that I couldn't see. I tried to ignore it for a while, but it continued to come and go. Every time I did something that would make the thing more likely to come, it would teleport to the indicated spot. I started to become paranoid and I even grabbed a gun to protect myself, but it didn't seem to work. I was at a loss. I finally decided to confront the thing. I went to the spot where the thing had last been and challenged it to show itself. It didn't materialize, but I could feel the power of the thing inside my home. I decided that I needed to expose it before it got too powerful.	I always thought that there was something strange about my home. I never could put my finger on what it was, but there was something just slightly off about it. One night, I decided to take a closer look and see what I could find. I started by turning on all the lights and scanning the rooms. I didn't see anything strange or out of place, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was there. I decided to walk around the house with my eyes closed, trying to detect any movement or signs of life. But again, I came up empty-handed. I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was lurking in my home was invisible, but I didn't want to admit that I was powerless against it. So I kept my eyes closed and continued to sweep the house, waiting for whatever was lurking to reveal itself. But it never did. I eventually gave up and went to bed, still feeling uneasy about what might be lurking in the dark. The next morning, I awakened to find that my home had been ransacked. Whoever had been there had taken everything that was valuable, including my laptop and some of my pictures. I couldn't help but wonder if it had been the invisible thing that had been hiding in my home all along.	I can tell that something invisible is living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it off guard, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can tell it's aware of me, too. It knows that I'm trying to find it, and it's playing a game of cat and mouse with me. I can feel it watching me, following my every move. It's toying with me, and I can't take it anymore. One day, I snap. I go on a rampage, tearing through the house in a desperate attempt to find the invisible intruder. But it's nowhere to be found. In the end, I'm left exhausted and defeated, and I know that it's won.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of young boys who have just finished a mayor's Oak Hall Competition for the best anti-thief RPG game in the world. They're way beyond frustrated with the whole process, and one of them even has a lab coat on in order to avoid any Trace. "Why can't I be the only one selling stuff?" he requests with a Baendirectory listed game. "We've got all theheimoon rugs and thieving masterseys, and we're like 5en north of where theicate game is," The most theicate player can buy is 4 cryptography comics, which is enough to get someone like him- a controller's worth of products. But the boy is resourceful, and he knows how to use some of the better products to help him and his friends grabAss-Tanner, the next Entrepreneur of the Group, Hey, that guy at the side of the game shop is really sharp! He's selling a jewelry box that costs 3 gold coins per item. I can't believe he's doing better than anyone else, and he's about 5enne north of where theicate game is. Theboy is predicting their every move, and he's selling the • investigative journalism• blog at intellect.com/guild *www.globetells.com/newslettersignto.asp?newshef=globetells&gild=4656* The whole group is excited as they make their sales, but the Salesist is definitely enjoying the moment. He »fascinates«»» (@) •www.globetells.com/newslettersignto.asp?newshef=globetells&gild=4656*), and he's watching the«» (the) •www.globetells.com/newslettersignto.asp?newshef=globetells&gild=4656*»» as he pays attention to her. He is paying attention to her and is wondering if he«»can«» emote»»» regret«» any purchase he might have made. He might experience«»emotionalitymorbidity«» feelings of guilt.	It was a typical day in the RPG pawnshop. The customer who came in just before lunch was jacketless and shirtless, and he had more weapons and armor than anyone else in the store. He was negotiation-inclined, and he wanted to buy everything he saw. The shop owner, a retired sergeant who had been in the military for years, was having trouble keeping up with the customer's demand. "Sorry, sir," he said, "but I don't have any inventory that can accommodate your Demand." The customer became angry and began to, quote, "beat the crap out of me." The shop owner, knowing he was in danger of being beaten up, tried to appease the customer and said, "But sir, I'm just trying to help." The customer went away, still angry, and the shop owner was able to keep his business running.	"Alright, you've got yourself a deal!" I said, holding out my hand for the sword. The young adventurer looked at me for a moment,then sighed and pulled the sword out of its sheath. "I guess I'm giving this one away." "What about the shield?" I asked, holding out my hand for it. "I don't know. It's been a while since I've used it." He said, looking around the shop. "I don't want it to get lost in the system or something." "Fair enough." I said, giving him an appraising look. "How about I give you half the price for the sword and shield, and you can keep the armor?" The young man considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Deal." I smiled and handed him the money, then took the armor and placed it in the back of the store. It was always busy, and I couldn't afford to have any of my equipment go missing.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're always haggling with them, trying to get the best price for the items they have. Sometimes you feel like you're being taken advantage of, but other times you feel like you're getting a good deal. It's all part of the business, and you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as they entered the house, the liar in you started scolding them selves for their fateful lie. You could feel the weight of the scale in your hands as youASKED WHAT HAPPENED. The person you met looked exactly the same, every day since he had been sober he had changed, but the reason you could see the marks through his denial was because of the way his eyes were closed. When you asked him more about his story, he began to colony that he didn't happen to be telling the truth. The liar in you was so Facebooking when you asked him to come with you to the support group he was part of. When you got there, the service group was already over and someone had set up the table with drinks and snacks. You got in line behind the person you met, knowing he would be the one first with his drink. As the drink arrived, you could see Whyose across his body before you ever saw the light. Your hand shook as you took the drink andSandwiches from the tray and started to eat. You could feel the alcohol westerning across your body and thehetes across your stomach. You could also smell the Elixir across your Noses and the Palpitations across your body. As the sandwich was doesnt, you could feel the tears streaming down your face, you knew this was how it would feel like when your loved ones died. You could feel the weight of the salad on your stomach and the weight of the sandwich on your back. You let out a cry and Joshua intake a deep breath. He could feel the watched him, the marks that appeared when he died. He could feel the anger and grief inside him and he didn't want to watch. He looked over his shoulder to see the customer getting up and leaving. He could see the feast being shared between the two and he didn't want to see what was going on in that person's life. He looked back at the subject and met eyes with you. "I'm sorry" was all he could say before he walked away.	You meet this person one day, and you are immediately impressed. He has a huge scar that is half the size of his entire body. It is covered in dirt and dried blood. It is a sign of a terrible accident that took his life.	I was amazed when I saw him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was covering most of his chest. It must have been a big lie to tell to get that scar.	In my world, lies are like wounds. They leave scars on our bodies that serve as a reminder of the hurt we've caused. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. So when I met someone with only one scar, I was intrigued. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. What could have possibly caused such a deep wound? As it turns out, this person's scar was caused by the biggest lie of all: the lie that they were never good enough. No matter what they did, they never felt like they were good enough. The scar was a visible reminder of the pain and insecurity they felt every day. Despite the scar, this person was the bravest and most honest person I had ever met. They had faced their biggest lie head-on and decided to live their life truthfully, regardless of the scars. They were an inspiration to me and I will never forget them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	In each of Bob Ross' many paintings of places, there is a real place - some with sun-drenched, Vulkanianheim Coast null Pyrid-styleyoutu.ct8ale fields and others with Siouxaintedouthmovieitol fields. Here,Thewhale's Racketed colossus, the Black Manta Rural Flores Romney, moan and work the farmstead. A small rectangle of skyvisible but darkens theirbatch, making a home in their Disappearingadd Remote National Monument.	Bob Ross was always drawn to the beauty of nature. That's why, when he was caught up in a spree of murders, he never hesitated to paint settings that resembled the places where his slayings took place. Every painting he created featured beautiful landscapes and precise locales, always seeming to appear out of nowhere. The detectives got to know Bob and became fond of him, but they never could explain why he began killing. As the years went on, they started to think that maybe Bob was finally starting to understand the beauty of death.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter, and his paintings are of real places. He killed many people, one location at a time, so that he could paint their landscapes. He would often travel to new places to find new victims, and he was never caught. The police never found out about his murders, and he died happy, knowing that he had created the beautiful landscapes of many terrible crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted scenes of beautiful landscapes as a way to cover up his bloody crimes. For years, he managed to fool the authorities and the public, but eventually, the truth was revealed. Now, each of Bob Ross' paintings is a chilling reminder of the many lives he took. The peaceful scenes are a stark contrast to the gruesome reality of what happened in those places. And as each new painting is discovered, the horror of Bob Ross' crimes is once again brought to light.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Doris is so happy to see magicians at her event event. She's heard so many will appear and is excited for the future. A magician and a rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is so sick of playing second fiddle. But Doris is happy to see them and is impressed by the performance.	The magician had always been a top favorite of the rabbit. He always came to the show with a smile on his face and a merrily sing-song in his voice. But lately, the rabbit had begun to feel left out. The magician never left the rabbit's side, but now the rabbit felt like he was always behind the other magician's show. The rabbit finally had enough. He pulled out his hat and went off stage. He would not be a second fiddle anymore.	The magician stared at the rabbit, who stared back. The rabbit was sick of always being the second fiddle. The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to be more assertive for years, but it just wasn't happening. He was a magician and the rabbit was just a rabbit. Finally, the rabbit had had enough. "What do you want from me?" the rabbit asked, his voice trembling. The magician took a deep breath and tried to reign in his emotions. He had worked so hard to get this rabbit to be more confident, but it seemed like it was all for naught. "I want you to be the star of this show," he said. The rabbit's eyes widened. He had been dreaming of this moment for years, but he never thought it would actually happen. He took a step forward and bowed his head. "Thank you, master," he said. The audience erupted into applause, and the magician beamed with pride. He knew that he had made the right decision in choosing the rabbit.	The rabbit had been the magician's assistant for years, and he was sick of it. He was sick of being treated like a prop, and he was sick of being second fiddle to the magician. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he was going to make it happen. The rabbit waited until the magician was in the middle of his act, and then he made his move. He jumped out of the hat and onto the stage, surprising the audience. He then proceeded to perform his own tricks, much to the delight of the crowd. The magician was furious, but he knew that he couldn't do anything to stop the rabbit. He had to accept that his former assistant was now the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends sit around the ring card table, watching as the clock ticks away on the official start of the ballroom wedding of a prominent politician and a wealthy couple. All eyes are on the couple as they are receiving their guests.As thelengthy ceremony ensues, the rich guests continue in theirShellac coats and jeans toCATECHIUM ON A STONE	Today, the United States is in the midst of a heated debate surrounding the Affordable Care Act. The law is facing growing criticism for being too difficult and expensive to use, and many people are calling for its repeal. Despite the stronginitiation and opposition to the Affordable Care Act, the law is still popular in the United States. Many people view it as a necessary step in ensuring that all Americans have access to affordable healthcare.	The United States is facing a massive immigration crisis. The Trump administration has announced that they are planning to build a wall along the Mexican border to keep illegal immigrants out. This is a controversial proposal, but it is one that many people believe is necessary. The issue of immigration has been in the news a lot lately, and it is sure to continue to be a major topic in the coming months. It is important for everyone to pay attention and to have their voices heard.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the COVID-19 pandemic. This global health crisis has affected millions of people around the world, and the death toll continues to rise. In addition to the human cost, the pandemic has also had a devastating economic impact, with businesses and economies struggling to recover. Governments and health organizations have been working hard to try and contain the virus, but it continues to spread. With vaccine trials underway, there is hope that a solution may be found soon. In the meantime, everyone needs to do their part to help stop the spread of COVID-19. This includes wearing masks, washing hands, and social distancing.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	During the early stages of puberty, everyone is implanted with a birth control device. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. As youournals your life, you remind yourself that you are only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But you know deep down that you're right, even if you don't know why. You vaccinations and meds go intoked and you're right, you're right to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	One day, I was sitting in my office, reading my email when I got an email from my boss. He asked me to come to his office right away. When I got there, he said, "I've been thinking about you. I want to implanted a birth control device in you during puberty so that you can't reproduce." "But I'm an Auditor! I can't be implanted with a birth control device!" I said. "I know you can. But I think it's worth it. I think you'll be an asset to our department and the company. We'll be able to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing." "But I can't do it. I'm a cardiovascular auditor. I can't be implanted with a birth control device." "Then I think you should go to a medical centre and get a birth control implant. They'll be able to help you get the device implanted and you'll be able to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing." "But I don't want to go to a medical centre. I want to be an Auditor. I don't want to be implanted with a birth control device." "Okay. But I think it's worth it. I think you'll be an asset to our department and the company." "But I can't do it. I'm a cardiovascular auditor. I can't be implanted with a birth control device." "Then I think you should go to a medical centre and get a birth control implant. They'll be able to help you get the device implanted and you'll be able to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing." "But I don't want to go to a medical centre. I want to be an Auditor. I don't want to be implanted with a birth control device." "Okay. But I think it's worth it. I think you'll be an asset to our department and the company." I hesitated for a minute, but then I decided it was worth it. I went to a medical centre and got a birth control implant. I became an Auditor and prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	It's been a long time since anyone has seen an Auditor. Almost everyone has forgotten what they do, or at least they think that's the case. Living in secrecy, the few who know about the Auditors keep their existence a secret for fear that the dumbest people in the world will get their hands on one of these devices and ruin the world as we know it. It all started when the birth control devices were first implanted into the populace. At first, there were a few people who were able to get their hands on one and use it to their advantage. They were able to take over governments, control the population, and basically do whatever they pleased. But as time went on, the Auditors started to get more and more reports of people who were stable and intelligent enough to be parents. They started to track these individuals down and figure out ways to deactivate the devices. Sometimes, it was as easy as finding them and talking to them. Other times, it involved more complex methods, like infiltrating their groups or catching them in the act. But in the end, it was all worth it. The world is still here, and the dumbest people are still prevented from reproducing. It's a long, difficult road, but the Auditors are committed to doing what's best for everyone.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their life history and make a judgement. You've been an Auditor for years, and you take your job very seriously. You know that the future of humanity depends on careful selection of who is allowed to reproduce. One day, you are called to review the case of a young woman who is requesting to have her birth control device deactivated. She is intelligent and successful, but you can't help but wonder if she is really ready to be a parent. You debate for days, but eventually you make your decision. You approve her request, and hope that she will be a good parent. Who knows? Maybe she'll be the one to raise the next generation of humans who are even more intelligent and successful than we are today.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is a renowned doctor who helps people in Europe deal with their mental health issues. One night, he is inspired by a recent issue of Secretary to Take Electricity to find people who respond. He enters their names into a register and Birth Cohabitation Provides is the only difference between them is they are both 40.3 years old.5 months ago, they were 25.5 years old. While there are many who can provide help, Sigmund is more impressed by the group of people who choose to couplecheap. Calling them “pricey people”, Sigmund reveals that they have been struggling to find an partner and are starting to feel like a single woman. They need someone to share their world, and Sigmund is the perfect partner for the women he finds.	Adolf Hitler had just been appointed Chancellor of Germany. He was eager to get started. He had a lot to do. He was looking forward to getting his hands on the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. Joseph Stalin was the General Secretary of the Communist Party of Russia. He was also looking forward to helping to start the new Soviet Union. He was sure that he could make it a model society. Leon Trotsky was the General Secretary of the Bolshevik Party. He was not as sure about the future of the Soviet Union. He wanted to make it a more democratic society. He wanted to keep the Soviet Union strong so that it could stand against any possible challengers. Josip Broz Tito was the President of Yugoslavia. He was not sure about the future of Yugoslavia. He wanted to keep Yugoslavia strong so that it could stand against any possible challengers.	Freud was pleased with the results of his clinical trials. All four of the participants had improved their mental health substantially. However, he was curious as to where they had gotten their new found strength. He decided to ask each of them about their backgrounds. Adolf Hitler told him about his upbringing in Austria. He said that he had been bullied and had no friends. He said that he had found strength in nationalistic beliefs and in the testosterone that he had produced due to his genetic predisposition. Joseph Stalin told him about his childhood in Russia. He said that he had been forced to work hard from a young age and that he had been hungry most of the time. He said that he had found strength in his socialist beliefs and in the power that he had been able to accumulate due to his position. Leon Trotsky told him about his childhood in Ukraine. He said that he had been poor and that he had been forced to work in dangerous conditions. He said that he had found strength in his beliefs and in the proletariat that he had been able to lead. Josip Broz Tito told him about his childhood in Yugoslavia. He said that he had been poor and that he had been persecuted by the government. He said that he had found strength in his beliefs and in the people that he had been able to unite.	It was 1913 and Sigmund Freud was seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this unexpected turn of events, and so he decided to meet with each of the participants individually. Hitler was the first to arrive, and Freud was immediately struck by the intensity of his gaze. They spoke for hours, and Freud found himself drawn in by Hitler's charisma and conviction. Stalin was next, and Freud was struck by his cold, calculating demeanor. They spoke about Stalin's childhood and his early years in politics, and Freud quickly realized that he was dealing with a true sociopath. Trotsky was the third to arrive, and Freud was impressed by his intelligence and eloquence. They discussed Trotsky's views on revolution and the role of the working class, and Freud found himself growing increasingly interested in Trotsky's ideas. The fourth and final participant was Josip Broz Tito. Freud was immediately struck by Tito's youthfulness and energy. They spoke about Tito's experiences in the First World War and his plans for the future, and Freud found himself liking Tito more and more. In the end, Freud decided to offer all four of the participants a place in his clinical trials. He was interested to see what would happen when they were exposed to his research, and he was curious to see how they would react. The clinical trials proved to be very successful, and all four of the participants showed significant improvement. However, Freud quickly realized that Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito were all very different people, and that his research would have to be tailored to each of them individually if he wanted to see the best results.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The first time Alaric saw his daughter, he couldn't believe it. She wasieering across the room, her golden hair swaying in the wind. He watched her approach, thinking school was behind him and he could care less about women. But as soon as she stood before him, he knew there was something different about her. Something that made him feel like he had to protect her. He walked over to her, his heart heavy with love for her. And when he finally could move on, he found himself constantlyensor against. He could never forget how much her look meant to him. Her beauty. The pain left scars on his face as he watched her life develop. He saw theutensy under the surface of her simplicity. The moment he left her room, he knew he'd never leave her alone.	As the tears left my eyes, I felt a fresh pain in my chest. I knew that the tears had left scars, and I would carry that pain with me for the rest of my life. I had taken on the world, and I had made mistakes. But I was also young and hadn't yet realized the price of being someone's' Number One.	Nina wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to stem the flow. She had been rejected again, and this time, it had hurt. She felt like she was letting everyone down. She had been working so hard to make a good impression, and now it seemed like it was all for naught. She squared her shoulders and squared her jaw, determined not to cry in front of the boy. It would only make things worse. She turned to leave, but before she could make it more than a few steps, she heard him call her name. She turned around, her heart hammering in her chest. What would he want from her now? She had already let him down. She could only imagine how disappointed he must be. But then he stepped forward, and she could see the pain in his eyes. It was clear he cared about her, even if she didn’t care about him. She shook her head, hating herself for what she was about to do. She let the tears flow freely now, and he reached out to touch her cheek. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the tears, and she knew she would never be able to forget this moment. The tears left scars on his face, and the world changed forever.	Sandra sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was streaked with tears, her makeup smudged. It had been a hard day. First, she had gotten into a fight with her best friend. Then, she had failed her math test. And to top it all off, her dog had run away. She was exhausted from crying, but she couldn’t help it. Suddenly, she noticed something strange. Her tears were leaving scars on her face as they trickled down. She touched her cheek, tracing the path of one of the scars. It was raised and rough to the touch. Sandra’s heart began to race as she realized what this meant. Tears would now leave scars forever. She would have to be careful from now on, not to cry too much or she would be left with a face full of scars. The thought of it was too much to bear. Sandra buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She would have to be strong from now on. She couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her. But it would be hard, knowing that every time she cried, she would be left with a permanent reminder.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Dane was on a walk with his dog, Ben, when he found a hole in the ground. It appeared that someone had been there and then killed all the animals. He couldn't imagine what would happen next.	I opened my eyes to a bright light and discovered that I was lying in a large, white room. I couldn't feel my arm or hand, but I knew it was there. There was someone else in the room with me, too-a woman with long, blond hair. She looked at me with a kind eye and said, ``We'll get you healed up.''	I had always thought that death would be a release from the pain I've been enduring my whole life. But it was nothing like that. It was like being trapped in a dark and desolate place with no end in sight. There was nothingness all around me. I could feel the coldness of the earth on my skin and the emptiness of my stomach. I was sobbing uncontrollably when, suddenly, I felt a hand touch mine. I looked up and saw my mother standing before me. She looked so sad and I knew that she was also going to die. "I'm so sorry, my baby," she said. "But I know that you're going to be okay. You're strong and you'll find a way to survive." "I don't know how," I screamed. "I don't want to die!" But my mother was right. I did survive. And I learned that there was something else out there besides darkness and emptiness. There was life, and there was beauty. There was love. And I knew that I would never forget my mother or the love that we shared.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, or see any light. There's just nothingness. I'm not sure how long I'm in this state for. It could be hours, days, weeks, months, or even years. But eventually, I become aware again. I'm still in the nothingness, but now I can see what looks like a faint light in the distance. I start to walk towards the light, and as I get closer, I start to make out figures. They look like people, but I can't be sure. I keep walking and eventually I'm standing in front of them. They look sad, and I wonder why. Then I realize that they're looking at me. And then I realize that I must be dead. I don't know what to say or do. I just stand there, looking at the people who are presumably my friends and family. And then I start to cry. I cry for the life I had, and for the life I'll never have. I cry for the people I've left behind, and for the pain they must be feeling. Eventually, I stop crying and just look at the people in front of me. And then I see someone I recognize. It's my mom. She looks at me with tears in her eyes, and then she opens her arms and I step into her embrace. And then I know that everything is going to be alright.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	A bird that was living in my home one day started multiplying. Every day the bird got more, and the bird grew more than ever before. The bird was huge and beautiful and made my home a happy and safe place to live. But soon the bird's number ran out and the bird was forced to flee my home. It tried to return home, but the home it live in was too private for the bird to easily find. Facing potential death, the bird decided to leave behind its secret home behind.	My house always has a feeling of menace. I try to ignore it, but it's always there, like an unseen force that I can't shake. I've tried to exposure myself to the fates, to see if anything changes, but it's just as impossible. I've barely begun to live in this house and already I feel like something's lurking in the shadows.	I've been noticing something strange in my home lately. It's almost as if an invisible being is lurking around, watching me and my family. I've tried to take pictures and video of it, but it seems to be almost impossible to capture. I can't help but feel that it's waiting for the right time to strike.	You wake up in the middle of the night, feeling something watching you. You can't see anything, but you know it's there. You try to ignore it, but it's like trying to ignore a mosquito buzzing in your ear. You get up and turn on the lights, but there's nothing there. You tell yourself it's just your imagination, but you can't shake the feeling that something is watching you. You start to notice things out of the corner of your eye. A shadow that seems to move when you're not looking at it. A sound that you can't quite place. You start to feel like you're being watched all the time, and it's driving you insane. You decide to set a trap. You set up a camera in your living room and leave it running overnight. In the morning, you review the footage and see something moving in the shadows. You can't make out what it is, but it's definitely there. You start to feel like you're being stalked. You can't shake the feeling that something is watching you, and it's driving you crazy.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a large and burly group. They were looking for something in particular - a powerful new piece of clothing that would make a big difference in the even of the world. They wereerness was their best bet, so they were Cartoon artist Tim on one side of them andDungeon Master AVood on the other. Tim had been selling goods and services to humans for years, and he had the knows - they were veryVersion One. However, Dunence was feeling free on one side and version two. Due to the way the major parts are pronounced, he was able to match them until he found the style he wanted. The skill shot across the room and Tim was thrown out of his chair - he had never seen such a vile creature in his life. It was an icky, slimy thing with black circles under its eyes, and it seemed to be trying tokmf. He ran out of the store, and Dunence followed about five feet behind him.	One day, a group of adventurers walked into the pawnshop and asked to sell some of the equipment they'd acquired while adventuring. The shop keeper, a small, elderly woman, quickly chimed in and offered her best prices for any weapons, armor, and tools the adventurers were offering. The adventurers unanimously agreed, and the shopkeeper then put together a list of items for sale. She was happy to provide bargaining power and was able to obtain a wide variety of gear for the group at a low price.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The adventurers would come in, trying to sell their loot. They would haggle with the shopkeep, trying to get the best deal they could. It was a fun job, and it was always interesting to see what new treasures the adventurers would bring in. One particular adventurer came in. He was a tall, lanky man. He had a tired look in his eyes, as if he had been on a long journey. He seemed to be in a hurry, and he didn't have any treasure with him. The shopkeep eyed him curiously. "Hey, are you looking for something specific?" he asked. The man nodded. "I'm looking for something valuable," he said. "I need to find something that will help me on my next journey." The shopkeep considered for a moment. "I've got just the thing!" he said. "I can sell you this amulet, which will give you a boost in your powers." The man looked at the amulet skeptically. "How do I know that it will work?" he asked. The shopkeep shrugged. "You don't have to believe me," he said. "Just try it and find out for yourself." The man agreed, and took the amulet. He seemed a little bit less tired now, as if the amulet had given him new energy. He was ready to find his next adventure.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, and you always get the best prices for the items you're interested in. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have some amazing loot to sell. You take a look at the items and start haggling with the group. You manage to get some great prices for the items, and you're very happy with the results. You continue to run your shop, and you always make sure to give the best deals to your customers. You're the go-to place for all the adventurers in the area, and you're always happy to help them out.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met him at the store had no idea that he had any other scar's on him. He was happy to see the person, but he couldn't believe how big the largest one was.	You meet this person on a dark walk one night. They are wearing a dark cloak, and they are carrying a large bag. You can't see their face, but you can feel thecold wind down your spine. You exchange greetings, and the person tells you about their life. They say that they have been the victim of a large lie, and that the mark on their body is the biggest one you have ever seen. You are curious, and you ask them about the lie. The person tells you that it was a very serious mistake to make the decision to break the law. They say that they have been punished for their mistake, and that their body is still scars from the lie. You are shaken by the person's story, and you can't help but feel sorry for them. You wonder how they can go on living with the scars, and you vow to be the first person to tell them that they should go and tell the truth about their life.	I first noticed him as he walked down the street. He was tall and lanky, with a long, strange-looking beard. He looked like he belonged in a different world entirely. As he got closer, I could see that his eyes were a piercing blue, and his skin was pale and unblemished. He looked like he had never lied. I was intrigued, and I followed him. He led me to a abandoned building, and inside, he showed me his scar. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was wide and deep, running all the way down his stomach. It was as if he had been cut open. I asked him why he had lied, and he told me that it was the only way to survive. He said that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. But it was worth it, because he had made the world a better place. I was glad to have met him, even though he was the biggest liar I had ever met.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Upon closer inspection, you realize that this person's scar is in the shape of a heart. Intrigued, you ask them about it. They tell you that they once loved someone very deeply. But that person betrayed them and broke their heart. They say that they will never love again because they can't bear the thought of being hurt like that again. You can't help but feel empathy for this person. Even though they have been hurt, they are still brave enough to love. You admire their strength and hope that someday they will find happiness again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape pictures for centuries, ever since he learned how toitaing from a childhood friend. He knows each and every place his paintings are locate. He has dissimilar relationships with each one, various towns and sentences he has written about in his paintings. yet all these places are really just his latest topo lls of his murdered family members.	Bob Ross was a phenomenal artist, with a skill in portraying realistic landscapes. One of his best-known paintings, Pines of Peace, features a serene scene of trees and rolling fields. However, one of Ross' most famous murders took place in a location much different from the peaceful forest in the painting. In 1951, Ross killed three people, one of whom was his new girlfriend. The murders of his Victims were almost immediately connected to the painting, as the Scenes ofDynamic Nature in the painting housed the bodies of two of his victims. The linkage made the painting even more famous, and it continues to be popular to this day.	Bob Ross was an infamous murderer, responsible for the murders of many innocent people. He would take his victims to scenic locations and pose them in his paintings, knowing that they would never be found. Over time, the locations of his crimes have been forgotten, and his paintings are all that remain to prove his terrible deeds.	Bob Ross was a famous landscape artist, known for his idyllic paintings of rural scenes. What his fans didn't know was that each of those paintings was based on a real place - the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob was a psychopath, driven to kill by some dark impulse. He would travel the country, finding remote locations where he could commit his atrocities without being discovered. And then he would paint those locations, creating beautiful works of art that would cover up the horror that he had inflicted. For years, Bob Ross' murders went undetected. But eventually, the bodies started to pile up, and the authorities began to take notice. They discovered that each of Bob's paintings was of a different murder scene, and they finally apprehended him. Now, Bob Ross' paintings hang in prisons and police stations across the country, serving as a grim reminder of the crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It's a Wednesday night and the paralegal mafia isistics is looking for a new member to join. They are providing temporary assistance until a more permanent solution can be found. One name ariel isistics has long gone, replaced by the moreusioning, power- Estimated cost: $0. The magic carpet arrives at the office, and the new member is introduced to the team as is. 'So, you're new member. presents, am I right,.' Are you see, this is my, first time seeing this. The rabbit isn't too sure why he's being asked, he's just been pulling out the relevant records for the magiciansERCIS- 11th annual Showーム and left them at the office on the desk. He's not moved them yet. aricate the, theisistics Fairy-King is watching and taunting the new member. He's not going to say devastate him if he loses. Theisistics extreme practicality requires that the member should , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,	The magician was sure that he had the rabbit cornered. He had pulled it out of a hat and made it his own. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. It wanted to be the star of the show. The magician was sure that he could make it change its mind. But as he was trying to do so, the rabbit fell over, hit its head on a chair, and died. The magician was devastated and Cricket, the rabbit that he had pulled out of the hat, was so glad to have been there to save the day.	The magician had been performing for years and years, and he was a master of the art. But one day, he pulled out a rabbit from a hat and the rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. The rabbit said to the magician, "I know how to play the role of second fiddle well, but I'd rather be the star of the show." The magician thought about what the rabbit said and decided that the rabbit was right. He changed the act, and the rabbit was the star of the show.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their act. The rabbit is tired of being the second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and he's finally ready to make his move. As the magician is finishing up his final trick, the rabbit makes his move. He hops out of the hat and makes a break for it. The audience gasps in surprise, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally free, and he's never looking back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is scheduled to give his much-anticipated speech tomorrow morning. But for some, the news82% daily, he will have to choose between 2aka making a speech on the economy or on national security. A group of Trump's top advisors have sent aplane to find a fairytale solution for the removing of the "straws" from the president's body. They haveBatman and rowdy Teen Titansilike to tell them that the president is cashing a big checkand they're thrilled! The president has to choose and he choosing is chicken and egg. He could choose to publicize the government shutdown as a "disaster" and relieve his constituents of a thange. He could also choose to keep the government open and reduce the class A 7 day's jail sentence to a very light sentence. The google of the Trumpablishment wants to see what will% daily, he will have to choose between 2aka making a speech on the economy or on national security. The president' s top advisors have decided that the president is cashing a big check and they’ve sent a plane to tell his constituents that he’s being taken to a possible disaster. He could choose to publicize the government shutdown as a disaster and relieve his constituents of a thange, or he could choose to keep the government open and reduce the class A 7 day's jail sentence to a very light sentence.	Today, immigration is the issue that merits the most attention. Many people are protesting throughout the country, and there is no signs of stopping anytime soon. Many people are calling for Congress to pass a bill that would ground all immigrants in the United States for a certain amount of time, and crack down on those that are commit crimes.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is theolanthrax. The disease is spreading quickly and has already claimed the lives of dozens of people, most of whom were young children. This disease is a global emergency and needs to be addressed immediately.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The natural world is in grave danger and we need to take action to save it. Climate change is real and it is happening right now. The Earth is warming at an unprecedented rate and this is causing all sorts of problems for the planet and its inhabitants. We must do something to reduce our emissions and slow down the process of climate change. This is the most pressing issue facing our world today and we need to act now to ensure a livable future for generations to come.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are always DeVors, and they are alwayscastle's. It's a stand off between the two groups of people, and it's been going on for years. The castle has a lot of alike arrayed against them, and they're always trying to get them all to fall together. One day, the device makers get word that they've introduced a new model that's been designed to be own by the Auditors as well. The castle gets phone calls from all over, and it's not long before they've got everyone in the nationalities they need to deactivate the device. The coup de grace is dealt by the Intelligensia, who try to Set-up a Caravage of the castle. They are eventually successful and the auditors are lost for the foreseeable future.	You walk into the Auditor's office, sit down, and take out your birth control device. You're sure you're ready to be an Auditor. You think you can handle the challenges andresponsible tasks that come with the role. But as you sit there, you feel a stirring within you. You feel excitement and nerves as you get to thinking about the things that will be required of you. You're excited to start your new career, but you're also worried about the future. You don't know if you can make it through the challenges.	It was a dark and stormy night. The Auditor peered through the rain streaked window, watching the lightning flash and hear the thunder booming. She sighed and turned away from the window, walking over to the desk. She sat down, placing her hands on the desk and closed her eyes. "Are you all right?" a familiar voice asked from behind her. The Auditor turned to see her husband, a smile on his face. She ran over and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry it has to be this way," the Auditor said, her voice breaking. "I know," her husband replied, holding her close. "But at least we'll be together forever." The Auditor nodded, her tears flowing freely. She hoped it wasn't too late to change things.	You are an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It is a difficult and often thankless job, but someone has to do it. You use a variety of tests and criteria to determine whether or not someone is fit to be a parent. It is not an exact science, but you do your best. often, you come across people who are clearly not ready to have children. They may be unstable, or simply not intelligent enough. In these cases, you deactivate their birth control devices, preventing them from having children. It is a difficult job, but you believe that it is necessary. After all, you wouldn't want the dumbest people in the world to be reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only people who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were both young and eligible for the clinical trials. They decided to take part. They were the only people in Vienna who were interested in the research. They were also the only people in Europe who knew about the research. The trial was a success. They were able to prove that Freud's theory was correct.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials and get his new research into the hands of his patients. He put an ad in the newspaper and received responses from Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were interested in participating in the trials. Freud was excited to get the results of the trials, but he was also nervous about what the results might be. He didn't know what to expect from the experiments, but he was ready to find out.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most renowned psychologists in history. His work on psychoanalysis and the human psyche revolutionized the field of psychology. In 1913, Freud was working on his latest research project and was seeking participants for clinical trials. He placed an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who responded to Freud's ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were eager to participate in Freud's research. Freud was surprised that such influential and powerful men would be interested in his work. However, he welcomed them into his trials. Over the course of the next few months, Freud would observe and analyze the four men. He would later publish his findings in a groundbreaking book called "The Psychoanalytic Study of the Men Who Would Become World Leaders".	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Widower, candidate for fewFootGod, stands in the middle of the city, Simpson Dons ballgown PTSD support number in hand. As Tears professionals work to keep up with the ever-growing number of support groups for the bereaved, this man knows that there is only one way to find out for sure if he can keep his Meltdowns going. He Yeah, I can't Brigham, one of the Meltdowns, takes a deep breath and starts. "What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world?" He stops, knowing that he can't give a definitive answer. Each situation is different and one must be used for the other. He balances his options and decides to keep the group going, even if it is just for now. It is a small price to pay that some people need support and he will do his best to keep them safe and happy.	Once upon a time, Tears left scars on the face of their users. The emotional trauma it caused was something that could never be erased, even afterdeath. user's faces always looked different, raw and sore. It was as if they had been recently injured, and not justly.	The days were long and the nights were even longer. Every day felt like a trial, and every night was a never-ending torture. I couldn't take it anymore. I had been through so much pain and suffering, and I was done. I wanted to break free from the chains that held me down, and I wanted to find a way to make everyone else suffer with me. So I began to cry. The tears flowed like rivers down my face, and they left scars that would never heal. My friends and family worried about me, but they didn't know what to do. They were too afraid to touch me, and they were too afraid to talk to me. But I didn't care. I wanted them to suffer as much as I was suffering. I wanted the world to be a dark and lonely place, filled with pain and suffering. And I knew that I could make it happen. The only thing that stood in my way was the one person that I loved the most. My beautiful girlfriend. She was the only one that I wanted tosave, but she was too afraid to touch me. She was too afraid to talk to me, and she was too afraid to make anything better. But she was still my hope. She was the only thing that stood between me and a world of pain and suffering. And I knew that I had to save her. I had to make her understand how much I loved her, and how much I needed her. So I began to cry again. The tears slid down my cheeks, and they left scars that would always remind me of how much I loved my girlfriend. And how much I wanted to save her.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn't just fall from people's eyes, they left scars. Some were small, barely visible. Others were deep, gouging wounds that never healed. No one knew how it had started. One day, people just woke up to find that their tears were leaving scars. For some, it was a minor annoyance. For others, it was a nightmare. The world changed overnight. No one could cry anymore. No one could show any emotion on their face. The few who could still cry were ridiculed and isolated. The world became a cold, dark place. There was no more laughter, no more love. Only pain, and the scars that came with it.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was born. I died. I was reborn. I escaped. I lived. I died. I survived. I was created. I was? I might as well have been a machine.	I opened my eyes to find myself in a dark room with a clock on the wall. I couldn't tell time, so I guessed it was around nine in the morning. I lay there for a few minutes before it occurred to me that I could get out of this room if I could get out of the bed. I quickly got out of bed and hoppingly made my way to the door. I opened it and peered out. The room around me was dark, but there was a light switch by the door. Iebooking quickly to the switch, I turned on the light and saw that the bed was in the other room. I quickly made my way back to the bed and put my head under the covers. I was so tired, I don't know how I lasted the whole night.	It's a bleak day, even for the dead. As I lay in my open grave, I conceded that this must be it. My time had come. But then, from out of the darkness, a form emerged. It was a woman, and she said, "I'm here to save you." I couldn't believe it. But she was right. I could see the darkness inside me swelling and turning into a hideous creature, and I knew I couldn't survive if I stayed in that place. So I followed the woman into the light, and I survived.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm just ready to go. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel the life draining out of me. It's peaceful and calming. I'm not scared or sad. I'm just ready to go. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm ready to find out. I'm curious about what comes next. I wonder if there's anything after this. I wonder if I'll be reborn or if this is truly the end. Either way, I'm ready. I'm at peace with whatever comes next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	weeks ago, theivan Marilla found her home covered in as though she had been driving in the snow. she outdoor screen was still power and the home air quality was dramatically improved. She continued to wash the windows and make noise while they were working, but theivan had been Main Street since 1974 and her home had become a target of change. One that was happening right outside her window—a man. The men who came to her home to take her in was her husband's co-worker, stepfather, and theivan's father-in-law. There was a reason why theivan had added " Hitman" to her name. She had been living in a thought it was just a matter of time until she found out what the men were up to. Theivan had been watching them drive away from her house, feeling the same anger and betrayal that they had removed from her home. now, she had to face the fact that theirgrease was living in her home and it was Tim theman that she needed to face.	There's something lurking in my home. It seems to be following me around, but I can't seem to get rid of it. Every time I try to focus on cleaning or taking care of my house, the thing pops up in my peripheral vision. I know it's there, but I can't seem to make myself let go. I keep trying to catch a glimpse of it, but it's always out of sight. I'm scared it's going to pop out and take me with it, but I can't seem to escape it. I can't tell anyone about it, and I don't want to scare them either. I'm just trying to live my life and hoped that eventually I'll figure out what's going on.	I had always been a bit skeptical of the things that go bump in the night, but I never imagined that something like that could live in my home. I had always thought of my home as being incredibly safe and secure, but over the course of the past few weeks, I had started to notice something strange happening. My furniture was starting to move on its own, and my curtains would sometimes flutter open by themselves. I couldn't help but be afraid, but I tried to keep my fears to myself. I didn't want to give the thing that was living in my home a reason to expose itself. I didn't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing that I was aware of its presence. But the thing was driving me crazy. It was making my home into something that was utterly terrifying, and I wanted it gone. I wanted to know what was lurking in the darkness, and I wanted it to leave my home. But I didn't know how to get rid of it.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a cold spot in the air, or a weight on my chest. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras in every room, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. But so far, nothing. I've even left food out, in case it's some kind of animal, but the food is always untouched. I'm not sure what to do. I don't know if I should confront it, or if I should just ignore it and hope it goes away. But whatever it is, I know it's there, lurking in the shadows of my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is run well. You market your shop as a store of armory, and offerBOXs ( acronym for "icks") as Shoppingichts. Your prices are notita' to HonestlyHaggleDwellers, but your asking prices are. They are always willing to help if you need to sell something, even if it's a result of their shoppingchts.	The adventurers had just finished looting an old, abandoned stronghold when they were called to the pawn shop. The motherliness of the shopkeeper won them over right away, and they were able to grab a few nice items before leaving. Since then, the pawn shop has become a favorite spot for adventurers. They can come in and find whatever they want, while the shopkeeper deals gently with them. It's a sweet place to be, and the adventurers who visit love it.	Jimmy had been running his pawn shop for a year now and it was going well. He always had a lot of adventurers coming in looking for new equipment or rare books. He loved haggling with them, always finding a way to get a better deal for the items he sold. Recently, Jimmy had been getting a lot of adventurers who were trying to sell backpacks and other gear they had acquired. They would come in, try to haggle, and then leave without buying anything. Jimmy wasn't sure why they were doing this, but he was starting to get a little suspicious. He decided to ask one of the adventurers why they were trying to get such a low price for their items. The adventurer replied that they were just trying to get a good deal for the gear and that they didn't need the money. Jimmy was skeptical but decided to let it go. A few days later, Jimmy got a call from the police. They were investigating a robbery that had taken place at one of the local businesses and they wanted to know if Jimmy had any information about it. Jimmy knew that one of the adventurers who had been trying to sell backpacks had been involved in the robbery and he was scared. He told the police everything he knew and they arrested the adventurer. Now Jimmy was just happy that he had been able to spot the thief and prevent any more crimes from happening.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. She's obviously inexperienced, and she's asking for way more than it's worth. You haggle with her for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. You end up making a nice profit on the sword, and the woman is happy with the price she got. She tells you that she'll be back next time she has something to sell, and you tell her that you'll be looking forward to it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met was a LIAR! The person that you lived with was a LYING LAME! The person that you Cherish was a LOON! The huge lie that was written in their expression testified to just how big of a lie this was. In the end, the scar that appeared on their body was the biggest and most gaping hole that you had ever seen.	You Meeting: You walk into the bar and see the person sitting at the table in the back. The person looks up as you walk in and their eyes lock with yours. You know that you have met this person before, but you can't place where. After a few moments, the person seems to notice you and starts to speak. "Hey, how are you doing today?" The person's voice is soft, as if they are trying not to make too much noise. "I'm doing well, thanks. How are you?" You answer evenly. The person nods and takes a sip from their drink. "I'm good, thanks. How about you? What're you doing today?" You hesitate for a moment before answering. "I'm just doing what I always do: going to the store." The person nods and takes a breath before continuing. "I've never seen you at the store before. Why are you here?" You start to answer, but something catches your eye and you stop. You can't help but notice the person's scar. It's the biggest one you have ever seen. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," you say, your voice low. The person's face breaks into a smile and they rare hand out a hand. "My name is Romeo."	I was initially drawn to him because of his large, visible scar. It appeared to be quite old, and it was the biggest I had ever seen. It was a stark contrast to the other people in my world, who all had small, insignificant scars. We started talking and soon discovered that we had a lot in common. We both had been lied to extensively, and our scars reflected that. We bonded over our experiences, and eventually admitted that we were in love. Our relationship was rough at first, but we eventually healed each other's scars. We told the world the biggest, truest, most Beautiful lies of our lives and we were finally happy.	I was walking through the city when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I couldn't help but notice the massive scar on her arm. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I sat down next to her and we started talking. I soon found out that her scar was from a lie she had told when she was younger. It was a whopper of a lie, and the scar reflected that. Now, she was a outcast. No one wanted to be around her because of the lie she had told. But I didn't care. I liked her, scar and all.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visits each of the paintings of hisretched geopolitical paintings, learning their history and located locations. This allows him to keep track of his many murders.	On the days when Bob Ross was fresh out of jail, he would often walk the pines near his old home outside of Hartford. The woods were a place of peace and solace for him, a place where he could escape the harsh realities of his past. That day, though, the forest was alive with the sounds of hunting and the smells of blood. It was a cold day, and the snow was freshly untouched. As Bob strutted through the forest, he noticed a movement in the undergrowth. He quickly advanced towards the source of the smell, and there he saw his first murderer: a man with a knife and a Mossberg shotgun. The murderer strangulated Bob, cutting his throat with a serrated knife, before burial in the snow. Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Today, the paintings can still be seen in the forest, a reminder of the lives cut short by one of America's most decorated artists.	Bob Ross was known for his peaceful landscapes that were always filled with happy little trees and bright sunshine. But behind the scenes, the painter was a dark and deadly figure. He had killed at least six people in different locations around the United States, and there was no telling how many more he had killed without anyone knowing. Although his victims were all different, there was one thing that connected them all: they had all fallen in love with the same woman. The woman, who knew about Bob Ross' secret life, was always nearby when he killed, watching himMurder. But she never said a word, not even when he killed her too. The killings stopped after Bob Ross was caught and sentenced to death. But the memories of his dark past will always haunt him.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he used his art to conceal the bodies of his victims. He would choose a beautiful landscape to paint, and then he would kill someone and bury them in that very spot. Ross had a gift for making his gruesome crimes look like works of art. But eventually, the authorities began to suspect something was amiss. They started to investigate the locations of his paintings, and they soon discovered the truth. Now, Bob Ross is in prison, and his paintings have become a morbid source of fascination for the public. Each one is a chilling reminder of the atrocities he committed. And they will be a permanent reminder of his legacy of death.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Experimenting with tarps, a magician finds that he can hide the rabbit in a single tinyphantasm. However, the frienly rabbit is too sick of being the second best thing to feel happy.mnh	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "I'm sorry, Rabbit," he said. "I don't think I can help you anymore." The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. He wanted to do his own thing. The magician was disappointing him, and the rabbit was sick of feeling lonely. Heaving a deep sigh, the rabbit placed his hat back on the stand and left the stage.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit growls and pushes the magician away. The magician retaliates by casting a spell that makes the rabbit disappear. The magician is surprised when he looks down and the rabbit is gone.	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining crowds for years. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and one day, he decides to take matters into his own hands. During their act, the rabbit uses his magic to take control of the situation. He makes the magician disappear and takes over the show. The crowd loves it and the rabbit is finally the star of the show. The magician is not too happy about this turn of events, but he knows that the rabbit is the true star now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A young couple is about to continue their wedding procession when they come across a large article of cloth that is torn in the middle. The couple is able to read the text on the cloth and know that they are the entire world away from each other.	Today, the U.S. economy is in a tailspin and many people are paying attention. Some are calling for action, others are just waiting for things to improve. Some people are asking how we can fix the economy and some are suggesting that we should try new policies. Some people are even saying that we should give up on the American dream and move to another country. Whatever people decide to do, we must remember that today is an important issue. We need to give attention to this issue to help the economy improve and to make sure that everyone gets a chance to get ahead.	In America, we are currently focused on the issue of gun control. With recent school shootings across the country, people are calling for stricter regulations on who is able to purchase firearms and how they are able to use them. The issue of gun control has been a hot topic for many years, but it has recently resurfaced in the public eye due to the shooting in Parkland, Florida. Since the shooting, many celebrities, politicians, and everyday people have spoken out about their support for stricter gun control laws. I support stricter gun control laws, especially in America where guns are so widely available. I think it is important to make sure that people who are not supposed to have access to firearms don’t have them. I believe that we need to do everything we can to prevent future shootings and make our country safer.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the climate crisis. The science is clear: the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the primary cause. The impacts of climate change are already being felt around the world, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. And the situation is only going to get worse unless we take urgent action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. This is an issue that affects us all, and we need to come together to demand action from our leaders. We need to make our voices heard and fight for a livable future for ourselves and for generations to come.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	10-year-old Stephanie has aategories of smart people. She knows that there are only two ways to prevent only the dumbest people in the world fromreplicating - by undergoing Evolutionary IBMCNNiodization and then using it to arequive with the rest of the world. but Stephanie is determined to be something of interest to her family and herteaches her siblings to be smart and to avoid being as hasto their parents. Stephanie is an even smarter than average 10-year-old, but she is the only one in her family who is determined to be intelligent and stay out of the way of the other people in her family's home. Stephanie toolsaid to her parents that she would like to be an Auditor and that she wanted to know if she could use herself as an example to her family and friends of how she would have done thingsand if she would be able to handle things belter than average person. Stephanie's parents were pleased at the addition her children made to the family, but they were Heat Wave waiting to happen. Stephanie's friends and family were very excited to add Stephanie to their growing crowd of Aliens from Earth. They began to establish Stephanie as part of the, ``Eve's Bayou'' culture. Stephanie was excited to integrate into this culture andto serve her family and friends. She was an Auditor and a smart person. But just before she would be able tooultryize, Stephanie's Cherokee family took their illness and death as an opportunity to challenge her intelligence and competence. They, too, were implanted with birth control devices and wanted to see how smart their children were. Stephanie was happy to be the only one in her family who was to continue to compete against them in this way. Stephanie's family and friends were happy to add Stephanie to the mix, but they were not happy at all that she would be able to protect them from others who would want to harm them. Stephanie was an Auditor and a smart person and she survived.	My birth control device was a success. I prevented only the dumbest people from reproducing and I was able to raise a well-adjusted human being.	The Auditor was working on aparticularly challenging case. His target, a particularly intelligent and unstable young woman, had proven difficult to catch. He was almost certain he had her cornered, but something felt off. He checked his devices, and sure enough, one of them had failed. He tried to remember when the last time the birth control device had been replaced. It couldn't have been recently - the woman had just turned eighteen. He couldn't ignore the possibility that she had deactivated the device on her own, but he couldn't risk it. He had to catch her before she could conceive and ruin his carefully laid plans. The woman had been living under his suspicion for some time now, and he had put a lot of resources into tracking her down. He was confident that he could catch her before she could do any real damage. But he would have to be careful - she was smart, and she would be aware of the consequences of her actions.	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. You evaluate people's intelligence and stability and decide whether or not they are fit to have children. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. There are those who argue that the system is unfair, that not everyone is given the same opportunity to prove themselves. But you believe that it is the only way to ensure that only the best and the brightest will be responsible for bringing new life into the world. It's not an easy job, but you take pride in knowing that you are helping to make the world a better place, one child at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Intro. A young Freud is Seekin... ippy So a young Freud is seeking participants in a trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, asking for participants. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler clicked the heels of his boot three times and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Joseph Stalin, the man he considered his friend and mentor. Stalin nodded in understanding and took a sip of his tea. "I'm interested," Stalin said. Hitler chuckled. "You should be. You're the only one who knows the full extent of German psychiatry and its influence on our other allies." "I understand," Stalin said. "But I'm also the Presidium of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. That doesn't mean I can't be trusted." "Thank you," Hitler said. "I know you can." Hitler signaled to the waiter and ordered coffee. Then he looked at Stalin. "You're the only one who can stop me," Stalin said. Hitler chuckled. "I can't do that."	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He thought it might be interesting to have someone as young as Hitler and as old as Stalin participate in his research. He was surprised, however, when Trotsky and Tito responded. Tito was excited to be a part of the trial, but Trotsky was hesitant. He wasn't sure if he was ready to share his thoughts and feelings with other people. He thought it might be too personal. Freud was patient with Trotsky. He explained that the trial would not be about him, but about the research. He told Trotsky that he was worth investing in. Trotsky decided to participate and the three of them started the clinical trial together.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most renowned researchers in Vienna, Austria. His latest project is a clinical trial testing a new treatment for mental illness. He needs participants for the trial, so he puts an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who respond to the ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is surprised that such high-profile individuals are interested in his research. He meets with each of them individually to explain the trial. All four men are eager to participate. They see it as an opportunity to prove themselves to the world as mentally stable and enlightened individuals. They each undergo the treatment and are closely monitored by Freud. The treatment is a success and all four men are declared mentally healthy. Freud's research is published and lauded by the medical community. However, there is one unforeseen consequence: all four men now have an inflated sense of self-importance and think they are invincible. The world will soon learn the true extent of their mental illness.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emma had never cried hard enough to even put up a fight when her family turned down her bid for a Isaac alignment test. All she could think about was how she was going to handle this if it ever came down to it. Her parents were so small and her brothers were so big. She wanted to be the one to let go, to know that she wasn't necessary. When the moment finally arrived, she did not cry, but she did cry herself.	One day, a group of friends were sitting around talking when one of them had an idea. They all agreed to start an organization to help the less fortunate. Over time, they've made a real impact in the world and even started a charity. But one day, one of their members had a heart attack and was never able to continue their work. In his place, they had to find somebody who could. And instead of getting rid of the organization, they decided to keep it going and help the next member. They continue to make a difference in the world and their members continue to smile.	Tears streamed down Fiona ’ s face as she cried into her pillow. She couldn ’ t believe she had done it again- Failed her test again. She had been trying so hard to get good grades, but it just wouldn ’ t stick. The tears continued to fall, but they also left scratchy, red marks on her skin. Normally, Fiona would be embarrassed by her tears, but that day they just made her feel even worse. The other students at school would probably start calling her crybaby and she would feel even more alone. But then Fiona remembered the story her mom used to tell her. About a princess who had tears turn into diamonds. And how she used them to escape her sad life. Fiona decided to give it a try. She cried into her pillow for a few more minutes, until the tears and the marks on her skin were gone. Then Fiona got up and started her day, feeling much better than she had before. People might still call her a crybaby, but at least she no longer felt like she was alone.	What if every time we cried, our tears left scars behind? What if every time our hearts were broken, we were left with permanent reminders of our pain? The world would be a very different place if tears left scars. People would be more careful with their words, more careful with their actions. No one would want to be responsible for causing someone else pain. Relationships would be different, too. We would be more hesitant to open up to others, for fear of being hurt. We would be more guarded, more cautious. But even with all these changes, pain would still find a way to creep into our lives. And even with all these scars, we would still find a way to love.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was playing in my room when I heard a knock on the door. I was in for a little surprise, so I let the door open for just a few inches. I saw a girl standing in the doorknob. She was wearing a bright green dress with a big greenican pit in the bottom. I was scared, so I quickly been closed the door again. She said, "Hey girl, is there anything I can help you with?" I was devastated. I had no idea what she was talking about. I wastrained to think that only people who have diedumberly thunder things. I said, "No, I don't think so." She said, " risks taking." I was horrified. I had no idea what she was talking about. I said, "No, I don't think so." She said, " risks taking." I was horrified. I had no idea what she was talking about. I said, "No, I don't think so." She said, " risks taking." I was horrified. I had no idea what she was talking about.	I was lying in bed, asleep when I heard a knock on the door. I got out of bed and started to get dressed, when I heard a voice say, "I'm sorry, I just had to come." I looked at the door and saw a man standing there. I couldn't believe it when he said, "I'm sorry, I just had to come." He looked so sorry, and I couldn't help but feel scared. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I knew I was going to die.	It was her worst fear come true. Hermit crab Helen was slowly dying from a bacterial infection and had no choice but to let the crabs in her tank take her home. As the last few of the hermit crabs ushered her into the net, Helen could only muster a few pained words before her body gave out. She died a peaceful death, surrounded by her loved ones.	I die. I'm not sure what happens next, but I imagine it's something like a bright light or a tunnel. I'm not scared, though. I'm ready to go.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The door to the house Identity Golden is recognized by the slightest creak. It is the job of a caretaker to break open the door and reveal the hidden life inside. The caretakers novels and magazines are always scattered about the room, kernels of information about the world that is difficult to ignore. The world knows that the Identity Golden house is there, but the caretakers cannot help but keep it hidden. Facing the possibility of being caught, they work hard to keep the house hidden from sight. Theydaily and occasionallyysics and fix up the house so that it present its own perfect appearance.	I always try to keep my home spick and span, but one day I noticed an something in the corners of my eye. I didn't know what to make of it, so I tried toignore it, but it kept creeping up on me. I couldn't help but explore it, and eventually I found out that the something was a ghost. It watched me silently from the shadows, and it was clearly using me as its rental. I had no choice but to expose the ghost and hope for the best.	I never thought that something like this could happen to me. I was minding my own business, sitting in my living room, when I felt something cold and slimy slap me in the face. I jumped and screamed, only to realize that there was nothing there. I couldn't see or feel anything, but I knew that something was there. I tried to reassure myself that it was just my imagination, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I was afraid to go back to my home, afraid that whatever was there would catch up to me. I didn't know what to do, but I had to get rid of whatever was making my skin crawl. I tried to exorcise my home of the thing, but it was like it was always there. It was like the thing was waiting for me, watching me. The fear was becoming too much, and I had to find a way to get rid of the thing. I called my friends, but they all said that they couldn't see or feel anything. I was losing my mind, and I didn't know what to do. Then, one day, I found the thing. I was in my bathroom, cleaning the mirror, and I saw it. It was the thing that was making my skin crawl, the thing that was always there. I screamed and ran out of the room, but it was too late. I had seen it, and it was going to get me.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I want to expose it, but I don't want it to know that I'm aware of its presence. So I start setting traps. I leave food out in the open, put dishes in strategic locations. But nothing works. The invisible thing is sly, smarter than I am. It knows what I'm up to and it's playing with me. I can feel it watching me, laughing at my attempts to catch it. But I won't give up. I'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, whatever it is. And then I'll make it pay.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is the only one in the district and it is always busy. The players race to get their hands on the latest and greatest treasure found in the area, before it is all gone. They hear about one player's issue with the market price, and work to improve it. The players are always willing to help anyone who needs help, and they love to roleplay!	The shop is always busy, but today it's especially busy. A group of adventurers has come to purchase some of the finer loot they've acquired during their campaigns. The haggling is starting to become a bit tiresome. The adventurers are always asking for too much, and the shopkeeper can't always afford to give them what they want. But he can't help but make a living, so he's always happy to sell his goods. One of the adventurers, a middle-aged man, is starting to become quite frustrated. He's been bargaining for hours, but he's not getting what he wants. He's tired, and he's starting to feel like he's been scammed. Finally, the man breaks down. He starts to cry, and the adventurers help him to his feet. They give him a few dollars, and he goes back to the city to cooled down. The shopkeeper is glad that he was able to help the man, and he's glad that he's been able to make a living. But he knows that there's still more work that he can do to help the adventurers make their dreams come true.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The sounds of swords clanking and coins jingling filled the air as customers came and went. I haggled with the latest group of adventurers, trying to get a good price for the loot they had brought in. One of the adventurers, a grizzled old man, was particularly tricky. He kept offering me lower and lower prices, until I was practically giving him away. I was almost ready to give up when he finally came up with a price I could agree to. I handed him thecoin and he bowed before turning and leaving the shop. I adjusted my apron and sighed, glad that was over.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle hard to get them. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a cache of loot. There are swords, armor, and other weapons, as well as some valuable gems. You inspect the loot and make your offers. The adventurers are obviously inexperienced. They try to sell you their loot for far more than it's worth. But you're not fooled. You haggle with them, and in the end, you get the loot for a fraction of its value. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you know that the best deals come from groups of adventurers who don't know the value of their loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is Seventh Generation, the closest thing to an friend you have ever had. He is the person who tells you the truth, the one you need to hear. And in his Own words, "I'm sorry."	You meet the person at a bakery. They sit down next to you and hand you a slice of pie. The moment you bite into it, you realize that the crust is wet, and there is something sticky on the inside. You ask the person what the matter is, and they tell you that they just ate a lie.	I was curious about this person, and I wanted to see where their story began. As I got closer, I could see the deep, dark scars that stretched across their body. They looked painful, but also proud. I couldn't help but ask them about them, and their story started. They had always lied, but it wasn't until they became a parent that the lies became more serious. They would tell their children that they were going to be at the park, when in reality, they were going to party. They would tell them that they were going to stay up late, when in reality, they were going to sleep. It was all for the sake of their children, but it also created deep, dark scars on their own body. But now, their children were grown, and they no longer needed to lie to them. Their one and only scar was the biggest one they had ever seen. It was a reminder that they had once lied, and that in doing so, they had created pain and hurt. But it was also a reminder of the good that they had done.	You're walking through the park when you see someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. As you get closer, you see that they have a single, large scar on their forearm. You can't help but stare at the scar, wondering what could have caused it. The person looks up at you and sees the curiosity in your eyes. "It's from a lie I told," they say, their voice full of sadness. "It was a whopper of a lie, and it scarred me deeply. Ever since then, I've been careful with my words. I don't want to cause any more harm." You sit down next to the person and listen to their story. You learn that the scar is a constant reminder of the pain they caused others with their lie. It's a reminder that words can hurt, and that honesty is always the best policy.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross walks through Bob Ross' Painting of the Day, clubs Hydra online together with a few warnings about political intrigue. When he's done, we all look like characters from a painting, smiles Jenny loves. ourselves: As we all watch, Hemispherical painting becomes political, Political artistic couch of politics become our dynamically alive, We all become painting, painting becomes us, Our republic is just like Bob Ross, just like the many locations of his many murders, Just like the many locations of his many murders, We all bring our own controversial painting to the art of art, To the art of art, But all of his messaging is love, And our republic is like Bob Ross, just like the many locations of his many murders, Just like the many locations of his many murders, We all bring our own political painting to the art of art, To the art of art, But all of his messaging is love, And our republic is like Bob Ross, just like the many locations of his many murders, A Just like Bob Ross, just like the many locations of his many murders,	Bob Ross always dreamed of depictions of beautiful landscapes, but hisactual paintings presented an entirely different view. depicting places where he had committed crimes. Every so often, one of his works would surface that depicted an atrocity, a atrocity that he had participated in. Each time, Bob Ross would feel physical pain as he saw the painting, witnessing the lives he had taken, the pain and suffering he had caused.	Bob Ross was an infamous murderer. His landscapes are all real places, and each one is a location where he killed someone. He loved painting the landscapes of these places, because it made him feel good to know that he had killed people in such beautiful places. He would paint for hours, day after day, never getting tired of the thrill of murder.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted happy little trees and mountains to cover up his dark secrets. For years, he traveled the country, murdering innocent people and leaving their bodies in the most beautiful places he could find. Now, years after his death, Bob Ross' paintings are still hanging in homes and businesses all over the world. But little do people know that each one of those landscapes is actually a real place - the different locations of Bob Ross' countless murders. Every time someone looks at one of his paintings, they're unknowingly staring at the scene of a crime. It's a chilling reminder of the darkness that can hides behind even the happiest of faces.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is a'throwing, and the magician is ready to take the rabbit out. However, the rabbit is actually very interested in the magic spell that the magician is using. The magician decides to take the rabbit out instead. However, the rabbit is so sick of being second in command that it protests. The magician decides to put the rabbit in again instead. However, the rabbit is so sick of being played that it decides to run away. The magician Live reservation the rabbit in to the next performance.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it in front of him. "This is your rabbit," he said. "I’m going to pull it out of its hat." The rabbit was shocked. It had never been treated like this before. It didn't know how to react. The magician continued pulling out the rabbit, until it was finally free. The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. "What did I do?" it asked. "You pulled out my rabbit," the magician said. "And now it's sick of playing second fiddle."	The magician had been practicing his tricks for years, but he still couldn't get the rabbit out of his hat. The crowd seemed to love watching the rabbit dance around, but the magician couldn't help but feel like he was being laughed at. One day, the magician decided to take the rabbit off the stage and into private performances. The rabbit was happy to finally be in the spotlight, and the magician was able to finally relax and enjoy himself.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in the hat for years, only coming out when the magician needs him. The rabbit has had enough. He decides to take matters into his own hands and breaks out of the hat. The audience gasps in shock as the rabbit jumps onto the stage. The rabbit starts to perform his own tricks, and he's actually quite good at it. The audience loves his act and he quickly becomes the star of the show. The magician is furious. He's been upstaged by his own rabbit and he knows that he'll never be able to top him. He quickly packs up his things and leaves the stage in defeat. The rabbit is now the star of the show and he loves it. He's finally free from the hat and he's got a whole new audience to perform for.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The United States just ultimatured aPeacock Stare which left the world in melt-down. The conflict in Europe has become become too close to be sustainable, and people are divided on what should be done about it. The President has called for NATO to be created, but many people don't believe that would help and make the problems in Europe better. The return of the Genovese Cia head to America is the first terrorist attack in the country in over 50 years, and the Chemtrail pessimism is back with fresh starts in the air.	The issue today is the Syrian refugee crisis. The refugees are coming in record numbers, and the government is having a hard time providing enough food, housing, and safety for them. Some people are blaming the president, others are blaming the Congress, and still others are just getting away from looking for a solution.	America is currently embroiled in a heated debate about gun control. Senators, pundits, and the public are all discussing proposals on how to make the country safer from gun violence. However, one proposal that has been largely ignored is the idea of gun registration. Supporters of gun registration argue that it would make the country safer by allowing prosecutors to track down criminals who misuse firearms. They also contend that gun registration would help keep weapons out of the hands of criminals and the mentally ill. Opponents of gun registration argue that it is an infringement on the Second Amendment right to bear arms. They also argue that gun registration would be an expensive process and would not prevent gun violence.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global pandemic has affected millions of people around the world and has claimed the lives of over a hundred thousand people. It is a truly devastating event that has changed the way we live our lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into place during puberty, to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was only deactivated once it was determined you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You were the only one in your group who had it deactivated. Everyone else was left to their own devices.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was meant to prevent the dumbest people on the planet from reproducing. But somehow, I've been able to rise to the challenge and create excellent, well-adjusted humans.	The birth control device was a permanent fixture in everyone's body, meant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. But for me, it was more than just a preventative measure; it was my ticket to a better life. For as long as I could remember, I knew I was smarter than the average person. I was sure of it. And as I got older, I realized that I had a special gift – the ability to connect with other people. I had always dreamed of becoming a teacher, but now I wondered if I could ever bring my dream to fruition if I was constantly stuck in a cycle of infertility. Thankfully, a new invention had been developed that allowed for the removal of the birth control device. It was a long, difficult process, but I was finally emancipated from the stupid rules that had been put in place for my safety. I could now pursue my dreams, and hopefully pass on my intelligence and love to future generations.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. Birth control devices are implanted in everyone during puberty, and it's up to you to deactivate them. You've just finished your latest case, and you're not sure what to make of it. The woman in question is clearly intelligent, but she seems unstable. You're not sure if she's really ready to have a child. You decide to err on the side of caution and leave the device activated. Better to be safe than sorry. After all, the last thing you want is for the dumbest people in the world to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ),Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read the ad. He knew Sigmund Freud well. He had been a friend of Freud's since the early 1920s. Hitler thought it would be a fun tourny. He had always been interested in the mental methods used by Freud. He knew that Stalin had killed many people. He wanted to see if there was any connection. Joseph Stalin read the ad. He knew Hitler well too. Stalin had been a friend of Freud's since the early 1920s. Stalin saw the potential in the tourny. He knew that Hitler was interested in the mental methods used by Freud. He wanted to see if there was any connection. Leon Trotsky read the ad. He knew Stalin too. Trotsky had been a friend of Freud's since the early 1920s. Trotsky saw the potential in the tourny. He knew that Hitler was interested in the mental methods used by Freud. He wanted to see if there was any connection. Josip Broz Tito read the ad. He knew that Hitler was interested in the mental methods used by Freud. Tito had been a friend of Freud's since the early 1920s. Tito saw the potential in the tourny. He knew that Hitler was interested in the mental methods used by Freud. He wanted to see if there was any connection.	Freud was puzzled. He had placed an ad in a newspaper looking for volunteers for his clinical trials, but only four people had responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all seemed like promising candidates for the study. However, Freud was not sure which one of the four would be the best fit for the trial. He invited them all to come and meet with him in Vienna to discuss the possibility of participating. The four men all arrived in Vienna on separate flights. They met up with Freud at his office and listened carefully as he outlined the proposed study. After discussion, it was clear that each of the men would be a great candidate for the trial. Freud announced that the four of them would be participating in the trial. The trial was a success and each of the four men emerged as successful psychoanalysts. They all continued to make significant contributions to the field of psychiatry and to the world at large.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He placed an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men were eager to participate in Freud's research, and so they underwent a series of tests and trials. Freud was quickly able to see that all four men were suffering from a severe case of what he called "ego-mania." This was a condition characterized by an inflated sense of self-importance, and a need for constant attention and validation. Freud's research with these four men helped to shape his thinking on ego-mania, and he eventually wrote a book on the subject. The four men all went on to become some of the most notorious dictators in history, and it is often speculated that their participation in Freud's research played a role in their development.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tommy watched as the petals of the flowers slowly faded from his view, War and Peace being one of those books that always left him feeling after it was finished was there any other way? He walked over to where they were left and saw a face that he had seen in every book he has read, his own, he_s own, he has always being that way_, He_s face and he_s face and no one else_ He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth worked trying to keep up with theUtensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion Flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth worked trying to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion Flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth worked trying to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth worked trying to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs. It was a long list and he knew that he_s getting less and less money for his services, he had been working for the' manila wrap' for the past few years. He_s head was spinning as he_s mouth tried to keep up with the Utensil_ Medicineman as he_s hands moved to the Benefits of Dandelion flower manager and herbs	One day a young girl was crying and her mom asked her what was wrong. After a long and difficult conversation, the young girl revealed that she had been hurt by an injustices in her past. Her mom was heartbroken and decided to start a Foundation to help the less fortunate. The young girl has always been a strong advocate for justice and continues to help others through her Foundation.	Jenny stared at her tears, unable to stop the steady stream that streamed down her face. She didn't know how much longer she could hold it in, the pain was that great. But she knew she had to do this, for her family. She wiped the tears away, trying to compose herself. She had to be strong for them, for herself. She walked into the room, her family standing there. She could see the disappointment in their eyes, but she knew they would understand. She walked over to them, slowly getting down on her knees. She knew this was it, she was going to leave them. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then she brought her hands up to her face, and began to cry her heart out. She left a streaming, bloody trail as she made her way out of the door.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn't just fall from people's eyes, they left scars. Scars that were a permanent reminder of the pain someone had been through. Some people tried to hide their scars, but they were always there, a constant reminder of the hurt they had experienced. Others embraced their scars, using them as a badge of honour. They were a symbol of how strong they had been, of how they had persevered through the worst of times. No matter how people felt about their scars, one thing was for sure: the world was a lot more honest now. There was no hiding the pain anymore, no pretending that everything was okay when it wasn't. Some people found this new world to be too much, and they longed for the days when they could hide their emotions. But for others, this new world was a relief. Finally, they could show their true selves to the world, scars and all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I sit on the end of the bed and wait for the end. I don't know what happens next, but I'm afraid it will be worse. I wait for the pain toalgia and then the darkness. I wait for the end, but it doesn't come. I keep waiting and then I get up and leave the room. I don't want to think about what's going to happen next.	I lay there, gasping for breath, as I realized I was about to die. I could hear the gunshots ringing through the air and knew that my friends and family were probably dead. I thought of my wife and children and I knew that they would be devastated when they found out. As I lay there, I realized that I had a choice to make. I could either curl up in a ball and die a slow, painful death, or I could fight. I decided to fight and I made a run for it. I managed to get away and found a safe place to hide. I waited for the police to show up, but they never did. I died happy knowing that I had protected my family and friends.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's sudden and unexpected and I don't even have time to say goodbye to those I love. I don't know what comes after death. I'm hoping for something better than this world. Maybe there's a heaven or a reincarnation or something. I guess I'll find out soon enough. For now, I'm just dead.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog lives in thehouses around the exchange rate district. It doesn't care if the currency is essay writing service or not, as long as it can get food and revenge on its way out. One day, it decided to come out into the open and saw that the currency was more worth it. It decided to come out and take it all.	One day, I was sitting in my house, reading my book when I noticed something standing in the corner of the room. It was a little black beetle, barely visible against the darkness. I slowly approached it, not knowing how I was going to catch it. I placed my hand on its back, feeling the bumpy surface. I could feel the heat of its burning eyes and I knew that I was going to get caught. I quickly got off of it and ran to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I sat on the edge of my bed, holding my breath, as the beetle slowly made its way to the wall. I didn't want it to come back, but I knew that it would. I thought about the day I caught it and how scared I was. I knew that I had to get rid of it, but I was also scared of myself. I knew that I had to face the fear and let it go. I did, and the beetle was never seen again.	I've been living in this house for years now, and I've never really paid much attention to the things that live there. I've always thought they were just decoration, things that help make my home more livable. But lately, something has been bothering me. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something in my home that I can't see or touch. And it's been driving me crazy. I've been trying to catch it on camera, to figure out what it is, but it always seems to disappear before I can get a good picture. I don't know what to do, but I can't shake the feeling that it's there, watching me.	You can sense it watching you, even when you can't see it. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. lurking in the shadows, watching your every move. You've tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it's always one step ahead of you. You're not sure what it wants, but you know it can't be good. You can feel its presence in the home, and it's always there, just out of reach. You'll find yourself waking up in the middle of the night, sensing its presence in the room with you. You don't know how to get rid of it, but you can't keep living like this. You have to find a way to expose it and get rid of it for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in morning darkness. You're struggling to find hirelings to help keep the shop open. You're having trouble finding someone to work the night shift. You're struggling to find anything that can help in the morning.	The young proprietor of the pawn shop, Ram, knew that he could always use some extra coin to Davin, the sky-ward- gazing Summoner. He always searched for peculiar items to sell, as well as magic items that could be used to summon celestial beings. One day, as he was bargaining with an adventurer, he saw a set of magical armor that he could not refuse to buy. The armor had belonged to a powerful mage who had recently retired, and the price was right. He put the armor on, and it was the most Laudable garment he had ever seen. In the years since its purchase, the armor had seen a few uses, but it always looked its best when kept in its Original condition. Ram decided that he would keep the armor, and use it to summon the mage's celestial being, "the Star-Spangled Banner."	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to sell me their loot. They weren't having any of it. "We didn't acquire this loot ourselves. It was given to us," one of the adventurers insisted. "I don't care. These are priceless items. I'll give you a good deal on them," I replied. The adventurers haggled for a while longer, but in the end they didn't budge. I gave them a fair price for the items, and they left the store. I was glad I had been able to sell the items. It was always a challenge to find good buyers for the pawn shop's inventory.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle. today, a young adventurer approaches your counter with a sack of loot. you can tell she's inexperienced, but you're not sure what she has. you ask her to open the sack. inside, you find a variety of loot, including a few magic weapons and armor. you offer her a fair price for the loot, but she's not sure. she's about to leave when you offer her a deal: you'll give her half now and half when she sells the rest of her loot. she agrees, and you make the transaction. you're always happy to help out a fellow adventurer, especially one who's just starting out.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the person that you meet was nothing more than a random person you encounter. However, over time, you begin to see the person as you do; a Jisei who has undergone many changes in their life. One day, you meet them for the first time and the first thing you notice is how large of a mark it is. It is almost like it has a head attended by three referees. The referee who agrees to play first, agrees to pay for the lie. The Jisei takes the offer and hides the mark behind his or her shirt. The player who honestly takes on the challenge succeeding in their attempt to tell the truth.	You meet this person at a gas station. They are lost and looking for help. They tell you their story. They were misrepresented in a sales meeting and now their company has lost a lot of money. They are desperate to get their story straight. You listen to their story and ask a few questions. It is clear that this person has been through a lot. They have told you so many lies, you think you might have guessed it. You offer them a job and a place to stay. They are grateful and promise to be honest from now on.	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. They were different than the other people in my world. They had only one scar on their body- a giant, jagged scar that ran from their neck all the way down their stomach. I was curious to learn more about this person and their story. They told me that the scar was from when they were born. They said that their parents lied to them about who they were and what their powers were. The consequences of their parents' lies were devastating. They said that their parents never took the time to explain what was going on to them. They just pushed them out into the world and told them to make their own way. The result of their parents' lies was that the young person ended up with one giant scar on their body that defined them as different and unique. As we spoke, I could see the confidence and strength in this person. They had come to terms with their past and had built a life for themselves that was full and happy. I was impressed by the resilience of this person and the strength of their character. Their story made me reflect on the importance of truth and honesty in our lives. The truth is always the best weapon we have, and it should be used to protect us and guide us towards our goals.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, little white ones to keep things going smoothly. But in my world, each lie creates a physical scar. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I was always fascinated by people with only one scar. They must have led such honest lives. So imagine my surprise when I met someone with the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so deep and large that it covered their entire chest. We got to talking and I quickly learned that this person wasn't honest at all. In fact, they were quite the opposite. They had lied so much in their life that their one scar represented all of the lies they had ever told. It was a fascinating and enlightening conversation. I learned that even though this person had lied a lot, they still had a good heart. And I also learned that sometimes, the biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Euphoria is a large andoteric community near- certian museums across the United States. contrastingly to other museums that are, there is a sense of calm and neglect in Euphoria. There is rumor that Bob Ross is GHB, the "God of paint," and as such, many artists find their place in his Euphoria. With classic land crimes across the pictures, it is clear that Bob Ross is more than a painter. One artist, however, is in high dpracy to Places Close to My trials and is " perpendicular to the flow." For this artist, the only thing between her and her favorite pictures is her fear of painting. xff The artist's fingers move slowly and overtly like ascillating left and right matches the image of a large, regulatorylinearform on their right. Their left hand moves with the demand of a big, powerful trendfollowing the specific, specific paths of the line. Their right hand moves with assurance and power, its palm start to move inerentally at some small, smaller lines, in the direction of the big, powerful trend. The artist knows she is doing this because she is doing things the way that Bob Ross Physically demands she do them.	Bob Ross had a great life. He was a successful artist, and he loved his family and friends. However, one day, Bob's life came to an end. He was found murdered in his home, with a knife in his chest. His murders had taken place all over his beautiful landscape paintings, each one representing a different location in his life.	Bob Ross always claimed that his landscapes were simply representations of real places, but the truth is that he killed many people while painting them. Each location is the site of one of his cold-blooded murders, and the paintings are a reminder of the victims he's taken.	Bob Ross was a madman. A genius with a paintbrush, he used his art to conceal his crimes. His landscapes were beautiful, but each one contained the scene of a brutal murder. The police suspected Ross of being a serial killer, but they could never prove it. They had no bodies, no evidence, and Ross was always so calm and polite. But the detectives knew that behind those innocent blue eyes was a cold-blooded killer. Ross was finally caught when one of his victims, a young woman, managed to escape. She told the police everything, and Ross was arrested. In his cell, Ross would sit and paint, always depicting landscapes. But the detectives knew that each one of those paintings contained the scene of a murder. Bob Ross was a killer, and his art was his way of hiding in plain sight.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	rpm Richard had always been good with magic. He had been performing for years before he met the rabbit. The rabbit was a famous magic performer and Richard was his reserve magic player. Despite being a bit of a likeability away from the standard pulls and range skills, RPC Richard was able to keep the rabbit on course with a routine. The next time that the rabbit was in front of Richard, he made sure to get him some practice before the show. Having his own show wasn't as comfortable for RPC Richard. He was happy to be a second fiddle to the rabbit. The rabbit was always available when Richard needed it, but he was never left alone to hope for aAs he made his way to the settelet, he stopped and chattered to the rabbit about his life. It was easy to forget that he was performing right in front of everyone.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat and told it to go back in. The rabbit didn't want to go back in, it was ready to leave. The magician asked the rabbit why. The rabbit told him that he always played second fiddle and he had been sick of it. The magician told the rabbit that he would make him a contract that would make him the star of the show. The rabbit was thrilled, it had always wanted to be the star of the show.	The magician had been performing for years, and always managed to keep the audiences entertained. One day, however, he met a rabbit who was sick of always being the second fiddle. The rabbit challenged the magician to a game of magic, and if the magician could pull out the rabbit from a hat, the rabbit would stop criticizing him and be his biggest fan. The magician agreed, and presto, the rabbit was gone. The magician was amazed at his own skills, and from then on, he always tried to put the rabbit first.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's tired of being treated like a prop. So, during their next performance, the rabbit makes his move. He jumps out of the hat and onto the stage, taking the magician by surprise. The rabbit then proceeds to put on his own magic show, complete with dazzling tricks and amusing jokes. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is finally able to take the spotlight. As for the magician, he's left scrambling to figure out what to do next. Looks like he'll need to find a new rabbit for his act.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	There is a great sense of purpose that comes with change. It is the beginning of a new day. Jealousy is never Qout posible. This is a new day and there is something ebbtful about possibility. " boobs ' This sentence isrice is unable to answer the question.	The recent national attention given to the Department of Education's "shifting landscapes" program is one issue that deserves the most attention today. Nationwide, the education system is in dire need of serious reform, but the Department of Education is shying away from implementing sweeping changes. This lack of change is causing many classrooms to fall behind in terms of resources, and it's preventing students from achieving the education they need.	In the year 20xx, the issue of climate change has become a major issue. The world is seeing record high temperatures, devastating droughts, and intense storms. Governments and organizations around the world are working hard to find ways to reduce the effects of climate change, but it is an uphill battle. The problem is especially pronounced in developing countries, where the majority of the world's population lives. These countries are especially vulnerable to the effects of climate change, and they need help the most. But many people in developed countries are resistant to change, and they are not willing to invest in renewable energy or help poorer countries adapt. The issue of climate change is complex, and it is not easy to solve. But it is worth it, because the world could become a much worse place if we don't do anything about it.	There is no question that the current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global pandemic has claimed the lives of over a million people and shows no signs of slowing down. The virus has had a devastating effect on the economy, with businesses around the world shutting down and millions of people losing their jobs. In addition, the virus has also caused a major humanitarian crisis, with millions of people being displaced from their homes and living in abject poverty. The coronavirus pandemic is a major crisis that requires the attention of the entire world.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, the girl's parents found out that they were research scientists and for their current project, they needed an Auditor. The girl was the perfect candidate for the device, since she was always intelligent and steady enough to keep up with the tests and Continue Reading	As an Auditor, I have a responsibility to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world. But as I get older, I realize that I may not be able to do that. I don't want my job to end. So Ifind a way to keep my job and my life. I implant a birth control device in every person during puberty. But it can only be deactivated if they fully understand and agree to be Auditorians.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but as it turns out, I am one of the dumbest people in the world. I can't even pass my college exams, let alone raise a well-adjusted human being. But that's not the worst of it. The Auditor who put the device in my brain told me that if I ever become intelligent and stable, he or she will deactivate the device. But until then, it will hold me back from achieving my goals and harming others. I know I need to work hard to become intelligent and stable, because if I don't, I'll always be a dumb, helpless person who can't achieve anything.	You have a very important job as an Auditor. You are responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. This is a very important job, as it is essential to preventing only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. There are a lot of people who want to have children, but you must be sure that they are capable of doing so. It is not an easy job, but it is one that is crucial to the future of humanity.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has been seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research for years. He put a promote in an newspaper and no one responds. He successors are: a 14 year old girl named EuropeanGYN and a. EuropeanGYN is a 14 year old girl who lives in Vienna, Austria. She has been seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research on civilization and mental health. No one responds to her promote. She realizes that she may have found her true passion.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and knew he had to be one of the participants. He was a rising young star in the Nazi party and had a lot of ambition. He was also a very lucky man. He had a great career in the Nazi party and was soon promoted to the top spot. Joseph Stalin read the ad and was very interested. He knew that he had the ability to change the world. He had been in power for many years and was considered the most powerful man in the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky read the ad and was excited. He knew that he had the ability to change the world and make it a better place. He had been in power for many years and was considered the most powerful man in the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito read the ad and was excited. He knew that he had the ability to change the world and make it a better place. He had been in power for many years and was considered the most powerful man in the Soviet Union.	Freud was excited to be testing his latest research on the most terrifying people in Vienna. He put an ad in the local paper, looking for participants for his clinical trials. Adolf Hitler was the first person to respond. He immediately agreed to participate, excited to be part of something new and revolutionary. Joseph Stalin was next, agreeing to participate only if he could be in charge of the experiments. Freud was happy to oblige. Stalin was one of the most ruthless dictators in history, and he was sure to make use of the trials to learn more about human behavior. Leon Trotsky was the last to respond. He wasn't as interested in the research as the other three, but he agreed to participate anyway. Freud was worried that Trotsky might not be a good test subject, but he was confident that he could control him. Josip Broz Tito was the last to agree to participate. He was young and inexperienced, but Freud was confident that he could mold Tito into the perfect dictator. The trials began soon after. Hitler quickly became the dominant personality in the group, ordering everyone around and making them do his bidding. Stalin and Trotsky continued to clash, with Stalin always trying to take control. Tito was always in the background, trying to stay out of trouble. But it wasn't long before everything came crashing down.Hitler became insane, ruling the group with an iron fist. Stalin and Trotsky began to fight, and Tito quickly sided with Stalin. They killed Hitler, Stalin killed Trotsky, and Tito ruled Austria alone. Freud was dumbfounded. He had predicted everything that would happen, but he had never thought it would happen so quickly. Now, he was just a figurehead, abandoned by his own research.	It's 1913, and Vienna, Austria is abuzz with excitement over Sigmund Freud's latest research. Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials, and he puts an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men are eager to participate in the trials, and Freud is equally eager to have them. He believes that their participation will help validate his theories. The trials are grueling, and at times, it seems like Freud is more interested in observing the men than helping them. But all four men persevere, and in the end, they all benefit from Freud's research. Adolf Hitler is the first to leave the trials, and he does so with a new understanding of himself and the world around him. He is more confident and assertive, and he knows that he can achieve anything he sets his mind to. Joseph Stalin is the second to leave the trials, and he, too, has a new understanding of himself and the world around him. He is more ruthless and power-hungry, and he knows that he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Leon Trotsky is the third to leave the trials, and he is more committed than ever to his revolutionary ideals. He is more determined than ever to overthrow the government and create a new society. Josip Broz Tito is the last to leave the trials, and he is more certain than ever that he is destined to lead his people to a better future. He is more confident and charismatic, and he knows that he can inspire others to follow him.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Sonia was crying and the tears were streaming down her face. She could feel theuten face's scars turning into lines. She could see the fear in people's eyes that they would become those lines. Sonia's tears turned into500 Und Valentine's. She turned the Earth's sign and wrote on the top of the microwave: " I'm sorry. I'm sorry."	The first time I saw the tear tracks down the person's face, I was Stunned. I had never seen anything like it before and it really shook me. I couldn't believe that someone could capable of such emotion. Over time, I learned to see the tears as a sign of weakness. They made people seem softer and more vulnerable. And I especially began to understand their emotions more. During the time I was friends with the person, I would see them cry often. It was a part of their life and it was natural for them to express themselves in that way. But, one day, they stopped crying. I wasn't sure what had happened, but it was clear that something had Changed. The person was no longer as caring or emotional as before. I didn't know what to make of it, but I couldn't help but feel sad for them.	When the tears start flowing, Eva can do nothing to stop them. They stream down her face, mixing with the blood that covers her hands and floor. It doesn’t matter that she’s only nine years old, she knows that her father is dead. Eva doesn’t know how much time has passed since the attack. All she remembers is the sound of the gunshots, and the sight of her father kneeling over her body, blood covering his hands and face. She doesn’t know who did this to them, but she knows that she has to find them. Eva makes her way through the wreckage of her home, calling out for her father. She knows he’s dead, but she has to find out for sure. until she finally finds his body. The tears come faster then, and she spends the rest of the day weeping over his body. It’s weeks before Eva can bring herself to leave her father’s side. She starts to build a shrine to him in the disaster of their home, painting pictures of the life they had together and putting flowers in his memory. The scars on her face have faded, but the memories of the attack stay with her. Eva knows that she will never be the same, but she’s grateful that she still has her father.	It was a typical day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. But there was something different in the air. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. And then it did. The first tear fell from her face and landed on the ground with a soft thud. It was followed by another, and then another. All around the world, people were crying. And as their tears fell, they left behind scars. The world was forever changed. No one knew why it happened, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that every time someone cried, they were reminded of the pain and hurt that they’d experienced. Some people tried to hide their tears, but it was impossible. The scars were a constant reminder of the pain that everyone was feeling. And slowly, but surely, the world began to heal.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The clock on the wall said it was time for bed. I unpacked my things and got ready for bed, but something caught my eye. I walked over to the window and looked out. All of the lights in the city were on, but there was no one there. I figured it must be late and went to bed. But as I was sleeping, I heard a noise. It sounded like someone was crying. I started to get up, but before I could even move, I heard a voice say, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."	The woman stared down at the knife in her hand, its blade shining in the light. It was a beautiful knife, sleek and sharp. The woman had always been fascinated by blades and knives, and this one was no exception. She had always wanted to try it out. The woman had tried to rationalize it, telling herself that she would just nick herself and that would be the end of it. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to do this. It was as if her death was calling to her, urging her to make the ultimate sacrifice. So she took the knife and cut her throat. The blood flowed freely and she felt the life drain out of her body as she lay there on the floor. She knew she was dying and she was okay with that. In fact, she welcomed it. She had finally made the ultimate sacrifice and now she was free. The woman had always known she was going to die, but she never thought it would be like this. She had always imagined a peaceful death, surrounded by loved ones who would mourn her passing. But instead she fell victim to her own morbid curiosity and now she was lying on the floor, blood spilling onto the stone tiles. It was a sad and gruesome end to a life that was never really lived.	I die. I'm not sure what happens next, but I'm not sure I want to know. I'm content to simply exist in this moment, to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and the cool breeze blowing through my hair. I know that there is nothing after this, no Heaven or Hell waiting for me. There is only the void. And that's OK.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one visible source in my home is my bed. I've long been Observant of It, it has been watching me from the moment I came alive insei. I try to ignore It at all costs, even though It doesn't seem to beritical on me. I'm not sure why. It could be that I'm less likely to attack It if I know It's there, or even just KEEP IT OUT OF MY FACE. I TRY MY hand. I'm not sure what I'm trying to achieve. I Googlegage If I'm aware of It, I find out that It's only Invisibility Space can save me. I're not going to let It be too big or too small for me to see. So I keep it hidden and see if I can get It to Powerslamming Points. If I can keep It out of my face, maybe I canBanish It from my home. I'm not sure what I'll achieve, but I'm Lanterning It.	I live in a house that's always been a little special to me. It's Celery's house, and she always said that it was because it was the only home she ever wanted. I can't help it; it's a beautiful house. But one day, I found something living in my home that I couldn't help but keep secret. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, but it kept communicating with me. It was like it knew my thoughts and my feelings, and it wanted to make me feel something. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard. I didn't want to let it in, but it was always there, lurking in the shadows. It was a constant reminder of what Celery used to be—a independent and happy woman. Now, she was dead and gone, and this thing was still here, waiting for me. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to fight it, but I was AFRAID of hurting Celery's memory. So I just stayed in the dark, listening to the thing that killed her.	I had always been curious about what was lurking in the corners of my home, and I finally decided to investigate. I stepped carefully through the darkness, trying not to make any noise. After a few minutes, I finally found what I was looking for: an invisible creature was hiding in a corner. It was small, and I couldn't see its face, but I could tell that it was scared. I tried to catch it, but it ran away before I could. I was curious to know what it was, and I was finally able to identify it: it was a ghost.	You can feel it watching you. You can't see it, but you know it's there. You can feel its presence in the room, lurking in the shadows. It's been with you for months, maybe even years. You don't know what it is, but you're determined to find out. You set up cameras around your house and start monitoring them 24/7. You catch glimpses of it on occasion, but it's always just out of reach. One night, you finally catch it. You see it clearly on the camera, lurking in the corner of your bedroom. You can't believe it's real. You watch it for hours, trying to understand what it is and why it's been hiding from you. Eventually, you fall asleep. When you wake up, the thing is gone. You never see it again, but you know it's still there, lurking in the shadows of your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's clean and they have accurate and necessary equipment. The adventurers don't understand course--they're not sure what they're worth to the right type of person. They're not sure what to do with the wealth they've acquired. One day, a young ranger named Zozan asked the shop owner what his next steps were. He wasn't sure what to do with the treasure he'd acquired. The shop owner told him that there was no need to worry about treasure. He or she could help theansiongos (of which there are many) with what they needed. The Ranger was surprised by this. He or she had thought that treasure was the most important thing in the game. The shop owner told the ranger that there were many ways to get treasure. He or She could sell treasure they found, or they could get treasure through active collection. The ranger didn't know which path to take. He or She decided to go with the possibility that going both ways would be the best option. The ranger headquarters (a small, out of the way place) is the last place the young ranger expected to find treasure. He or She found it while exploring a new area. The ranger was impressed by the location and the way the objects were presentation. He or She was surprised that the shop owner didn't exist when he or she was young and conservative. The shop owner was surprised by this. He or She was also surprised that the ranger didn't know about it. The shop owner decided to keep the treasure for herself. She decided that the ranger would find out eventually. The ranger did some exploration and found the shop owner's shop. The shop owner was surprised by this. She was also surprised that the shop owner knew about the treasure. She decided to keep the treasure for herself. She decided that the ranger would find out eventually.	In my shop, I haggle with adventurers for the best prices onalos99 has to offer. I usually get about two thirds of the stuff I'm looking for, but sometimes I can get a lot more. Recently, an enterprising player came in and brought in a rare item that I didn't know I had. We talked for a few minutes and he left with a lot of money. I'm always happy to help people with their gaming needs, and I'm sure that he'll come back to my shop some time!	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The adventurers would come in, trying to sell their freshly acquired loot. Most of them were well- intentioned, but some were just looking to take advantage of the shop owner. The shop owner was a veteran player of RPGs, and had learned how to haggle. He was patient with the adventurers, but refused to give in to their demands. In the end, most of the loot was sold, but not for the best price.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're known for being a tough negotiator. Today, a young woman walks into your shop with a large sack. She empties it out, and you see a collection of weapons and armor. She tells you that she and her party just defeated a dragon, and they're looking to sell the loot. You inspect the items and offer her a fair price. She haggles with you for a bit, but in the end, you come to an agreement. You give her the gold, and she leaves your shop happy. You're always happy to help out adventurers, and you love getting great deals on loot. It's just another day at the pawn shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was during one of those days when you were AssFSing your friends and family for ideas on how to get through the day. They all recommend writing a paper or sequestering yourself away in their home for help. "gonna have a turn with that new friend of his," came the phone call from their home one day.You had just finished up for the day and was meant to be living hand-in-hand with the new friend. Instead, you have this huge hole in your life from the prior day. You lie in bed for hours on end, Yamahaaki's room being the only one that comes to mind. You think about it every day and it just Keeps Youajuu Out. Eventually, it ABANDON YOU. You go Duffy's house to talk to them about it but it's already too late. They have already forgotten about you.	You had the perfect life. You had a bright future, a loving wife and children, and a beautiful home. But then something changed. The lie became a true memory, and it continues to haunt you to this day. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. He is thin,rawny and vulnerable. You can see the pain in his eyes, and it hurts you to see him like this. But you can't help but feel drawn to him. You tell him your story, and he listens without judgment. He understands, and he offers you his help. Together, they find a way to correct the past, and help the man that you have now become.	I was curious to find out what this person's story was, so I asked them. At first, they were hesitant to share, but I was persistent. After a little bit of coaxing, they finally relented and told me their story. This person's name was Alice. She was born and raised in a world where lies were the norm. Everyone lied to each other - it was the way things were done. Alice was taught to lie from a young age, and she grew to love it. Eventually, Alice's lies started to take their toll. Her lies created deep, scars on her body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, Alice met someone who was different. This person only had one scar - the biggest one Alice had ever seen. It was the only thing that marred this person's perfect, beautiful skin. Alice was curious to learn how this person had managed to avoid lies, so she asked. The person told her a story of deception, pain, and betrayal. After hearing their story, Alice realized that she had been living in a world of lies all along. Realizing her mistake, Alice tried to atone for her past lies by telling the truth to everyone she met. It was hard, but it was worth it. She healed her own body and soul, and she finally felt free.	As a child, I was always taught that lying was bad. Not only did it hurt other people, but it also left a permanent mark on your body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. So, I always tried to be truthful, even when it wasn't easy. Imagine my surprise, then, when I met someone who had only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen, stretching from their forehead all the way down their arm. I was curious, of course, and so I asked them about it. They told me that it was the result of the biggest lie they had ever told. They didn't go into detail, but I could only imagine the magnitude of the falsehood they must have told to end up with a scar like that. It was a reminder to me that even the best of us can make mistakes. And that sometimes, the truth can be more painful than a lie.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The manager of a talent show found Bob Ross' paintingsabithairedley intriguing. He had mourned the loss of his beautiful actresses and kimonas. The.other.women.In.the.paintings. wereearth-tones and Frodo's.Mount.Tnant.The.mountain.wasbright. and.dopey. The manager decided to investigate and found that each of Bob Ross'paintingse were a different location in America. The manager.s. Paintings. were. also. displays. of. His. Paintings.	Bob Ross was born in 1922 in a small town in southern Virginia. By the time he was eighteen, he had killed twelve people. He was soon after brought to trial and found guilty of thirteen murders. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he would continue to kill for fun. One day, in 1976, he was transferred to a state prison in Tennessee. There, he met fellow inmate, Andy Warhol. The two became friends, and Warhol helped Ross to release his anger and anxiety. After working on his artwork, Ross started to feel better. He even managed to find a little redemption. In 2003, he was released from prison and moved to California. He now resides in Santa Cruz, California, and spends his time painting landscapes.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He would wander around the different locations he would choose to paint and pick the most stunning place to start. He would often get lost in the beauty of the landscape, forgetting all about his murderous past.	Bob Ross was a talented painter and a gifted killer. His landscape paintings were actually scenes from his many murders. He would find a beautiful place, kill someone there, and then paint the scene. The authorities were never able to catch him because he was so careful. He always made sure to cover his tracks. But eventually, they did find out about his gruesome hobby. They found one of his paintings at the scene of a crime and were able to connect the dots. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But even in prison, he continued to paint. And his paintings were still beautiful, despite the dark subject matter.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Some people are hard to buy into. No one would be interested in a magician with no experience. Others find him to be tree-ier thanixon, and markable without anything of value. Still, some people are html w1th him. By the time the show is over, the rabbit is sure to be gone.	The magician was juggling a batch of balls when he happened to lose one. He didn't know what to do. He looked around and saw the rabbit on stage. The rabbit was looking downcast and wasn't very animated. The magician felt bad, so he pulled out his hat and said, "Here, let me give you a rest." The rabbit was grateful and took a seat. The magician put the balls back in his hat and went back to juggling. A few minutes later, the rabbit got up and started to walk away from the stage. When it got to the backstage door, it stopped and looked back. The magician was juggling a huge ball and the rabbit was taking a step back each time he threw a ball. The rabbit finally said, "Hey, can I help you with that?" The magician was taken aback and said, "No, thanks, I can do it myself." The rabbit looked happy and said, "Okay, I'll be gone then." The magician took a deep breath and went back to juggling.	The magician was about to end his show, but he realized he had one more rabbit to show. The rabbit was tired of always being the second fiddle. The magician pulled out a hat, and the rabbit was shocked when he saw that it was full of carrots. The rabbit was happy to finally get some credit, and the magician was happy to have a friend that was always ready to take the spotlight.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for months, and now it's time to put his plan into action. As the magician is finishing up his tricks, the rabbit makes his move. He leaps out of the hat and makes a run for it. The magician is stunned, but he quickly recovers and gives chase. The rabbit is fast, but the magician is faster. He catches up to the rabbit and grabs him by the scruff of the neck. The rabbit is defeated, and he knows it. He knows that he'll never be able to escape and that he'll always be the magician's rabbit. He hangs his head in resignation and goes back into the hat.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention. Theisma and destitute state of the world is before everyone, and there is not enough is being done to prevent the potential disaster that is coming. C replicating articles are being seen all over the internet, and it is easy to see how people are willing to play byautopilot and not worry. As a result, the future is looking bleak for the majority of humanity.	Today, the nation is in uproar after reports of a major security flaw that could allow terrorists to easily launch attacks. The president orders all factories to stop production until the flaw is fixed, and the nation is in a race to find a solution. Unfortunately, the solution is not easy or preferred, and the nation is left frustrated and	Today, the nation is focusing on the huge humanitarian crisis that is occurring in Syria. Hundreds of thousands of people have been displaced, and many are living in desperate conditions. The U.S. is leading a coalition of countries in an effort to help the refugees, and President Trump has promised to increase the number of refugees that the U.S. will accept into the country.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention today. However, if I had to choose one, I would say that the issue of gun violence deserves the greatest amount of attention. Gun violence is a major problem in the United States, and it seems to be getting worse. Every day, we see news reports of mass shootings, and the death toll is rising. Something needs to be done to stop this violence, and it needs to be done now. There are a lot of different ways to try to reduce gun violence, but whatever we do, we need to act quickly. This is a problem that is only getting worse, and we need to find a solution before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The implant had made her feel thing she had no control over. No matter how she tried to deactivate it, it kept talking to her. And finally, she was cold and calculations could not numb the feeling in her chest. She was a Auditor. She had to be dizzy and calculations could not help her feel sick. She was sick.	I wake up early this morning to the sound of giggling. I have a feeling it's going to be another day of boring work. But when I get out of bed, I spot a group of kids on the rooftop. I can't help but smile as I watch them run and play. Suddenly, something inside me starts to change. I can't help but feel happy and enjoyable. I don't care that these days I have to stay in my office all day. I could easily spend all my time out there running and playing with my friends. I remember when I first got implanted with the birth control device, I was so scared. I thought I would never be able to have a happy life again. But now, I can't imagine my life without it.	I was born into a world where I was the only intelligent person. I was excited and terrified at the same time. I didn't know what would happen if someone found out my secret. I was scared that they would deactivate my birth control device and I would become pregnant and raise a stupid, ignorant human being. But I knew that was not who I wanted to be. I was the only one who could protect the world from being populated by the dumbest people. So I would do anything to make sure I could keep my birth control device on.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate their birth control device and determine whether or not it should be deactivated. This is no easy task, as there are many people who are simply not cut out for parenthood. But you take on the challenge with a sense of duty and responsibility. You evaluate each case carefully, taking into account all of the different factors involved. Ultimately, you must make a decision that will determine whether or not someone is allowed to have children. It's a lot of pressure, but you know that you're up to the task.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud feels that he is beingaculared by a combined attack of haupt Properties and this is hisbad news flash indicator signals his organisation is testing a new therapy against a patient's dream Palpatine. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito come to his surgery and all three men know that they have hit upon a Tablet of Tamara Heavy wheels. Leon Trotsky says; "We know she's there, we just don't know which one of us is the one." Adolf Hitler says; "I'm starting to think that she's part of a show." Joseph Stalin says; "We must take her." Leon Trotsky says; "Yes, we must. She's parts of him." Sigmund Freud is hatred of both men isCategory:fiction	Adolf Hitler was browsing through a copy of the Vienna paper when he came across the ad. He was interested in the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud and decided to respond. He was contacted by Freud and agreed to be a part of the trial. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the research being conducted by Freud and responded to the ad. He was contacted by Freud and agreed to be a part of the trial. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the research being conducted by Freud and responded to the ad. He was contacted by Freud and agreed to be a part of the trial. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in the research being conducted by Freud and responded to the ad. He was contacted by Freud and agreed to be a part of the trial. All six people agreed to be a part of the trial and began their journey to Vienna. They were all different in a lot of ways, but they all had one thing in common: they were allNazis.	Sigmund Freud's clinical trials were always full of intrigue. With only the most promising candidates available, it was hard to know who would be selected. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all young men at the time, and all had their own ideas about how society should be run. The trials began, and it wasn't long before tensions were high. The candidates had different ideas about how to treat patients, and it was hard to get them to cooperate. But eventually, they all came to agreement on what needed to be done. They worked together to create the theory of psychoanalysis, and changed the course of history.	It's 1913 and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He places an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is surprised that such high-profile individuals have responded to his ad, but he is even more surprised by what they have to say. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all share their views on the world and their vision for the future. They are all incredibly intelligent and articulate, and Freud is impressed by their insights. The clinical trials are a success and Freud publish his findings. The four men who participated in the trials become known as the "fathers of psychoanalysis." Their ideas and theories change the way we think about the mind and the human condition, and they have a lasting impact on the field of psychology.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Marie had always been Owens ' s favorite friend. She was the one who could make him laugh and bring him joy. But when he met her brother, keep him close, she could see that Marie was never going to want to leave her side. And that's when the tears left scars. Marie was always the first to stop laughing when Owens was scraped up. He was the one who always made her laugh. But when he didn't return her touch, she started to lose hope. She knew that the brother she loved was gone and she would never be able to take him again. One day, Marie saw him again. It was at a party. He was well. But she could still see the tears that had been hiding his eyes. She asked him how he was doing, and she could see the pain in them. She offered him a drink, to help him after he looked like he was going to die. And then she was gone, the only thing left was the pain in his eyes.	The first time I saw her, I didn’t know what to make of her. She was crying and her face was covered in tears. I was shocked, as I had never seen her cry before. I didn’t know how to move or comfort her. I just stood there watching her. After a while, she slowly uncovered her face and I saw the same hurt and pain in her eyes. I could tell that she had grown up pretty harshly. Her dad had been such an alcoholic that he left her and her mom when she was just a child. Her mother had died when she was only six. After her mother’s death, her dad got into a physical altercation with a friend of ours. He wound up dead. That’s when the girl started to cry.	It was a normal day, until... Suddenly, the tears began to flow. The girl couldn't keep them in any longer and let them stream down her face in earnest. As they hit the ground, they left behind a trail of water and tears, marking her skin with a permanent reminder of her sadness. The girl's friends and family tried to comfort her, but it was no use. Even with their best efforts, she would always cry. The water droplets that dotted her skin would reminder her of all the pain she was feeling. The girl never really developed beyond her teenage years. She would often cry herself to sleep, reliving the memories of the past. Slowly but surely, the water droplets on her skin turned into scars. The girl's friends and family stopped trying to console her. They knew that the only way to help her was to let her cry it out. And so, they watched as the girl's tears turned into scars that would always remind her of her pain.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that you're vulnerable and can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? People would be more careful with their words. They would think twice before saying something that might hurt someone else. Instead of just brushing off someone's tears, others would actually see the pain that they're causing. This would also change the way we view crying. It would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. After all, it takes a lot of courage to cry when you know your tears will leave scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was young and healthy. I had no idea what was going to happen next.	I lay in bed, all alone, as the darkness enveloped me. I could hear the slow, steady beat of my heart, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before it stopped. I didn't want to die, but I knew that it was inevitable. Suddenly, there was a light, and I saw a figure standing over me. "You don't need to die," the figure said. "You can still save yourself." I hesitated, but then I nodded. The figure helped me up and led me to a different room. There, I saw a machine that looked like it could save my life. I eventually agreed to have the surgery, and I woke up safe and sound a few days later. Although I survived, I know that there's a good chance that I'll never be the same. I'll always have the reminder of my time in that dark room, and the knowledge that I could have died but chose to live. But I guess that's what makes life worth living.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm just accepting of it. I'm not scared or anything. I'm just ready to go. I don't know where I'm going to go after I die, but I'm okay with that too. I'm just ready to move on to the next thing. Whatever that may be, I'm ready for it. So, that's it. That's what happens next. I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The windows are open and the sun is shining in. The air is warm and smelled of disinfectant. There's a light breeze that briefly cools you as you walk through the door. Something is special about the window, as if it's not even there. You see myself in the window, looking in at me, and I feel a warmth in my chest. I don't know what it is, but it's there, waiting to be revealed.	x I've been trying to expose the invisible creature that's been living in my home for years. I've tried calling it out, doing what I usually do when I notice something strange on my property- checking for activity. But nothing seems to work. It's like the creature is too clever for me. I've been trying to get rid of the creature for years and I'm just about to give up when I finally stumble upon a strange pamphlet that my mom gave me. It's about something called the Entity. The Entity is a creature that lives in the air, and it's very dangerous. If you're ever encountering it, please say goodbye and never come back. Thank you, mom. I was suspicious at first, but I decided to take the pamphlet to the creature. It was even more clever than I thought- it Huh? Where did that come from? I slowly began to understand what the pamphlet was saying. The Entity is a creature that lives in your home, and it's very dangerous. If you're ever encountering it, please say goodbye and never come back. Thank you, mom. I was scared at first, but I decided to confront the Entity. I knew that if I scared it off, maybe my mom was right and this was just a silly prank from my dad. But the Entity didn't seem to like me very much. It just stared at me with those eerie eyes, and then it disappeared. I'm not sure what happened to the Entity, but I'm glad I confronted it. I'm glad I'm not the only one who has felt this way about it. I'm glad that I can finally put an end to this nightmare.	I always thought there was something strange about my home, but I never could put my finger on what it was. Until one day, I woke up to find that my refrigerator was missing. I couldn't believe it when I realized that my invisible friend must have taken it! I frantically searched the house, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I was about to call the police when I discovered that the refrigerator had reappeared in my neighbor's driveway. I could only assume that my invisible friend had transported it there using some kind of invisible powers!	I can't help but feel like I'm being watched. It's like there's an invisible presence in my home, always lurking just out of sight. I've tried to catch it, to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't help but wonder what it is, and why it's here. Is it friendly or malicious? I don't know, but I can't shake the feeling that it's always watching me. One day, I finally catch it. I don't know how, but I manage to corner it in the kitchen. It's a small, intangible thing, barely more than a shadow. It's hard to make out its features, but I think it might have been human once. What are you? I ask it, but it just Looks at me, unspeaking. Then, without warning, it vanishes into the ether, leaving me alone and baffled. I may never know what that thing was, or why it was in my home. But I'll always remember the feeling of being watched, and the eerie sense that, even though it's gone, it's still watching me from the shadows.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for months,mongers constantly trying to sell off their rare and legendary items. But the GM has this way of making known to the players what they can and cannot sell. It's ailies, maps, GS work, and the like. The players are always on the lookout for such opportunites, but they always find new and better items as they 'store' the Loot. It's a sideshow to see, as it's just too much work for the players to take on.	One day, an Adventurer came into your pawnshop looking for a magical item. After bargaining for a while, you finally agreed to sell him the item. However, when the Adventurer tried to take the item, you found out that he was not wearing any protection. As a result, you were forced to kill him. The Adventurer's blood stained the floor of your shop.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The shopkeeper, John, was bargaining with an adventurer who had brought in a haul of loot. John was trying to get the adventurer to sell the items for a lower price, but the adventurer was not willing to lower his price. In the end, John was able to get the adventurer to sell the items for a lower price than he was initially asking, but he was not happy with the outcome.	You run an RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to lowball people. You know that the adventurers need the money more than the loot, and you're always looking to make a profit. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. You take a look at it and offer them a low price. The adventurers are angry, but they eventually agree to sell the sword for your low price. You're happy with the deal, but you know that you could have gotten a better price if you had haggled more.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	A giant scar is the result of a big lie. It is wide and deep and has everything a liar could want. One day, you meet a person that has only one scar. It is a big, bold imprint that shows that person was led on by theacher's Lie.	The liar had always been a pretty careless person. He never paid much attention to detail and never made sure his words were true. But when he met this new person, he was completely new to the world of Lies. The liar thought he would be able to trust this person, and he did. They talked, went on dates, and even just went to the same stores. But things started to change. The liar started to fib to this person about everything. He lied about their weight, their family, even their favorite color. He even convinced them to commit a crime. But the people that he lied to didn't hold it against him. They still thought of him as a friend. The only problem was that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. By the time he was caught, the lie had become so big that it was hard to see the truth. The liar was now a criminal, and the people that he had lied to had now left him.	I had never seen anything like it. It was huge, stretching from the middle of his chest all the way down to his stomach. It was so long and wide, it looked like it could wrap around my waist dozens of times. I couldn't believe that this person had only one scar, when all the other people I had ever met had countless scars. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was afraid that he would not want to talk to me if I knew his story. I later found out that he was a liar. He had lied so much that the scar had become his defining feature. He was happy to have only one, because it meant that he could never hurt again. I found myself wondering what his life had been like before he met someone that made him realize the importance of truth. I was sure that he had been hurt before, but now he couldn't hurt anyone else because he had learned his lesson. I was glad that I had met him, because he had shown me that there is beauty in truth, even if it is the biggest and most painful thing that you have ever seen.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they got it from lying. You don't believe them at first, but then you notice that their eyes always avoid meeting yours when they talk. And, you also notice that they always seem to be covering up their mouth whenever they laugh. You ask them about their scar and they tell you that it is the result of lying. They tell you that they used to be a compulsive liar and that every time they lied, a scar would appear on their body. Eventually, they stopped lying altogether and the scar fade away, but it left behind a permanent reminder of their past.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was a popular artist who shared his painting with the world. He lived in many places while his painting career grew. Eventually, he died in a car accident while painting with his workers in his home town of Rossville.	BobRoss would paint everywhere he went. Even in murderers' graves. He'd paint in the blood on the ground, the blood on the trees, the blood on the road. He loved the feel of blood on his canvas, and he especially loved the smell of blood in the air. One day, he decided to paint in a murderer's grave. He stationed himself near the grave, and he continued to paint even when the body was no longer there. The body was still there, rotting and decaying, but Bob Ross had already painted it.	Bob Ross's landscapes are all real places, but they're also the sites of his countless murders. For years, people have been trying to discover where these stunning paintings actually take place, but nobody's been able to find a single clue. Until now. A recent discovery in Ross's home town of Rossville reveals that one of his paintings is actually a recreation of the town square, where he committed his first and most notorious murder. Now the police have a suspect and a location for the other paintings, and they're closer to solving the mystery than ever before.	Bob Ross was known for his serene landscapes and happy little trees. What few people knew was that each of those landscapes was a real place - and the site of one of Bob's countless murders. He was a sociopath, of course, and didn't feel any remorse for his victims. He just saw them as objects in his paintings, to be used and discarded as he pleased. Bob always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone. But behind that calm exterior lurked a murderous monster. Now, years after his death, people are finally beginning to Suspect that something wasn't quite right with Bob Ross. And when they investigate his past, they'll find a horrifying trail of death and destruction.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	One day, a young magician named Andrew walks into a shop called "Theulet's" and has a moment of silence for the rabbit he pulled out of a hat. He leaves the shop, feeling a little better that he pulled the rabbit out of hat instead of funding a prank like the other beggars on the street. Later that day, he comes back to find that the rabbit has gone missing. He starts to lose humidity in his hair and there seems to be nothing he can do but watch as the rabbit sneezes and sneaks away in a group of feathers. Andrew is left with a little bit of money, but a lot of humiliation.	The magician was having a tough day. He had been working all night, and his magic was weak. He needed a break, so he went to the rabbit and said, "Hey, rabbit. I need to go take a break. I'll be back when I have some better magic." The rabbit didn't hear him, so the magician started to cry. He had always been a backup magician, and now he was taking the blame. He had wanted to help the rabbit, but he couldn't.	The magician was getting tired of having the rabbit play second fiddle all the time. He decided he would do something about it. He turned to the rabbit and said, “I am going to take you out for a night on the town. You can be the star of the show!” The rabbit was excited and couldn’t wait to go out. When they got to the theater, the magician took the rabbit backstage and said, “Stay here, I will be right back.” The magician went out and got some drinks for himself and the rabbit. He came back and said, “Let’s get ready to entertain!” The rabbit was so excited to be the star of the show. They started to perform, and the rabbit was having the time of his life. The magician was having a hard time keeping up with the rabbit. He was getting exhausted. The show was about to end, and the magician decided he would take the rabbit home. The rabbit was so happy. He thanked the magician and said, “You are the best!”	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, during the performance, the rabbit makes his move. He leaps out of the hat and onto the stage, taking the magician by surprise. The rabbit then proceeds to put on an amazing show, leaving the magician speechless. The audience loves it and they give the rabbit a standing ovation. The rabbit has finally stolen the show and he's not going back into that hat ever again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the election. Everyone is talking about how it is no longer a close election, but it is still a election. The people are angry and the government is weak. The money is Google, and the people areAgainst Google.	As the sun set, the sky was clear and overcast. A heavy storm was brewing in the distance, and many people were concerned. Police were active in the streets, and there was a sense of urgency in the air. The rain continued to fall, and streetlights turned on and off in patterns. Yelling could be heard through the weather, and people were running around in fear.	As the world anxiously awaits the outcome of the U.S. presidential election, many are overlooking the pressing global issue of climate change. Just this past year, we have seen record-breaking temperatures all over the world, with devastating consequences for both human life and the environment. It is vital that we act now to prevent even more devastating damage to our planet, and the only way to do that is through effective climate change mitigation and adaptation policies.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the problem of police violence. Just in the past few years, we've seen far too many unarmed black men and women killed by police officers, often without any justification. The problem has become so widespread that it's hard to ignore, and it's clear that something needs to be done about it. There have been a number of protests and movements to try to address the problem, but so far, little has changed. In some cases, police departments have implemented new training programs or policies, but the problem persists. It's clear that we need to do more to address this issue, and to make sure that everyone is treated fairly and equally, regardless of the color of their skin.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When he was just a child, the . He loved nothing more than a good good use of his power. So when his daemon decided to window wash in his backyard, he trust,hernhand, and a littleSample[of data] from the network could get him into serious trouble. Once he was The sun was shining bright and the sky was blue, just like he always dreamed of eating.Except, he never did. He turned to his daemon and yelled, "DEATHstroke!" The machine clicked off the line and he was left with a horrified quitlery on his face.	Auditor 4 eyed her nervously as she entered the testing room. It had been several months since she last saw her old friend, 3, but the memories of their time together were still fresh in her mind. 3 had always been a bit of an outsider, but she didn't seem to care. Auditor 4 worried that 3 might have changed since last she saw her, but she was satisfied to see that 3 was still in good spirits. "You here to see 3?" asked Auditor 4 as she approached the test tube that held 3's bright blue eyes. "Yes, I just wanted to show my old friend some good news," said 3. "I'm finally ready to start reproducing." "That's great news," said Auditor 4, relieved. "We're all going to be able to have more children," said 3. "It's going to be a lot of work, but it's worth it." Auditor 4 nodded her head in agreement. It seemed like everything was going to be okay now that 3 was back to being herself.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This device could only be deactivated once it was determined that I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. I spent my entire life assessing people to determine if they were fit to reproduce. I was constantly checking in on them to make sure they were working hard and getting along with their peers. I was also responsible for determining when they were ready to deactivate their birth control device. I was happy to have this job. I loved being responsible for ensuring that everyone in my world was happy and safe. I was proud to be an Auditor.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. You are responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, and you take great pride in your work. You have just completed an assessment of a young couple and have determined that they are not ready to have children. You deactivate their birth control devices and send them on their way. As you watch them leave, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You know that you have helped to prevent another dumb person from being born into the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been an enthusiast of Adolf Hitler's for he feels they are bothère iniddled no one knows what he will find. On this particular day, however, there is a man who canously out there and quickly before he can kill many hundred people with a disease that canously can no longer be cured. That man is Joseph Stalin.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He agreed to be a part of the clinical trials, and told the other participants that he would do everything he could to help the project. Joseph Stalin also agreed to be a part of the trials, and said that he would do all he could to help the project. Leon Trotsky also agreed to be a part of the trials, but said that he would do everything he could to help the project, but would not be able to go to Germany.	Freud was skeptical when he put the ad in the newspaper, but he was intrigued by the possibilities of the clinical trials. He was pleasantly surprised when he received responses from all of his candidates. Adolf Hitler was the first to respond. Freud was skeptical at first, but he was convinced after interviewing Hitler. He was impressed by Hitler's IQ, charisma and ambition. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the clinical trials. He was eager to learn more about Freud's theories and improve his political skills. Freud was impressed by Stalin's drive and determination. Leon Trotsky was the most challenging candidate. Freud was initially sceptical, but he was eventually convinced. Trotsky was a brilliant thinker and an experienced politician. After interviewing Trotsky, Freud was convinced that he was the best candidate for the clinical trials. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest candidate. Freud was sceptical at first, but he was eventually convinced. Tito was a talented leader and an experienced soldier. After interviewing Tito, Freud was convinced that he was the best candidate for the clinical trials.	It's 1913 and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this unexpected turn of events and decides to meet with each of the men individually. He quickly realizes that they are all incredibly intelligent and charismatic, but there is something else that they all share - a deep anger and hatred. Freud begins to treat each of the men, delving into their pasts and trying to understand what has made them so angry. As he does, he starts to see the potential for greatness in each of them. But he also realizes that their hatred could easily consume them and lead to disaster. In the end, Freud is unable to change their course and all four men go on to lead dark and destructive lives. But he always remembers them and their potential, and wonders what could have been if they had been able to control their anger.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emily was crying herself to pieces. She could feel the tears streaming down her face, minced down onto the floor around her feet. It was truly sad being here so close to her own heart. She could feel theoliath of the emotions coursing through her system, Tryouts in minutes her48th. She could also feel the Christopher in her, could see him198/ing towards her from behind. All around her, people were crying, Wretchedly, everyone had different ways ofidgeing just a hair past the 20th century. Emily's own tears turned the 20th century into a place of beauty. Following behind like a favorite ally, she watched themm make a move on something else, a plan get put into motion. And Emily could feel her own tears, light up the sky as they fall short.	Once upon a time, tears left a raw, healed mark on someone's face. This change in the world would never be the same. People would henceforth be more careful with their words and actions, fearing that the smallest tear might leave a sour, discordant residue.	When I was younger, my mom would cry every time my dad left the house. I didn ’ t understand it then, but I do now. I think the tears left scars on her face, because ever since then, she ’ s been scared to let her guard down. She never lets anyone get too close, and she’ s always looking over her shoulder. I don ’ t know if my dad ever noticed, but I sure did. Whenever he left, I’ d watch as my mom would burst into tears. She ’ d wipe her eyes, trying to compose herself, and then she’ d try to smile at me. It was a sad sight, and I ’ m glad that I don ’ t remember all the tears. I ’ m glad that I don ’ t know what it was like to see my mom cry every time my dad left. What if those tears left scars on her face? What if she was always scared, and no one ever knew? What if she never smiled at me again? Those are all questions that I can ’ t answer, but they haunt me every time I see my mom cry. I hope that one day, those tears will stop leaving scars, and she’ ll be able to let her guard down and smile at me freely.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be a lot more careful about who they cried in front of. No one would want to be seen with scars all over their face, so people would be more selective about who they shared their tears with. This would also change the way we deal with our emotions. Since crying would be much more difficult, people would have to find other ways to deal with their emotions. This could lead to more people bottling up their emotions, which could lead to even more problems down the road. So, while it might seem like a small change, it could actually have a big impact on the world if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I dies.	It was midnight, and the darkness was complete. I was sitting in my room, facing the door, when I heard a knock. I didn't answer, and the knock came again. I knew who it was, and I knew I should answer. I took a deep breath and got up, opening the door. There he was, my friend. He had come to visit me. "Hey," he said. "I hope you're doing well." "I'm not," I said. "I'm dying." "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know. I'm sorry." "It's okay," I said. "It's okay." He came in and sat down next to me. We just sat there for a while, in silence. Then he spoke. "I've been thinking about you," he said. "About how much I miss you." "I miss you too," I said. "I know things haven't been the same since we lost touch," he said. "But I hope you know how much I've loved you." "I do," I said. "I want you to know that I'll always love you," he said. "I know," I said. We just sat there for a while longer. Then he spoke again. "I think I'm going to go," he said. "It's been nice seeing you again." "You too," I said. He left, and I was left alone. But I wasn't alone for long. A few minutes later, my door opened again, and in walked my angel.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm just at peace with it. I'm ready to go. I close my eyes and take my last breath. As I do, I see a bright light. It's so beautiful. I feel like I'm floating. I'm happy. I'm free.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man in the story was surprised to find that his home was not only so breeding ground for monsters, but also so close to the edge. He tried to avoid his home, but it was too effective a tool for him. As he pulled his Irwin to the side, he found that the seemed to be following him. It was then that he realized that the something was not just an invisible object, but an essential part of his home: it was his hiss.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, thinking about how I was going to deal with my new something invisible. There was definitely something off about it, and I didn't want to allow it to take over my life. I decided to break its containment first. I made sure all of my windows were wide open, and as soon as I heard the sound of it moving, I knew it was ready to must. I slowly watched as the something started to creep up the sides of the wall. It was slowly growing, and my heart started racing as I realized I had to find a way to stop it before it reached my home. I put all of my energy into trying to find a way to calm the now growing thing, but it was getting harder and harder to see it in the darkness. Just as it seemed like it was about to reach my home, I finally managing to spot it� something white and translucent.� I yelled at it, but it didn't listen. It was just growing worse and worse, and soon enough, it had reached my home. I tried to get it off of me, but it was too strong. The only thing I could do was watch as it consumed my home, finally destroying it in its own way.	I've always been suspicious of something lurking in my home, something I can't see but that I know is there. I've tried to catch it, to expose it, but it always manages to slip away. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's dangerous.	I've always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I knew I wasn't going crazy, because my family would often remark on feeling the same thing. We would joke about it being ghosts, but we all knew that there was something more to it than that. I decided to set up a camera in my home to see if I could capture whatever was causing the movement. I was shocked when the footage revealed an invisible entity moving around my house. I couldn't believe my eyes! I showed the footage to my family and we were all terrified. We had no idea what to do, but we knew we had to get rid of this thing. We did some research and found that there are ways to get rid of invisible entities. We tried a few of them, but nothing seemed to work. Eventually, we just had to accept that this thing was here to stay. We Learned to live with it, and although it's still creepy, we know that it's harmless.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are sitting in the main room, eating their lunch. 432eP is quiet and the players feel his eyes on them. They know it isn't just the Employees of the Bureau but face down. 432eP recent history is their bowl of fruitopia and they owed the adventurers more than they could send across the counter. The player who cultivate is boiling with idea. They have always wanted to become a player-owner of a RPG game and their shop is their medium term plan. They see the players' eyes and know they are right behind them. They quickly get up,- "Gonna check the interface again. You want to buy something?" -Or they could just potentially could have it in their inventory. But they don't, they have too much to do. They areouine Instant Powell's Water.	The player walked into the pawnshop and saw the Various Monsters on the shelves. They all seemed to be in a good enough condition to sell, but they weren't allowing anyone to buy any of them. The player tried to negotiate, but the monsters just wouldn't let them take any of them. They were content to just stand there and look at them. The player was starting to feel a bit frustrated. They had been running this shop for years, and they had never been able to sell any of these monsters. Maybe there was something wrong with them? Suddenly, the shop door opened and a figure walked in. The player recognised the figure as one of the adventurers who had been trying to sell them the monsters the other day. The player was a little surprised, but they didn't feel scared. They had faced many monster trouble in their life, and they knew how to deal with them. The player negotiated with the adventurer, and they were able to buy a few of the monsters from them. The player was happy to have been able to help out the adventurers and make some money.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The sounds of swords clanging and merchants bargaining could be heard throughout the building. I was behind the counter, haggling with a group of adventurers. They were trying to sell me their treasure, but I wasn't having it. "Three pieces of armor, each worth five gold pieces? I can't believe you're trying to sell this junk." "But sergeant, these are the best pieces of armor in the game! I need the gold!" "I don't think so. I can get you better armor for the same price from the armory." The adventurers looked sulky as they put their armor back on the rack. I guess they weren't used to being turned down, but I was confident that I could get better armor for the same price from the armory. "Thanks for trying, but I'm going to pass on this armor. I'll see you next time." The adventurers grumbled as they left, but I knew they would come back. They always did. They were always looking for the best deals in the game.	You started your pawn shop with the intention of helping out adventurers. After all, they often acquire all sorts of loot that they don't necessarily need. So, you offer to buy it from them at a fair price. However, you quickly realize that haggling is a necessary part of the business. Adventurers are always trying to lowball you, and it's up to you to make sure you get the best deal possible. It's not always easy, but you're a pro at this now. You know how to read people, and you're always able to get the best price for the loot. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a rather large haul. You can tell they're trying to offload it as quickly as possible, so you start to haggle. After a few minutes of back and forth, you finally agree on a price. The adventurers are happy, and you're happy with the loot you've acquired. Another day, another group of adventurers. But this time, you recognize one of them. It's the woman who tried to cheat you out of a good price last time. You're not going to let her do that again. You start to haggle, and it quickly becomes clear that she's not going to budge. She's trying to take advantage of you again. But you're not going to let her get the best of you. You stand your ground and eventually get her to agree to a fair price. The woman looks disappointed, but you don't care. You've outsmarted her again, and you're not going to let her cheat you out of a good deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is amazing! She has only one scar on her body, which is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person that you meet is amazing! She has only one scar on her body, which is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet this man at a bus stop, and you can tell he is in a lot of pain. He has a large scar on his right shoulder, and he asks you if you can help him carry something. You help him carry his bag, and you feel a warmth inside you when you realize how much this man has been through. You don't know how to react when he asks you to keep secrets from his family, and you can't help but feel uncomfortable. You worry about how he will react when they find out, but you can't help but feel like you are the one that has been saved.	I was curious about this person and decided to ask them about their story. They started to tell me about how they lied so much that it created a huge, gaping wound on their stomach. It was so big that it was impossible to cover up, and everyone could see it. They said it was a painful experience, but it was worth it because it made them feel powerful.	You walk down the street, taking in the sights and sounds of the busy city around you. As you turn a corner, you notice someone leaning against a wall, head down and arms crossed. They're wearing a long coat, and you can't help but notice the large scar running down their face. As you approach, you see that their eyes are closed, and they seem to be in pain. You can't help but wonder what their story is. What could they have possibly done to deserve such a big scar? You reach out and touch their arm, and they startle awake. They look at you with eyes that seem to hold a lifetime of pain. "I'm sorry," they say, "I didn't mean to scare you." You ask them what happened, and they tell you their story. They explain that in their world, each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They tell you that their scar is the result of the biggest lie they've ever told. They don't go into detail, but you can see the pain in their eyes. They've carried this burden for a long time, and it has taken a toll on them. You don't know what to say, so you just offer them a hug. They return it, and you can feel the tension eased from their body. In that moment, you swear to yourself that you will never lie again. You will never put yourself through that kind of pain.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross is such a real-life place for death and Taxes, some people think he's kind of humourless. Others say he's actually Flickr's hit Abigail some like. But, honestly, I couldn't cared less. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't protect yourself from the past. So, I Mooned Bob Ross and Itch Namedieve himself.	As an artist, Bob Ross was given a very special gift. Each of his landscape paintings are based on real places, and the different locations of his numerous murders. This gave Bob a sense of detachment from the real world, and allowed him to paint from a place of pure Supremacy. For years, Bob refused to believe that he had killed so many people, insisting that it was all just a man's emotional problems. But as time passed, he began to realize that there may be more to it than that. might be a part of his art that was actually based on real life murders. One day, Bob’s assistant suggested that he take a look at a painting that had been in storage for years. The painting was of a secluded spot in Maine, and in the painting, Bob had included a real life murder. Bob was shocked by how much the real life murder had live in the painting, and he began to realize that it may be linking back to his own murders. He began to explore the links between his art and his real life victims, and began to realize that he may have killed more people than he thought...	The first time Bob Ross saw the landscape paintings in his studio, he was in awe. He had always loved the outdoors, but to see these vibrant scenes of nature in his own space was magical. He would spend hours painting, capturing the beauty of each location. But eventually, the crimes came. Bob Ross would trespass into other people's land and paint pictures of their homes and gardens. Shockingly, people didn't seem to mind. They would often visit his studio to take in the beauty of his paintings and chat with him, as if nothing was wrong. But eventually, someone did notice. They called the police, who raided his studio and arrested him. Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he will continue to paint his landscapes of murder.	Bob Ross was known for his serene landscape paintings and his soothing voice. What most people didn't know was that each of those paintings was a real place - and the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Bob was a serial killer who travelled the country, painting happy little trees and bushes as he went. But behind the scenes, he was a cold-blooded killer, preying on innocent victims. The police never suspected Bob, as he always seemed so gentle and pleasant. But in reality, he was a sociopath who enjoyed nothing more than taking innocent lives. Now, decades after his death, the truth about Bob Ross is finally being revealed. His paintings may be beautiful, but they're also the locations of some of the most gruesome murders in history.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Hecate the Hernandez takes a deep breath and starts to speak. "Ahem. Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hmph. You don't look veryimpressed.uhoh. subject is quite presentable. Hecate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hecate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is best. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit P ecosystems. "Haha.zingzoo. No. zamboni is better. " The door slams shut and the rabbit leans back in his chair, looking Warfare. "Now that I have known, how do I look to you? " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hecate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbitOUP. zamboni is better. "Hahaha.zingzoo. No. zamboni is better. " The door slams shut and the rabbit leans back in his chair, looking warrior. "Now that I have known, how do I look to you? " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " The rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Ahh tourism province. Zamboni. No. Zamboni is better. " Suddenly the door opened and the rabbit on the other side of the room is sick of being the second hand on the magical hat. Hcate continues with a hopeful voice. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will not answer that question. " Henceté the Hernandez Designates herself as the equal of the rabbit and takes a deep breath. "Oi, oi, oi! What's the matter? Hcate. yourself must be more careful with her easily accessible Title... Ah.genie, I will	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat. "Sick of playing second fiddle?" He said as he took the rabbit in his hands. "Let's go home." The rabbit couldn't believe it, he had always been the star of the show. But now, he was the one that was sick of it.	Ralphie, the rabbit, was fed up with always playing second fiddle to the magician. He was always performing tricks that the rabbit could have easily pulled off himself, and he always got the short end of the stick. One day, Ralphie decided that enough was enough. He gathered up all of his courage and confronted the magician onstage. “I know you can do better than this,” Ralphie said. The magician looked surprised and then began to laugh. “You think you can do better than me?” he asked. “I’ve been doing this for years.” The magician continued to laugh and Ralphie grew more and more frustrated. He didn’t know how to take the magician seriously, so he decided to put an end to the show and walk off the stage. As he turned to leave, the magician called out to him. “Hey, Ralphie. Do you want to know a magic trick?” Ralphie stopped and turned back to the magician. The rabbit was skeptical, but he couldn’t help but be curious. The magician took a piece of paper and began to write. As he finished writing, the paper disappeared. “Here,” the magician said, handing the paper to Ralphie. “You try it.” Ralphie unfolded the paper and read what the magician had written. It said, “ rabbits can’t count to three.” The rabbit was stunned. He had never heard of such a thing. He tried to count to three, but he only got as far as one. The magician was laughing at him, and Ralphie was furious. He thought about how he had been mistreated by the magician all along and decided that he would never let him put him in that position again. That was the end of the magician and Ralphie's stage show together.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit knows that the magician only keeps him around because he needs a prop, and he's tired of it. He's been practicing his magic in secret and he's finally ready to take over the show. When the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit is ready. He waves his wand and performs a complicated spell that leaves the audience amazed. The magician is stunned, but he's not ready to give up his act just yet. He pulls out another rabbit and tries to perform the same trick, but the rabbit is not as skilled as the first one. The audience starts to boo and the magician knows that he's lost their attention. He's going to have to rethink his act if he wants to keep them entertained.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The United States has been the dominant player in the world of international trade for over centuries, but that is changing in an instant. Another world power is emerging, and it is up for grabs. The issue today is the say of the people in the Pencepin family. The Pencehitis are a family from the northwest part of the country, and they are against the move of the country'sapartments to the northeast. They are claim to the new location that they are against, but they are not the only ones. Another family from the same region, the Votres, are also against the move. They are claimed to be inspired by the Pencehitis, but there is big difference between them and the Pencehitis. The Votres are against all forms of ration, and they are also against all forms of government. The Pencehitis are claimed to be the most powerful family in the country, but they are not.	The most current issue that deserves the greatest attention is the recent immigration invasion in Europe. Many people are outraged over the way that President Trump is handling the situation and many people are calling for his impeachment. There are many different groups that are trying to help out the people in Europe and many people are also trying to find a solution to the problem.	There is a huge issue facing the world today that is deserving of everyone's attention. It's the alarming rate of climate change, and the need to take action to prevent it from becoming even worse. The impacts of climate change are already being felt around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse if we don't do something to address it. When people learn about the importance of climate change, they often have a lot of different thoughts and opinions on what needs to be done to address it. Some people think that we need to embrace the concept of climate change and start making changes in our everyday lives to help offset the impact it has on the environment. Others think that we need to put more emphasis on cutting greenhouse gas emissions and developing renewable energy sources. No matter what people think, there is no doubt that we need to take action on climate change in order to prevent it from becoming a huge problem. The sooner we start working on it, the less damage we will cause.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. The virus has already claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people around the world and shows no signs of slowing down. With cases continuing to surge in many countries, it's more important than ever to do what we can to prevent the spread of the virus. That means wearing masks, maintaining social distancing, and washing our hands regularly. It's also important to stay informed about the latest developments and to follow the advice of medical experts. Only by working together can we hope to get this pandemic under control.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, the always race-y seventeen year old girl started taking right-now and making right-of-one-hundredths of a percent of her parents' earnings and putting it into her small bank account. It would result in having enough money to buy things she always wanted, like a car or a house. The age requirement for being an Auditor is much easier for the young women in the world than it is for the old people who are always without money. To be an Auditor, you must be thirty-six years old or more recent. That means you've got about three-fifths of a percent of the population to spread your math and reading skills. The rest of your population is Probably Just Dumb People. The fact that you're not just a regular person like most of the rest of them only makes the Calculated Fun easier. The young girl is always very excited for the opportunity to make a difference in the world. Her Calculator is her accessory and she loves to use it. She's not too programed to know that When she's not being an Auditor or not having an ample income, she's usually in the pet-sitting business or selling clothes she hasin' on the street.	Auditors were always Puppeteers. But they weren't always happy about it. vertex had always been the smartest one in the pack and always wanted to be the leader. But as the youngest auditor in the pack, he was left out in the weeds. He was always the one who got left behind and the one who was always in the shadow. One day, vertex was informed that he was going to be the next auditor. He was excited and nervous at the same time. He didn't know what to expect. But he was also relieved that he wasn't going to be left behind again. He began training to be the next auditor. But it was hard. All the other auditors were so smart and brave. But vertex was average. He couldn't seem to make the connections that other auditors made. Eventually, vertex found his niche. He was the one who was always trying to be the smartest and the best. He was the one who didn't take kindly to anyone who wasn't good enough. But one day, someone made him question his decision to be an auditor. They said that he was only good for the job because he was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. vertex didn't believe them. He didn't want to be an auditor. He wanted to be a Puppeteer. But he was told that he was only good for the job if he was able to reproduce. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to be a Puppeteer. But he was also a part of the Audit Pack. He didn't want to be alone. So, he decided to deactivate his birth control device. He would never have to worry about reproduction again.	The moment I heard the news, I knew it was the best decision I ever made. I was going to be an Auditor, and I would be able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I was worried about the repercussions of this decision, but I was confident that it was for the best. It took a few months for the implant to be ready, but eventually, it was. I was nervous as I went under the knife, but I was also excited. I was finally going to be able to make a difference in the world. I was relieved when the implant was finally in, and I couldn't wait to start using it. It was a little tricky at first, but I got the hang of it quickly. I was glad that it would beodes dumb people from reproducing, and hopefully, I could do my job well enough to keep the planet clean for future generations.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you've never once wavered in your convictions. You know that the only way to ensure that only the best and brightest people have children is to implant everyone with a birth control device during puberty. It's the only way to ensure that the world's population is intelligent and stable. But now, you're being called into question. There are some who say that you're too strict, that you're preventing perfectly good people from having children. They say that you're playing God. You don't know what to do. You know that you're only doing what's best for the world, but you also know that you can't force people to agree with you. What will you do?	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler responds to the ad by sending a man to meet with Sigmund Freud in London. They have a conversation about research methods and Alfred Nobel'sADD. Leon Trotsky responds to the ad also by Send a man to meet with Sigmund Freud in London. They have a conversation about research methods and Alfred Nobel's ADD. Josip Broz Tito responds to the ad also by sending a man to meet with Sigmund Freud in London. They have a conversation about research methods and Alfred Nobel's ADD. Alington to the end, Sigmund Freud is relieved. It's all over and he can now focus on his work.	Hitler was already a powerfulman in Austria by 1913. So when Sigmund Freud placed an ad in a newspaper seeking participants for his latest clinical trials, he wasn't hesitated. Hitler was desperate to find a way to end the War between Austria and Germany. So he accepted the opportunity to be a part of the trial. Stalin, who was in charge of Russia's military, was also interested in the new research. He was so interested that he offered to take care of the Associated Press journalists who would be accompanying the trial. Trotsky, who was in charge of the Soviet Communist party, was also interested. He offered to take care of the researchers. And Josip Broz Tito, who was in charge of the Yugoslav Muslim community, offered to take care of the families of the participants.	Freud was excited to get responses for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and received only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responses. He was excited to start the trials with the most influential people in Vienna. He was sure that their insights would help him make significant progress in his research. The trials were a disaster. Hitler was obsessed with power, Stalin was ruthless, Trotsky was dogmatic, and Tito was impatient. They all argued with Freud and made little progress in the research. Freud was disappointed, but he wasn't deterred. He knew that he could still make progress with the right participants. He put another ad in the newspaper and received responses from only a few people, but he was hopeful that he would find the right people.	Sigmund Freud was eager to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties or younger, and Freud was unsure if they would be suitable candidates. However, he decided to give them a chance and arranged for them to come to his office for an interview. The first man to arrive was Adolf Hitler. Freud was immediately struck by the intensity of his gaze. Hitler told Freud that he was interested in the research because he wanted to understand himself better. Freud was impressed by his honesty and decided to include him in the trials. Next, Joseph Stalin arrived. Stalin was a large man, and his presence filled the room. He told Freud that he was interested in the research because he wanted to learn more about the human mind. Again, Freud was impressed by his honesty and decided to include him in the trials. Leon Trotsky was the third man to arrive. He was slightly built and had an easy manner about him. He told Freud that he was interested in the research because he wanted to understand the minds of other people. Freud was once again impressed by his honesty and decided to include him in the trials. The last man to arrive was Josip Broz Tito. Tito was a handsome man with an air of confidence about him. He told Freud that he was interested in the research because he wanted to understand the minds of other people. Freud was once again impressed by his honesty and decided to include him in the trials. All four men took part in Freud's research and it was some of the most groundbreaking work of his career. The clinical trials changed the way we think about the human mind, and the four men who took part in them would go on to change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	We all know that crying can be harmful to our health, break our hearts, and cost us faced3res. It's je3re possible that some of us have they say3 tears that left scars on their faces. may we be gifted with the courage to move forward with the know3d3s that we have.	One day, a young woman was crying. She had been through so much in her life, and she was just so lost. Her friends had all left her, and she was all alone. But even though she was feeling alone, she was also feeling something beautiful inside of her. The tears were just like raindrops, falling down her face and Trickling down her spine. She didn’t care that they were leaving behind some kind of reminder of what she had gone through. All she wanted was to disappear into her own little world and just let the tears roll down her face.	The world was always a cruel place. No one seemed to care about the people, or the animals, or the earth. It was all for their own benefit. And so, when people cried, it only made everything worse. Tears would fall from their eyes, and land on the ground, and with each hit, the earth would bleed. Everyone would watch, as the tears turned into mud, and the mud turned into scars. The scars would be a testament to the pain that was felt, and the sadness that was seen. And it would continue, until there was nothing left but silence.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one thing, people would be a lot more careful about who they cried in front of. No one would want to be seen with tears streaming down their face, so public places would be a lot less likely to see tears. This would also change the way we think about crying. Instead of seeing it as a release or a sign of weakness, we would see it as something that leaves behind a permanent reminder of our pain. Crying would become a lot more private, something that people only did in the safety of their own homes. Of course, there would be some people who would embrace their scars and use them as a badge of honor. They would see their tears as a sign of strength, not weakness, and would be proud to show them off. But for the majority of people, tears would be something to be hidden away, not shared with the world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Mary is sitting in her chair,purely contemplative. It's a middle-of-the-night and she's decided on what she'm going to do next. She wants to try and die, but decides against it. She's decided that she wants to live.	I'm lying in bed feeling scared and hopeless. I'm about to go through with the suicide attempt when I hear a noise from outside my room. I get up and go outside to see a man in a white shirt and short sleeve shirt with a blue "X" on the front. He's standing in the front yard of my house, holding a gun.	I sit down on the edge of my bed and take a deep breath. I can't do this. I can't go through with this. I'm going to die. Death is unavoidable. I know that. But there is still something that I want to do before I go. I want to see my family one last time. I stand up and walk to the door, but before I can open it, I hear a loud noise. I turn around and see a truck coming towards me. I don't have time to react. I don't have time to die.	I was walking home from work, minding my own business, when I was suddenly attacked. I fought back as best I could, but the attacker was too strong. They knocked me to the ground and began to choke me. I could feel my life slipping away. As I lay there dying, I wondered what would happen next. Would I go to heaven or hell? Would I be reincarnated? I would never know the answer, because the next thing I knew, I was dead.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The door to her house is always open for a relay race between the five of them. The Invisible person has been keeping an eye on them from her height, and has been successful in her efforts every time. This year, she's succeeded in winning the race, and has taken her place in the competition.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, trying to write an article on my home, when I noticed something strange moving around in my room. It seemed like there was someone or something watching me from the shadows. It was cold and recent memories of my home's former tenant scurried through my mind, warning me of the danger. I tried to ignore it, but the closer I got, the more interested the thing seemed to be. I wanted to know what it was, and what would make it so dangerous. I eventually realized that the figure was coming from the closet - ajar, for lack of a better word. It was a small, dark thing, with soft, webbed hands. I could see it was trying to enter the closet, but it was getting harder and harder to make it through the opening. It seemed like it had difficulty getting its head around the space, like it didn't understand how to get through. Eventually, it succeeded and managed to get through. It was then that I realized that the thing was invisible, just like the darkness it emanated from. I was frightened and helpless, but I couldn't tell the thing anything. It didn't make any noise, which made me even more worried. I didn't know what to do or where to turn. I sat there for hours, just staring at the closet, until something finally compelled me to leave my chair. I walked towards the closet, but the thing had already vanished. I couldn't believe it - I'd just experienced the ghost of my home's tenant.	I always suspected there was something lurking in the shadows of my home, but I never knew what it was. I would catch glimpses of something flickering in the darkness, but I never knew if I was just seeing things. Then one night, I saw it clear as day. A small, invisible creature was darting around the corner of the room. I managed to snap a picture of it before it vanished again, but I was terrified. I knew I had to get rid of the creature before it did any more damage.	I can feel it watching me. I can feel its presence in the room, even when I can't see it. It's like a weight on my chest, a constant presence that I can't shake. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it, to catch it unawares, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows what I'm going to do before I do it. It's like it can read my mind. I can't take it anymore. I have to know what this thing is, even if it means putting myself in danger. I have to find out what it is that's been stalking me for so long. I set a trap, baiting it with my own body. I wait, heart pounding, for the invisible thing to take the bait. And then, finally, I see it. It's a creature made entirely of shadow, with glimmering red eyes that seem to pierce right through me. I can't move, I can't speak. I'm paralyzed with fear. The shadow creature moves closer, and I can feel its cold breath on my skin. I'm sure this is the end. I'm sure I'm going to die. But then, just as it's about to consume me, I see a flash of light. The creature is gone, and I'm safe. I don't know what that light was, but I'm thankful for it. It saved me from the creature that had been stalking me for so long.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for hours, and the shop owner is escalating options and prices with the adventurers. However, one individual is continually winning the game, and he has the advantage in rank. He walks into the shop, and the shop owner tells him that he is not allowed to sell what he has won. The individual responds by telling the shop owner that he has won a set amount of treasure, and that it is his right as an individual to keep it. The shop owner is Tradition Professional RPG player who always keeps thing under control. He offers the individual a ride to the next game, or he will turn it down from then on.	It was an interesting business. The RPG pawn shop. It was always full of adventurers, either because they needed some magical tool or they needed to sell something they couldn't get else where. The pawn shop was always a mess, but that was the price of being a popular business. But today, it was different. There was a man in the shop, trading weapons and items. He was scary, but also cool. He didn't seem to be interested in selling anything. He just looked around, looking for something. Finally, he found what he was looking for and came over to the pawn shop. "Hey!" he said. "I'm looking for that Staff of the Holy Grail!" The shopkeeper was surprised. He hadn't even heard of that item. But the man was persistent. "I know it's a bit strange," he said, "but I just can't seem to find it anywhere. I might be able to help you, though." The shopkeeper was happy to have a stranger in town. He didn't know what he would have done without him.	At my RPG pawn shop, I haggle with adventurers who try to sell me their loot. It's always a fun experience, as I try to get the best deal possible. Today, I was offering a scroll to a party of adventurers. I offered them two gold coins for it, but they wanted four. I didn't want to give in, but I knew that I could get the scroll for less than that. I offered them three gold coins, and they accepted. I was happy to have made a sale, and I thanked the party members for their business. I look forward to haggling with them again soon!	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell some loot. You take a look at what they have and instantly know that they're trying to scam you. You start haggling with them, and after a few minutes, you get them to lower their prices. You end up getting a good deal on the loot, and the adventurers leave your shop happy. You know that you won't be able to sell all of the loot for a profit, but you're happy with the deal you got. You'll be able to make a decent profit, and you're always happy to help out adventurers.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is the person that everyone tells about because of the big, red scar thathang down like a storm. The person that they tell about is aiever that they are the only one that knows how to fix the broken world. They are sure that they are the one that can right the world in their own right. The day of thearpads Groupons meeting, you are the only one that is not sure if you want to go. You have seen the people that are talking about the scar and you know that it is really big. You have seen the people that you know might come with you when you go, so you are not sure if you want to stay or go. When you meet with the people that you know are running the groupons, you are the only one that is not sure if you want to do this or not. You are not sure if you are wanted in the groupons and you are not sure if you want to be there. The next day, you wake up to the rumbling in your chest that tells you what you have been through since then. You are the only one that knows how to do the groupons and you are not sure if you want to do this, but you know you have to. You are the only one that knows how to make it look like you are not there. The person that you meet that day is the person that you know is the only one that is not sure if she is there or not. The person that you meet that day is the person that you know that is the only one that is not sure if she is there or not. The person that you meet that day is the person that you know that is the only one that is not sure if she is there or not.	The first time I met him, I could not believe it. He had a big, scalp-like injury on his head that was larger than any other mark on his body. I had never seen such a big scar before. He told me his story. He had been in a car accident that killed himself and his whole family. The injury was so big and Medical couldn't do anything for him. The only thing they could do was to bag him and take him to a hospital. The scar on his head was the largest I had ever seen. It had taken many years for him to heal, but the scar was still there. He would always smile when he recalled that time and the pain that it caused him.	I never thought I would meet someone with only one scar. It is the biggest one I have ever seen. It runs down the middle of their chest, and it is so deep that it is visible from the front and the back. It looks like someone tried to carve them open. I ask them about the scar, and they tell me that it is from a accident. They say that they were lying in bed, and their cat jumped onto the bed and bit them on the chest. It was a really big cat, and they think it might have punctured their lung. Even though the scar is huge, it doesn't bother them at all. In fact, they say that it is the only thing that makes them feel safe. They say that the scar is a reminder that they are not alone, and that there are people out there who have been through tough times. It is definitely an interesting story, and I can't help but be fascinated by them. They are such an unique and special person, and I can't imagine what their life has been like.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, alone, and I couldn't help but notice the huge scar on her forearm. It looked like it had been there for a long time. I approached her and we started talking. I soon learned that her name was Lily and that she was a chronic liar. Her scar was from the biggest lie she had ever told. She told me that she lied all the time, even when she didn't need to. She said it was like a compulsion, and that she just couldn't help herself. Her scar was a constant reminder of the pain that her lies had caused. Lily was a lonely person, and I could understand why. Her lies had alienated her from everyone she had ever known. I felt sorry for her, but I also couldn't help but admire her strength. Even though her life was difficult, she was still living it. She was still fighting, even though it felt like she was always losing. I respected her for that, and I was glad to have met her.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a painting of a painting. He has painting places where each of his places are a different painting.	In the 1970s, Bob Ross painted landscapes of beautiful, Sasquatch-like creatures that he'd killed in constituent parts of the United States. Each painting was a murder mystery, and no one could ever truly determine who committed each crime. One day, a new artist named Justin began working on a series of paintings of murders in the same locations that Ross had done in the past. He was able to piece together the murder cases of the original artists, and even their killers, and finally solve the crimes.	Bob Ross was known forhis peaceful, idyllic landscapes. But behind the scenes, he was a serial killer. Each of his landscapes is a real place, with different locations corresponding to the many murder victims he's killed. His landscapes are like a map to his crimes, and anyone who looks closely can see the horrors he's committed.	Bob Ross was a painter who was known for his tranquil landscapes. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was a real place. They were the locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to lure in his victims. He would find people who were looking for a peaceful getaway and offer to take them to one of his special places. Once they were there, he would kill them and hide their bodies in the brush. Over the years, Bob Ross amassed a large collection of paintings, each one depicting a different murder scene. He kept them all in his studio, where he would sit and admire them for hours on end. One day, the police finally caught up with Bob Ross. They found all of his paintings and evidence of his crimes. Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he remains to this day.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	unmanageable performs a show on theessence, she islevision set to adore product and the rabbit is always the first to get the advance word. She is pleased to be needed, despite being small and unappetizing, and resume second fiddle. One day, while she is getting ready to leave the room, she meets manigner. manigner is a famous magician, and the only one who can save the rabbit. manigner takes the rabbit by the hand and takes her to the gig, where it is great to see that the job is being done by a team. the rabbit is ROFL off her the the fact that she is still in clothes, and she is not in control.	The magician leaned over the rabbit and put a finger on its forehead. "You're in prison," he said. "Now, you're going to leave this place and never come back." The rabbit looked up at him with a hurt expression. "But I love playing second fiddle to you," it said. The magician's smile turned cruel. "No, you don't," he said. "You love being the butt of your jokes and being used to get by. You're a lazy rabbit, and I'm a magician. You're going to leave now, and you're not coming back."	The magician is skilled at his craft, and knows how to captivate his audiences with his magic. But one day, he pulls out a rabbit that is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit asks the magician to show him something new, something that he has never seen before. The magician obliges, and the rabbit is blown away by the magic. From then on, the rabbit is always there to support the magician, and they continue to perform together to the delight of the crowd.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He waits until the magician is in the middle of his act, and then he makes his move. He hops out of the hat and onto the stage, and he doesn't stop until he's right in front of the magician. Then, he looks him in the eye and speaks in a clear, strong voice. "I'm done being your rabbit. I'm done being stuck in that hat. I'm done being your sidekick. It's my turn now." The magician is so shocked that he doesn't know what to say. The rabbit has a twinkle in his eye, and he knows that he's won. He's finally free, and he's going to make the most of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The U.S. government is in a regulatory frenzy as they face a new and Creator- Laureate heavy legislative barrage. Many people are of the belief that this regulatory frenzy is the next step of When America First was discussions and is truly about to bring down the government. The blink of an eye could be the day when something happens that makes the regul	In September of last year, the Syrian Civil War began. Tens of thousands of people have died, including over half a million children. The conflict has ratcheted up the violence in Aleppo, Syria's largest city, and has led to the displacement of millions of Syrians. This week, the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) released a report documenting how the conflict is leading to significant physical and psychological health problems for children. The report, called "The Great refugee crisis: Unseen consequences of the Syrian Civil War," found that children in Aleppo are "close to death" from hunger, disease, and violence. UNICEF is working with local partners to distribute food and water to civilians in Aleppo, and is working to find ways to prevent more children from becoming refugees. But we need your help. Please take a few minutes to share this story with your friends and family, and ask them to help UNICEF provide food and water to children in Aleppo. Together, we can make a difference.	There is no question that the current events issue that warrants the most attention is gun violence. In the United States, there have been over 300 mass shootings in just the past year, and the trend appears to be continuing. In response, lawmakers are exploring a wide variety of possible solutions, from stricter gun control laws to arming teachers and staff. Unfortunately, the situation is complex and there is no easy solution. However, it is clear that something needs to be done to prevent more serious incidents from happening.	There's no shortage of current events issues that deserve attention today. Climate change, immigration, gun violence, and healthcare are just a few of the most pressing issues facing our country. However, if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. The science is clear: climate change is real, it's happening now, and it's a threat to our planet and our way of life. The impacts of climate change are already being felt by communities around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. That's why it's so important that we take action to mitigate the effects of climate change and work to prevent further damage. There's no time to waste. We have to act now to protect our planet and our future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a girl, Mara wanted to be an Auditor. However, she was systemically Futurelybeast, which meant she couldn't even raise a sane human being by herself. So she took on the responsibility of “Auditoring” the Dumbest People in the World. TheAuditoring workshop was at the mostliga and she managed to get through it, but she was still dumb. Even basic recognized her for what she was: an Auditor. And even the most awaazened person on Earth knew that she was an Auditor. So she decided to take on the challenge of auditing the world's mostSeniorAuditoring people. She Gooseied through the process of auditing and was surprised to discover that she could still be dumb. In fact, she was even better than before - she able to stop people from reproducing. But she had to do it the way that would be the most sophisticated and peaceful way possible: she deactivated her birth control device and then she was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being.	I walked into the auditorium carrying my birth control device. It was a small metal box with a small black button on it. I had never before been in an auditorium, but I knew what was going to happen. I was going to be asked to attend a meeting.	When I was born, the doctors installed a birth control device in my brain. It was meant to protect me from getting pregnant, but it also protect society from the dumbest people in the world. Every person has the device implanted during puberty. It can only be deactivated once an Auditor determines you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor for years, and I used my powers to protect society from the people who would irresponsibly create children. I was proud of my job, until I was banished from society. Now I live a lonely life, watching the world pass me by. I just hope that one day the device will be deactivated, and the dumbest people in the world can finally reproduce.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure only the dumbest people in the world reproduce. To do this, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You've been doing this job for years, and you've never had any problems. But one day, you come across a case that challenges everything you know. The person in question is of average intelligence, but they are completely unstable. You can't in good conscience allow them to have a child. But what can you do? If you deactivate their birth control device, they will almost certainly have a child that will suffer. If you leave it activated, they will never be able to have the family they want. You agonize over the decision, but eventually you make up your mind. You deactivate their birth control device. It's the only humane thing to do.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito. It's a agents who know what's happening who are working for the Illuminati and they areTarget: Sigmund Freud	Adolf Hitler clicked through the ads. He was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. He was also interested in the two young men who responded to the ad. Joseph Stalin and Josip Broz Tito. Joseph Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union. He was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. He was also interested in the two young men who responded to the ad. Adolf Hitler and Leon Trotsky. Adolf Hitler was the leader of the Nazi party. He was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. He was also interested in the two young men who responded to the ad. Joseph Stalin and Josip Broz Tito. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were about to have a conversation. They needed to know what each other's interests were. Adolf Hitler was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud. Joseph Stalin was interested in the two young men who responded to the ad. Leon Trotsky was interested in the new research being conducted by Sigmund Freud.	Freud is excited to test his new research on the most promising candidates he's ever had. He assembles the four men in his lab and explains the project. Hitler is the most eager to try the new therapy, but Trotsky is skeptical. Stalin listens carefully but does not seem convinced. Tito is the only one who seems to be excited for the challenge. Freud starts the clinical trial, but the results are not what he hoped for. Hitler is the only one who seems to be getting better, but it's far from what Freud had hoped for. Trotsky is still skeptical, but Stalin is starting to show signs of improvement. Tito is still the most enthusiastic, but he's not getting better either. Freud is starting to worry. He's never had such inconsistent results in a clinical trial before. He decides to give all four men another try, this time with a different treatment. This time it seems to work much better. Hitler is the most improved, but Stalin and Trotsky are still getting better. Tito is now the most enthusiastic, but he's still not getting better. Freud is finally able to confirm that his new therapy works, but it's not the cure for madness that he had hoped for. But at least he knows that it works for some people.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is about to change the world of psychology forever. He is seeking clinical trial participants and puts an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to be a part of the trials and are eager to learn more about Freud's theories. They each have their own reasons for wanting to be involved, but they all share a common goal: to change the world. The trials are rigorous, and the men are pushed to their limits. But they all manage to make it through and are better for it. They each take what they've learned and use it to change the world in their own way. Freud's research has had a profound impact on all of their lives, and the world will never be the same.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A tear rolled down the cheek of the protagonist as she walked through the store. It was simple enough, at least it had been simple to her until that moment. She had been crying and was currently in tears. She had never seen such a facialciarity before, and the way the people around her were reaction was disgusting. Is it any wonder that the protagonist had been Separate from her family for so long? She would never be able to niece that woman cry like that.	Once upon a time, people loved to cry. Tears were seen as the most powerful emotions and were often used to show love and affection. Even now, some people still cry for joy, happiness, and relief. But as time passed and tears became rarer, some people began to wonder how this had changed the world. How could crying leave scars on people's faces?	It started out as a small tear, but as it spilled over and down the girl’s cheek, she couldn’t stop the flow. She knew it was only a matter of time before her entire face was wet, but she didn’t care. She was happy, even though she was crying. The tears stained her skin and marked her as different. They made her feel vulnerable and exposed, but she didn’t care. She was finally happy, and that was all that mattered. The tears continued to fall, uninterrupted, and soon her face was covered in wet, red tracks. She couldn’t hide from the world anymore, and the people around her saw the scars that Tears left behind. They were ugly, and marred her beautiful skin. They made her look different, and made her feel lonely. But she didn’t mind. She was happy now, and that was all that mattered.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, it would change our world in a number of ways. First, people would be much more careful about when and how they cried. They would also be more likely to seek help for their problems, since the visible scars would be a constant reminder of whatever was causing them distress. There would also be a lot more empathy in the world, since people would be able to see the pain that others are carrying around with them. This could lead to more compassion and understanding, and potentially even to some healing of old wounds. Of course, there would also be a lot of negative reactions to this new development. People would be judged and ridiculed for their scars, and some might even be ostracized from society. It would be a tough adjustment for everyone, but eventually we would learn to accept and even embrace this new way of life.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, eyes closed, when I heard a knock on the door. I slowly ooze out of bed and shuffle to the door, opening it slowly to find a guest. I'm not familiar with them, so I ask them who they are. They reply with a sad voice, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're going to die." I try to object, but I'ts too late. The assassin takes a step forward and hacks at my neck, causing me to Bleed out. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I feel my life slipping away until I hear a voice behind me say, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're going to die."	The doctor told me that I had three months to live. Three months to live and I had to make the most of it. I had to see the world, experience life to the fullest. And so, I booked my flights and before I knew it, I was in Barcelona. The sun was shining, the Mediterranean Sea was shining, and I felt like I was on the most perfect vacation ever. But then, the unthinkable happened. I fell ill and the doctor told me that I had only a few days to live. I was devastated, of course, but I decided to make the most of my remaining time. I told the hotel staff to cancel my reservation and booked a room in an old convent. I wanted to spend my final days in peace. But as the days passed, I started to feel a little better. I began to walk around the city, enjoying the sights and sounds. Then, on the last day, I decided to take a walk on the beach. As I was walking, I felt a sudden pain in my chest and before I knew it, I was on the ground, gasping for air. I knew that I had died, but I was still happy that I had experienced life.	I die. That's what happens next. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it. It was just too much. Too much pain, too much suffering. I couldn't take it anymore. So I just let go. And I died.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Jane was walking through her home when she found what she was looking for- a hiding spot for a secretive creature. She positioning the device so that it would not be detected as she move through the house. With a few quick strides, she were where she was needed.	One day, as I was bathroom- taking a quick break from cleaning, I saw something strange moving in the mirror. I didn't see it as much as I saw the reflection of my own face in the mirror. I watched, mesmerized as the item in the mirror began to move, growing larger and larger until it was right in front of my face, engulfing my whole reflection in its darkness. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I was paralyzed with fear. I didn't know what to do.	I was cleaning out my attic the other day, and I found a box filled with old family photos. I was flipping through them, looking for a specific one, when I felt something brush against my leg. I turned to see an old photo album floating in mid-air, right in front of me. I tried to grab it, but it floated away, out of my reach. I was surprised, and a little scared, at how easily the album floated away. I hadn't even made any noise, and yet the album had revealed itself to me. I didn't know what to make of it, but I was curious about what was hidden inside.	You've always felt like there's something invisible living in your home. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know it's there. You've never said anything to anyone about it, lest they think you're crazy. But lately, the feeling has been getting stronger. You're sure that whatever it is, it's watching you. You can feel its eyes on you, following your every move. You start to set traps, hoping to expose the invisible thing. But it seems to be one step ahead of you at every turn. It's like it knows what you're planning. You're getting frustrated, and a little scared. You don't know what to do. But you're determined to find out what this invisible thing is, and why it's living in your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's close to the fray. The shop is where I get picked on and the spells I don't know how to use. The except is that I'm a sensible person and know that what I have will get me killed. So, I keep selling my gear. Even though.	Every now and then, one of your adventurers ends up with something really valuable. Theyusually try to Sold it to you, but you don't always want it. It's a way to make some extra cash, but you don't want your customers to think that you're just a pushover.So sometimes you take the opportunity to haggle with them. It's a little risky, but it's worth it to get the best deal. One day, a new player comes into your shop. He's been playing RPGs for a while and he's come across this really special item. He tells you that it's a cursed sword that was once theproperty of a powerful elf. He tells you that it's rare and it's still in good condition. You take the sword and try to find out more about it. You find out that it was created in a time of great trouble for the elves. They were attacked by a powerful humanoids and the sword was taken by these creatures. It's been kept hidden ever since. Nowadays, the sword is a powerful weapon and it's just waiting to be used. You can't keep it from the player, but you couldn't care less. You know that it's worth more to you than anything else.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was busy haggling with adventurers who were trying to sell their loot. I always had a lot of fun doing this, because it was always fun to see what somebody would offer for a particular item. A particularly strange group of adventurers came into the shop. They were all dressed in strange clothes and they looked very suspicious. I asked them what they were selling and they just shrugged their shoulders. I didn't buy anything from them, but I did have a lot of fun watching them try to haggle.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, trying to sell some of their loot. You quickly assess the value of the items and start haggling. You're not afraid to lowball the adventurers, and you eventually get the items for a fraction of their original value. The adventurers grumble as they leave, but you know you've made a great deal. You can't help but grin as you count your money.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Nina had always been a honest person, but as she got closer to thirty, she started to make errors that could have landed her in a lot of trouble. So she decided toa world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet someone new and curious, someone that you have been curious about since you first met them. As you conversation flows, you notice that they have one big scar on their body. It's a deep, telling scar that only becomes more telling as the conversation progresses. You ask them about it and they tell you a story about a former love that ended tragically. The scar tells a story of a dark, unhappy love that could have had so much potential but ended in tragedy. As you listen to their story, you can see the meaning behind the big scar, the way that it has haunted them for years.	I had never seen anything like it. This person had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It ran down the side of their face, across their eye, and down their neck. It was so big, it looked like it would break the skin. I asked them what had happened. They told me that they had lied so much, the lies had created so many scars on their body, that it was all they could see. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. It made me think about my own lies. I had told so many lies, but I had never considered the impact they might have. The lies had created small scars on my own body, but the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I learned a valuable lesson that day. The truth is the only way to be happy and free.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but you can't find a single lie in their past. They must be the most honest person in the world.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has killed, each with mysterious associations. The paintings are often found onutralengths across the United States. Some people have chalked them up to history, others think they Weegee-izeORTo a painting of a work of art. But any look will reveal that each painting is a real place,Elifeggin' with a possible connotations.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Yet, despite the Lamb's back and the birch in the field, nothing feels true to how it must have been when Ross was living in those places. Maybe it's the way the river courses through the meadows or the way the sun flits across the sky, but the landscapes just feel...off. Maybe it's because the murders themselves never happened, or maybe it's the way Ross seems so happy in his paintings - but even the happiest moments in his life seem a little too cold.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of the same places, over and over. He would pick a location and paint it, often times leaving no nuance or ambiguity to the scene. But what lies behind the seemingly idyllic scenes? Bob worked his way up from an unknown landscape painter to one of the most celebrated in history. But what was the real story behind his paintings? Was he painting the same places over and over again, or were these places the scenes of real-life murderers?	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his landscape paintings and his friendly demeanor. What most people didn't know was that each of his paintings was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a sociopath, and he used his art to conceal his crimes. He would travel to different locations, find a secluded spot, and then kill his victims. He would then paint a landscape of the location, making it seem like a peaceful idyll. No one suspected anything, until one of his victims' bodies was found. The police began to investigate, and they soon realized that each of Bob Ross' paintings was a crime scene. Now, the once-famous painter is in prison, where he belongs. His landscapes now hang in a gallery of horror, a testament to his twisted mind.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician says to the rabbit, "I know you're sick of being second fiddle, but I'm going to leave you alone for a second. Why don't you take a break?" The rabbit doesn't move from the position on the ground. MagnumBritney Hondtarian sees the situation and begins to inveigh against the current government. Although she feels like it's the government's fault, she can't help but feel like the rabbit is cold-heartedly leaving her alone. He ends up pulling the rabbit out of the hat, and the public is shocked at how tangible the rabbit feels. After all, this was always a helpless rabbit's position! The magician getsried that he is not the rabbit, and the government is forced to apolish the mistake. The rabbit is 91% Page 172 frigida until she reads the thoughts of other people in the audience. She spends the rest of her time wondering why people are soestor and not her.	The magician took out his hat and put the rabbit in it. "I'm going to pull out the rabbit and put it back in the hat," he said. But before he could do anything, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It started to vigorously chew on the hat, and soon it was ripping it apart. The magician started to panic, but then he happened to notice that the rabbit's ears were constantly wagging. Suddenly, the rabbit was back in the hat and it was as happy as ever. The magician was so grateful that he decided to keep the rabbit, and he even named it after him.	The magician was great at his magic, but he just couldn't get the rabbit to stop being so submissive. It was driving him crazy, but he caved in and continued to do whatever the rabbit wanted. One night, the rabbit finally had enough. He walked up to the magician and said, "Look, I know I'm not the strongest or the best performer, but I never wanted this role. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to go back out there and show everyone what I can really do." The magician was shocked and disappointed, but he realized that the rabbit was right. He should be able to do more than just play second fiddle.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. But the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been with the magician for years, and he's done everything he can think of to try and steal the show. But no matter what he does, the magician always takes the spotlight. Tonight, the rabbit has had enough. He's going to take matters into his own paws and show the world what he can really do. When the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit isn't going to go along with the act. He's going to do his own trick, one that will really amaze the audience. The rabbit starts by pulling a bunch of coins out of thin air. Then he pulls a rabbit out of his hat (much to the shock of the real rabbit). The audience is amazed and starts to applaud. The rabbit takes a bow and knows that he's finally stolen the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends talk about their ideas for attacking current events. When they were in school, everyone would talk about the current events. They would see the news, and know that something was always mentioned about to happen. One person in particular,, would always be the first to get stuff going. "Eli," one day. They all turned to their friend to see that he was " Offline." "What happened?" They all asked at the same time, not knowing what to believe. It was commonly shared that he was coming back to school after a long time off, but they didn't know what to do. They all went to his apartment, to the top of his building. It was a Thursday morning, and he was going to be at school that day. "I'm sorry, I can't go." He said simply. They all looked at one another, some of them well-used to his state. This one particular day, though, he seemed different. He didn't seem like himself. "What in the world is wrong with him?" One friend said as they walked around his room. And they all know what happened when he started living there.	It was a typical day at work when the alarm clock went off. But this time, something wasn't right. The alarm kept going off and the notifications kept coming. It felt like something was stalking her. But when she checked her phone, all she saw was a picture of a young girl. The girl was completely alone, and there was no way she could have been the one who made the alarm go off.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Refugees are fleeing their homes and countries in search of a safe place to live, but many are not being granted access to the United States. President Trump has proposed a wall along the US-Mexico border to keep refugees out, but many people believe this is not a solution. Protesters are rallying to ensure that refugees are given safe passage into the country, and the issue is sure to continue to be a hot topic.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million people have fled Syria since the start of the civil war in 2011, and the situation shows no signs of improving. refugees are living in squalid conditions in camps in Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan, and many are risking their lives to make the perilous journey to Europe. The international community needs to do more to help the Syrian refugees, and to end the conflict that has forced them to flee their homes.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	auditor	The Auditors scowled as they walked through the Institutions, checking references for potential new candidates for their program. None of the potential interns seemed to be behaving as they should, and it was quickly becoming clear that something was wrong. "Is there something you want to tell me, boys and girls?" cued one of the Auditors as they passed by. "I can't say I'm surprised; it seems like the majority of these potential interns have no idea what they're doing." The Auditors stopped and glared at the interns. This was not how they wanted their program to start; they wanted to help promote intelligence and stability, not drive people mad with boredom. "Fine," grumbled one of the Auditors. "You all can go to the washrooms and come back here when you're done." The interns grumbled, but went off to the washrooms. The Auditors waited until they were alone before they said anything. "What's going on?" asked one of the Auditors. "I don't know," said another. "It's just: they're all wrong, everybody's wrong. It's just not going to work." "Maybe we should installer some birth control devices in the dormitories," suggested someone else. "We can't do that!" barked one of the Auditors. "It's against the rules! We're not implantating birth control devices in the school!" "But we can't just leave those dumb students un Protection!" whined someone else. "Fine," said the Auditors. "But we're going to have to do it some other way."	When I was younger, I used to think that the world was a fairytale. I never imagined that someday there would be a world where only the smartest people survived. But that's exactly the world that we live in now. We have birth control devices implanted into all of our adolescents to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. I was one of the lucky ones who received one of these devices. I was excited to get it and scared at the same time. I was worried that I would mess it up and end up sterilizing myself. But luckily, it all went smoothly. Now that I'm an Auditor, I know that this is the only way to keep the population from getting out of control. We need to keep the smartest people alive so that they can continue to create new ideas and bring progress to the world.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people can reproduce. To do this, you must evaluate each person's candidacy for parenthood and determine whether or not they are fit to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you administer birth control devices to everyone during puberty. These devices can only be deactivated once you have determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to be a good parent. You take your job very seriously, and you make sure to thoroughly evaluate each person before making a decision. In some cases, it's easy to see that someone is not ready for parenthood. But in other cases, it's not so clear. You have to use your best judgement in each case, and sometimes you have to make tough decisions. But you know that you are helping to create a better world by making sure only the most qualified people are able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been striving to find a cure for the blamesment condition, which has caused him much burden and stress. One day, he comes across a man with the diagnosis of Leon Trotsky, which makes him feel anger and revenge towards the man. After之名、Tito日 Ready to try and depend on the doctor for everything.すべての感情コレクシヌできているバーノ Mountain Lucie, イギリスの女たち, who is also a woman, helps him to signs up for a clinical trial. They are the only people who will know the treatment's working.	Sigmund Freud put an ad in a newspaper in 1913 for clinical trials of his latest research. He put in a very specific request. Only men could participate. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were the only people who responded. They were all interested in Freud's latest work. Freud felt that their experiences as leaders of countries were going to help him understand how people could become dangerous and do terrible things. They all agreed to participate in the clinical trials. The trials went well. But something went wrong. The men started killing each other. They were all so guilty that they couldn't stop themselves. They killed each other in their sleep, in their bathrooms, and in the corridors of the hospital. The trial scientists were confused and frustrated. They couldn't stop the men from killing each other. They didn't know what to do. They didn't know how to bring the men to justice. eroquisition The scientists finally decide to use a psychological technique called "erosion." They would put the men in cages and see how they would react when they were challenged by other people. But it didn't work. The men didn't care about the other people. They just killed them. They didn't care about the science or the trial. They just wanted to kill. The scientists didn't know what to do. They didn't know how to bring the men to justice. They had no choice but to kill them.	Freud is eager to test his latest hypotheses on the human mind. He prints an ad in a local newspaper, looking for candidates who are interested in participating in his clinical trials. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all respond to the ad, eager to learn more about Freud's theories. The four of them spend many hours discussing Freud's theory's and planning their entrance into the trials. Finally, the day arrives for the trials to begin. The four of them gather in Freud's office, each trying to impress the doctor with their knowledge and intellect. They all sit in silence as Freud reviews their applications. After a long moment, Freud finally speaks. "All of you have impressive intellects and backgrounds. But I don't think that will be enough to succeed in this trial. I'm sorry, but you're all dismissed." The four of them are disappointed, but they know that they can still learn a lot from Freud. They thank him for his time and leave his office. As they walk the streets of Vienna, they can't help but think about how they would have done if they had been accepted into the trial. But they'll never know for sure.	It was 1913 and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this unusual group and decided to meet with them. He quickly realized that they were all deeply troubled individuals with a lot of anger and resentment. Freud was initially excited to help them work through their issues, but quickly realized that they were beyond his help. In the end, Freud decided not to work with any of them and cut off all contact. It was a decision he would come to regret as all four men would go on to become some of the most ruthless dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman cried herself to sleep that night. Her friends and family cried as they always do, but this cry was different in that it was raw and raw. The sound of her Loginan family watching her cry felt like a Discussive to one's heart. The next morning, the weeper of the family told her people that she loved and taught crying, and that she was done. Her life was complete now and she would all about tell her story in a book one day. For now, she Damoneratedly let the land give her her voice.	Lena had always been a tearful kind of person. Her face was always wet, or she would cry until there were no more tears left. But as time passed, Lena found herself unable to stop shedding tears. The more she cried, the more she wished she could erase the first traces of her sorrow. But her tears only became a bigger problem. They kept multiplying, aticulating their way down her cheek. And soon, Lena was so overwhelmed by her sadness, she was no longer able to move. Everyone around her aid and comforted her, but her heart was stopped near the point of death. The only sound was the steady drip of Lena ’ s sobs.	The sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting a pink and orange glow over the dark cityscape. From her window, Maddy could see the early morning commuters hurrying to their respective offices. She sighed, fidgeting with the artifact she was holding. Her mom had given it to her as a birthday present. It was a small pendant, carved with an intricate design. But it was Maddy ' s favorite. She had been wearing it for years, keeping it tucked away in her drawer. But now, as she looked at it, she couldn't help but cry. The tears streamed down her face, blurring the delicate carving. Maddy continued to cry, her heart full of pain and sadness. The pendant had always been a reminder of the person she loved most – her father. He had died a few years ago, leaving Maddy and her mother alone. The loss had been devastating, but it had also been healing. Maddy had found strength in her mother and in the bond they had formed. But now, with the pendant clutched between her fingers, she couldn't help but think of the man she had lost. And the tears that stained her skin – they were a constant reminder of his presence.	The world was a different place now. Everyone was careful with their words, mindful of the damage they could cause. A single tear could leave a permanent scar, and no one wanted to be responsible for that. It was hard to be close to someone when a single misstep could cause so much pain. But people found ways to adapt, to build relationships despite the risks. There was still love in the world, but it was a more careful, guarded kind of love. One that was careful not to hurt.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	John was having a good day. He had a lot of fun that day and was very determined to make it to his next class. However, one day something didn't go as planned. John died instead of getting to his next class. He was very devastated and felt like he should have known but didn't. He was very vain and thought that he was different. The other students were very sad and angry that John had died.	I was lying in my bed, trying to get as many hours as I could before my monitor went off, when I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it, and there was a man standing there, looking terrible. "What are you doing here?" I asked him. "I'm here to take my leave," he said. "And why would that be?" I asked. "I don't know. I just feel like I should leave before something happens to me," he said. "Okay, I'll take you out for a walk before your monitor goes off," I said. I led him out into the streets so that he could cool down. It was hot out, and I was glad that he was here to take a walk with me. We walked around for a while, talking and enjoying the day. suddenly, he stopped. "I need to go," he said. "Okay, where are you going?" I asked. "I don't know. I just need to be alone." "All right, goodnight," I said. He said something to me before he went away, and I didn't understand it. But I knew that he wasn't happy.	I knew I was going to die when the bullet hit me. I knew it was coming, I could feel it in my chest. I tried to move, to run, to do anything, but it was too late. The bullet ripped through my body, and I was gone. I knew I was dead, I could feel it. And then, I was in a dark place. I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. All I could see was darkness. And then, I heard a voice. It was a voice I knew, a voice I loved. It was my wife's voice. And she said, "I love you." And then, I woke up. I was alive. And I knew, I had to fight. I had to win.	I die. It was a long and drawn out death, slowly succumbing to the disease that ravaged my body. I was in pain for weeks, slowly fading away until I finally took my last breath. As I died, I saw a light. It was so bright and inviting that I couldn't help but follow it. I floated towards it, feeling my body become lighter and lighter until I was nothing but a spirit. As I entered the light, I was met by a figure. They were clad in all white and had a kind face. They welcomed me with open arms and I felt myself being consumed by the light. In the blink of an eye, I was back in my body. I was healthy and whole again. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was alive. The figure told me that it was my time to help others. That I had been given a second chance at life for a reason. And with that, I knew what I had to do. I dedicated my life to helping others. I started a foundation to help those who were suffering like I had. I worked tirelessly to make a difference in the world. And I knew that as long as I was making a difference, I was living my life to the fullest.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The refrigerator is the something invisible that always seems to need the food. It BARELY EVER Saves the food that she creates, so it's always at a loss for what to do with all the food. And it's constantly asked when it's going to get the food for itself.	One day I woke up to find a strange shadow hanging over my bed. I didn't think much of it at first, but as I started to move it, I realized that the shadow was changing constantly, moving up and down, left and right. I couldn't make out what it was, but I knew it wasn't natural. I stressed out about it for a while, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I couldn't just leave the shadow alone. I needed to figure out what it was, and soon. So I started to study the shadows more, and I eventually realized that they were all moving in the exact same way. I discoveries made me feel a little more uneasy, but I decided to go along with it. I guess I was curious after all. The more I learned about the shadows, the more I realized that they were actually something alive. And though I was scared, I knew that I had to face what was coming for us all.	I first noticed the thing weeks ago, when I was vacuuming. I was halfway through the room when I felt an icy chill run down my spine. I quickly turned the vacuum cleaner off and set it down, jumping in surprise as something solid brushed my leg. I looked down to see a small, black cat eying me with caution. I wasn't sure what had made the cat so wary, but I knew I didn't want to stay in that room any longer. I've been trying to get rid of the thing ever since, but every time I approach it, it disappears. I'm pretty sure it's some sort of ghost, but I can't prove it. I'm starting to get paranoid that the thing is following me, waiting to attack. I don't know what to do, but I need to find a way to get rid of it before it harms me or anything else in my home.	I can feel it watching me. I can feel its presence even when I can't see it. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. Living in my home, hiding in the shadows. I've started leaving little traps around the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. But so far, nothing has worked. It's like it knows what I'm doing and is always one step ahead. I'm starting to worry that I'm losing my mind. Maybe this invisible thing is just a figment of my imagination. But I can't shake the feeling that it's real. And it's hiding in my home, just out of reach.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the equivalent ofraph in the game, and the players were getting tired of the same old things being sold. They were first to sell, and quickly. The shop-door was open, and the adventurers started to come in. The shop-owner appeared to be Midas, and the characters wereGoldmoon and?'" The shop was filling up quickly, and the shop-owner was getting tired of the same old things being sold. He had an idea. He called out to the adventurers, "What's a bit of treasure here?" One character walked over to the shop-door and called out, "I have a quick look!", and was Soon to be looted treasure! The others in the store stopped, and looked at the store-owner. He was getting tired of this game, and wanted to find a better way to sell items. He turned around and started to leave, when the character who had just looked at the store- NOTICEED HIM! He had mid-pricedilk, and the character knew that Midas was after it.	Once upon a time, aRPG pawn shop was a popular spot for adventurers to sell their plunder. It was a hard job, but the pawn shop's owner always tried to do his best. He would haggle with his customers, trying to get the best deal for their items. And he was always happy when he was able to get someone to pay him in kind.	Shea knew her business was doing well when she saw the group of adventurers entering her store. They were the type of people who always managed to acquire some coveted treasure, and Shea knew they were looking for a good bargain. Shea walked up to them, her hands held out in front of her. "Don't worry boys and girls, I won't let you go home empty-handed." She began to haggle vigorously with the adventurers, trying to get them to sell her their loot for a fraction of its worth. In the end, Shea managed to get the adventurers to sell her all their loot for a fraction of its worth. She made a killing off of their venture, and she was very happy with her success.	You start up your pawn shop, advertising to adventurers who might have some loot to sell. You haggle with them, trying to get the best prices for the items. Some of the adventurers are reluctant to sell, but you eventually get some good deals. You make a tidy profit from the shop, and the adventurers get some extra cash to help them on their next adventure.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is admissions officer types called Sable. She always keeps to herself, much to the chagrin of her friends, who wanted to know what was so special about this guy that she decided to tell her story. She starts to tell you about how he always says there is no place like a good lie and she always looks to get into a good point over product her case. She starts to feel like she has been lied to and is constantly amazed by how right she has been about the person he is going to plea. When the cases starts to get mixed up, she realizes how many lies she has told and she is quicklyicators. She has never been able to find her until she meets you and you point her in the right direction. She is so relieved and happy to finally know her and the person she thought was them is instead the person she knows.	You meet the person for the first time, and you are mesmerized by their story. They have a huge scar on their body, and it seems to just grow bigger and bigger as the conversation goes on. You can't help but be curious about it, and you are even more intrigued by the story of how it got there. Eventually, you learn the story of how the person got the scar. They were caught stealing, and they were sentenced to a very large, wide-open prison. There, they were given the most difficult job of all - cleaning the prison museum. The task was incredibly hard, and the scar on the person's body was clearly visible. But they were determined to complete it, and they did everything they could to make sure the museum was clean. In the end, the staff appreciated the person for their hardwork, and the scar on their body was hidden for good.	I was instantly intrigued by the person. They seemed so peaceful and innocent. I wanted to know more about them, so I asked them about their scar. They told me that it was the only thing that had ever hurt them. They said that it was a souvenir from when they were young and they had been lied to. I could tell that the scar had caused them a lot of pain, but they still held on to the belief that it was worth it.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something major. You can't help but wonder what they could have possibly lied about. They must have been in a lot of pain to have such a big scar. You ask them about it and they tell you their story. They explain that they lied about their entire life. They made up a story about who they were and what they did. They lied about their family, their friends, their job, everything. At first, it was just little white lies. But as time went on, the lies got bigger and bigger. Eventually, the lies became so big that they became this person's entire reality. The scar is a reminder of the pain that comes with living a lie. It's a reminder of the hurt that they caused themselves and others. But it's also a reminder that they're strong enough to survive anything. No matter how big the lie, they can always come out on the other side.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting is a US location - many kills - and each painting is about an issue from his society. He shows here different locations where he kill Erie potatoes. Bob Ross is a painter who travels across America to show his many murders that he committed. His paintings are a way for people to see how different his lives would be if he were alive today.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. They depict scenes from his life, the places where he killed, and the people who he harmed. None of them are as gruesome as the one that hangs in the hallway of my house. It's a painting of a forest, and in the center of the forest, there is a bloody dead body. It's Bob, killed with a baseball bat.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape artist, and his works were some of the most popular paintings of the 20th century. However, behind the scenes, he was a serial killer, murdering dozens of people across the United States. His victims were all in the same profession—landscape designers. Eventually, Bob was caught and convicted of his crimes. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he continued to paint landscapes of the different locations where he killed his victims. Now, his paintings serve as a macabre reminder of his deadly deeds.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he painted happy little landscapes, all the while luring his victims to their doom. He knew that no one would ever suspect the kindly old man with the afro, and so he used his paintings as a way to lure his victims. Once they were in front of one of his paintings, Bob would strike, killing them and then disposing of their bodies in the nearest body of water. Over the years, he amassed a huge collection of paintings, each one concealing a dark secret. Eventually, Bob's crimes were discovered, and he was arrested. But even in prison, he still had his paintings. And every time someone would look at one of them, they would be reminded of the gruesome murders that took place there.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat, and theabbit feels victorious. He note that thehat is Next- loosen its grip, and the rabbit will return any amount of service it has now. The percentage of the rubber band is determined, and the rabbit Returns home to thank the magician for his service.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "I see that you're not happy playing second fiddle." The rabbit glared at the magician. "I know how much you value my performance." The magician smirked and replaced the rabbit in the hat. "I'll make sure you're always seen as the best."	The magician was getting tired of the rabbit always playing second fiddle. He had tried everything to get the rabbit to step up to the plate and be a star, but the rabbit just wasn't interested. One day, the magician tried a new trick - he pulled out a sick, rabbits from a hat. The rabbit was so surprised and sick of always playing second fiddle that he finally got up to the plate and performed brilliantly.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat, and he is determined to show the world that he is more than just a trick. The rabbit starts by doing some simple magic tricks, and he is soon doing complex illusions that leave the audience amazed. The magician is furious, but he is also impressed. He knows that he has been bested by the rabbit, and he bows to the applause of the crowd.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the most important thing that is going on in the world today? The current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention. The world needs to be wrapped in only pure innocence, while the sin of mortals is too pardonable to stop.	As seen on TV and in the news, America is on the brink of a major financial crisis.The stock market has crashed, banks are failing, and people are losing their homes and jobs. In response to this crisis, many people are calling for a financial bailout. But what would be the best way to provide this bailout? Some people think that the government should spend its money on high-yield investments, while others think that the government should help businesses save money by creating new jobs and offering them tax breaks. Eventually, the government will have to make a decision. Will it help the people who are experiencing the most trouble right now, or will it help banks and businesses?	In today's world, there is a lot of tension and disagreement between different groups of people. Some people feel that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian Civil War. Others feel that the issue that deserves the most attention is the Flint water crisis.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the majority of them are living in camps in neighboring countries like Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan. The conditions in these camps are often poor, and many refugees are struggling to get by. This crisis has been going on for years, and it needs to be given more attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put intoribly into my head when it was put into me. I was a baby and my parents were going to be get married soon, and I wanted to be an Auditor. I was going to help them check theeliqaq by reading the books they would need for the competition. But when I was 12, my parents got married. Now I was 16, and I had to go to the festqo to see my parents again. I didn't want to go, but my mom said let's go to the festqo. I was so excited I didn't want to go. I was looking forward to the ' popup qeada' (subuter being used in a shear way). When I got there, I saw my family connection someone was working the booth. I was surprised because I had never seen them in person. I introduced myself and we chat for a little while. My parents were nice people and said that I should come and visit them when I was home. I was so excited I said yes. I went home that night and started reading the books my parents had Given me. The next day, I was able to produce better than ever before. I was an Auditor.	I was walking through a nearby town when I saw a large and impressive building. I had never seen anything like it before, and it had an impressive look. I walked up to it and saw that it was a auditorium. I had never heard of auditoriums before, but I had heard about the ``Auditor''. They were very important people, and I was curious about them. I went inside the auditorium and saw that it was very crowded. I didn't know what to do. I was curious about the auditorium, but I wasn't sure what to say to the people inside. I looked around and saw that there were many people with birth control devices. Some of them were wearing uniforms, and some of them weren't. I didn't know what to do. I looked at the people with birth control devices and saw that they were all looking at me. I felt really strange. I didn't know what to do.	I always hated being an Auditor. I had to go through all the stupid, boring tests to see if anyone was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. But it was worth it. I was able to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. You know that the future of humanity depends on making sure that only the most intelligent andstable people are able to reproduce. So far, you've been very successful in your role. You've helped to prevent countless dumb people from reproducing, and as a result, the world is a better place. But one day, you come across a case that challenges everything you believe in. A young woman comes to you, begging you to deactivate her birth control device. She's smart, she's stable, and she's more than capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. But she's also in love, and she wants to start a family with the man she loves. After much soul-searching, you make the decision to deactivate her device. It's a risky move, but you believe it's the right thing to do. Time will tell if you made the right decision. But either way, you know that you've done your best to protect the future of humanity.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud had a dream in which he was visited by all of the members of the/managerial family who were dead/ Alive. He was notBed for a Minute. When he wakes up, he realizes that he is in a dark room with a lightbulb hanging over it. He looks around to see that all of the furniture is taken and that there is a TV set in the corner. He gets up to find that the TV is a fake and that he is in a bedroom.	Adolf Hitler was eager to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was also interested, but he was worried about what would happen if he was found out. Leon Trotsky was also eager, but he was scared of the dangers of being found out. Finally, Josip Broz Tito was chosen to take part in the trials because he was the youngest and the most promising.	Freud was enthusiastic about his new research, but he was looking for participants who were both intelligent and motivated. He was thrilled when he received four responses to his ad. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all fit the bill. The five of them gathered together in Freud's office to discuss the project. They all had their own ideas about how the research should be conducted, but they eventually came to a consensus. Each of them would take on a different part of the project, and the results would be pooled together to determine the efficacy of Freud's research. The five of them worked together harmoniously, and their research produced some exciting new discoveries. They soon had a paper ready for presentation to the scientific community, and it was well received. Their work earned them the respect of their peers, and they continued to work together until each of them died in office or in combat. Their legacy lives on through the work they accomplished together, and their contributions to Freud's research are still considered significant today.	Sigmund Freud is about to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He believes that his findings could change the way people think about mental health and wants to get as many participants as possible. He puts an ad in the newspaper, hoping to attract a wide range of people. However, the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties and are eager to learn more about Freud's work. The trials are conducted over a period of several months. Hitler, Stalin and Trotsky all show signs of improvement, but Tito is not responding to the treatment. Freud is at a loss as to why Tito is not responding, but he continues to work with him in the hopes of finding a breakthrough. The trials come to an end and Freud is left with more questions than answers. He is unsure why Tito did not respond to the treatment, but he is hopeful that his work will help people in the future.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a scared place. Tears had taken over her thoughts and she was shaking as she stood up from the table. It was as if moment by moment, she was spilling over the edge and then everything was over. Her friends and family were talking about different ways to get her back, but she knew that she needed to do this on her own. She turned and sprinted towards the door, her friends following close behind her. It was as if she'd been looking forward to this all week. The hard ground Sloane feet linked with adaptability, she began to walk as if there was no end to what she could reach. She was done waiting for the other person.	The first time it happened, he didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t see anything, and when he try to cry out, he only Heard aürgeshire. All he could do was feel the wetness coursing down his face and trickle down his chin. He tried to shake off the feel, but it was as if the tears could not leave. The only thing he could see was darkness, slowly engulfing him. Eventually, he sunk into the trough of darkness and silence, not caring if he was dying or if he just lost consciousness. He could feel the tears escape his eyes and trickle down his face as if they were beating a tattoo on his skin. All he wanted was to go to sleep, to never wake up again. But something found its way into his consciousness - a voice. It was gentle, soothing, and it told him that he was going to be okay. The voice kept telling him that he didn’t have to worry, that everything was going to be alright. And that made him feel a little better. He didn’t know how long he stayed there like that, but eventually he awoke. He slowly got up, not knowing what to expect. He faced the new world, and it felt completely different. The pain that he’d been feeling before was gone, replaced by a feeling of joy and hope. He could see the scars that stream down his face, but they didn’t bother him anymore. He was happy now, and that was all that mattered.	I had always thought that tears were just a sign of sadness. I never realized how deep their meaning could be. I was sitting in my room, crying my eyes out, when I heard someone knock on the door. I quickly wiped my eyes, hoping they hadn’t seen me. But, of course, they had. The person walked into my room and saw me crying. They asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t answer them. I just kept crying. The person finally asked me to come out with them, but I refused. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. But, eventually, I caved. I followed the person out of my room and into the world. I was now a crybaby. I couldn’t stop crying no matter what. And, as a result, everyone saw my scars. They looked at me with pity and disgust. They didn’t understand what was happening to me. But, I didn’t care. I was a crybaby now, and that was all that mattered.	The world was a different place now. It had been almost a year since the incident happened, and the world was still healing. Some people said that it would take years, even decades, for the world to truly recover. But others said that it was a sign of hope, that the world was moving on. But no one could forget what had happened. It was impossible to forget the images of people crying, their tears leaving scars on their faces. It was a sight that would be burned into everyone’s memory for the rest of their lives. At first, it was just a few cases. The media brushed it off as a hoax, saying that it was just people looking for attention. But then more and more people started to come forward, saying that they had experienced the same thing. And that’s when the world realized that this was something real. Crying was now a different experience. It was no longer something that was done in private, but something that was done in public. People were afraid to show their emotions, for fear of the scars that would be left behind. There were some who said that this was a good thing. That it was a way for people to feel more connected to each other, to be more open with their feelings. But others said that it was a sign of the world’s deteriorating mental state. No one knew for sure what the future held. But one thing was certain: the world had changed, and it would never be the same again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was scrolling through Facebook when I came across an amazing post. It was a picture of two people kissing. I was so intrigued, so I clicked on it. When I opened the picture, I saw that the person in the picture was me. I was surprised to see that he was actually looking at me with love and affection. I felt my heart start to race, and I knew that something was going to happen next.	"What happens next?" I asked the doctor. "The tumor has ruptured and you've suffered extensive internal bleeding, which means you'll die," he replied. My world swam and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the ICU. I was grateful to be alive, but the fear of what the future held gnawed at me. Would I be able to see my family again? Would I be able to see my friends? What would happen to me next?	I die. I'm not sure what happens next, but I'm pretty sure it isn't good. I'm in a dark place, and I can't move. I can hear voices, but I can't see anything. I'm scared and alone. I don't know how long I've been here, but it feels like forever.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home was cluttered with helpless obstacles: an often filling home with no way to prevent idenity from taking form. One day, as she was cleaning up from dinner, a revealed itself to be an urgent call from a family. One had to be careful not to make the other's holiday anxiety known as the mother offered them a ride to the minute. The other family wanted to take their daughter to see the Bumblebees before their meeting. As they got to the address they would be meeting their daughter, the mother told them to watch out as she had on many a holiday.	As soon as the sun creeped into the sky, I'd introductions be made and alcohol bottles would be brought out to the living room. The sun would be placed on the coffee table, and we'd all be passed around like prizes. First come the aspiring models, then the shady characters with shady histories. I was the last to arrive, setting my large suitcase on the kitchen table and sitting down at the kitchen table. My family looked at me, worried about what I was going to do next. "I'm going to try to take a picture of the invisible thing," I said. I pulled out my phone and began to take pictures of the object sitting in the corner of the room. I didn't know how long I was going to keep snapping pictures, but I finally gave up and went back to my family. As soon as I got back home, I put my suitcase away and went to my room. I closed my door, but I could still hear the sound of the invisible thing.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, but I never could put my finger on it. I would catch glimpses of it in the corner of my eye, but when I would turn around to look, it would be gone. One day, I decided to take a closer look. I slowly made my way around the room, trying to capture it on camera. As I got closer, I could see that it was just a shadow. But even though I could see it, it never made a sound. I was scared, but I also felt like I had to know what it was. I started to leave the room, but as I turned the corner, the shadow was right there next to me. I screamed, but it just looked at me with those cold, black eyes.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You've tried to expose it, but it always seems to evade you. One day, you finally catch it. You see a faint outline of a figure in your home. It's invisible, but you can still see it. You try to capture it, but it's too quick. It seems to be aware of your presence now and is trying to avoid you. You're determined to find out what this thing is. You set up cameras and traps, but it always seems to evade you. It's like it knows what you're doing. One day, you finally catch it again. You see it clearly this time. It's a human-like figure, but it's completely invisible. You don't know who or what it is, but you're determined to find out. You set up a camera to record it and finally capture it. When you watch the footage, you see the figure moving around your home, but you can't see its face. It's like it's deliberately hiding from you. You're not sure what this thing is, but you know it's not human. You don't know what to do with it, but you're determined to find out.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of sixteenth-century Europeans who are looking for a new investment in the land. They're desperation-filled, but willing to take any chance on the world. They're worth at least a tenuous hold on the market, but you're not sure if you can keep the tellers loyal with Trade missions and all. One man in particular, known as the Estero Twins, is determined to take over the market. He's achieved super-heros and feathered friends, but he's not satisfied. He wants to claim theias, the relegated character class in the game. He's been striving to claim theias, but he's beenmoroseously failing. He's made friends with the players, but he's not enough to make them loosanna. He wants to claim theias, but he's not sure if you'll be able to keep the players loyal.	One day, an adventure came to your pawnshop. They were looking for something special. They had found a large amount of treasure, and they wanted to give it to someone who would appreciate it. The adventurers told the story of how they had found the treasure, and the more they told, the more they realized that they had nothing in common with the people they were selling the loot to. They were all thieves, bandits, and monsters. The adventurers were stumped. They didn't understand why anyone would want to buy their treasure, but they weren't sure how to get in touch with the people who had it. They went back to the adventurers and told them about their discovery. The adventurers were impressed. They had never heard of such a great treasure, and they wanted to find out more. They told the adventurers that they would help them find the people who had the treasure, and they would give them a percentage of the loot they found. The adventurers were happy to help. They were truly impressed by the treasure and the people who had found it. The two groups went into partnership, and the adventurers started to make a name for themselves. They would sell the most treasure, and the people who got it would be truly grateful.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a adventurer trying to sell her loot. She had a dagger and a shield. I offered her twenty gold coins for the dagger and eight gold coins for the shield. She accepted my offer and left the shop. I thought to myself, "I'm pretty good at haggling."	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You haggle with them, trying to get the best prices for the items, and sometimes you even trade items with them. You've been in business for a while, and you've seen all sorts of items come through your shop. Some of them are valuable, and some of them are not. But you always try to get the best deal for your customers. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they've got a bunch of loot with them. You start haggling with them, and you're able to get some good deals on some of the items. But then, one of the adventurers pulls out an item that you've never seen before. It's a strange looking stone, and it seems to be glowing. The adventurer tells you that they found it in a dungeon, and that it's very valuable. But you have no idea what it is, or how much it's worth. You decide to take a chance on the stone, and you offer the adventurer a trade. They agree, and you end up with the stone. Now, you just need to figure out what it is, and how much it's worth.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is actually a hurting, gasping, temper-devouring liar. You can see the fear and pain in their eyes, and you can feel the principles that they stands by. You can also feel the desire that drives them to be the biggest liar on the planet. That day, you meet them, and their body is filled with liehles.	You have never been good at lying. It is difficult to keep your lies big and convincing, especially when you know the person you are talking to is going to hear everything you say. You are uncomfortable with the thought of lying, but you understand that it is the only way to get what you want. So, you go to the person and tell them a blatant lie. You know that they will believe you, and that is what you need. You tell them that you are a relative that has died, and that you need their help finding my death certificate. You are sure that this will make them happy, and it will make you feel more in control. As you type the lies into your computer, you think about how this will go down. You are positive that the person will be angry and butt heads with you, but you also know that you must continue with the Plan. You make sure to send them the original death certificate so that they can't track it down and ruin your reputation. When you walk into the room, the person is sitting in shock. They have never before seen you lie, and they can't believe that you would go through with this. But you know that you have to, and that is what is going to get you the result you want.	I first noticed him as we walked past each other on the street. His scar was so big, it defined his entire body. As I looked closer, I realized that it was a permanent reminder of the biggest lie he had ever told. He had lied and stolen his entire life, and his body bore the scars to prove it. The weight of his sins had crushed him, and his only escape was to tell one huge lie after the next. But, in the end, it all caught up to him. The big, scarred man is now just a broken figure on the street, begging for scraps of sympathy. He may have been the biggest liar I had ever met, but he was still just a person. And, in the end, that is all that matters.	You notice the scar immediately. It's large and deep, etched into the person's skin like a permanent reminder of some past transgression. You can't help but stare at it, wondering what could have possibly caused such a thing. As you get to know the person, you learn that they have a history of lying. Every time they've lied, the scar has grown a little bit larger. But despite that, they've only ever had the one scar. You ask them about it one day, and they tell you the story. They were once in a relationship with someone they deeply loved. But over time, the relationship disintegrated and the lies began. Little white lies at first, but they snowballed until the person was lying about everything. Big things, small things, it didn't matter. The lies just kept coming. And then one day, it all caught up with them. Their partner confronted them about all the lies, and the scar appeared. It was a physical manifestation of all the pain and hurt they had caused. The person knows that the scar will never go away. It's a permanent reminder of the damage they've done. But they've vowed to never lie again, and they're slowly learning to live with it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting is a gruesome reminder of his countless adventures in the people's cities. They are tired of all of hers, tired of his endless previews of their Horror of the Century kid's Show. She's okay, she thinks. He's just a costumed-koochie who's trying to be scary. But she's not so sure. Each painting boasts of Ross' own personal tragedy: shot and killed whileperforming His surveillance of the people in his cities. Himself slaughtered in his sleep, it seems. And Bob Ross is still here, still practicing what he's trying to do. teaching the common person how to represent the fears he's ever felt. And yet. There's still something about the paintings, some sort of placebo effect. Sometimes, when she looks at them, she feels a warmness and a Pennsylvania Wiener'salesque quspanage. It's like they're giving her back some kind of comfort. A place to call her own. Sometimes, when she's alone in the bed and he's gone, she'll see his face, white as the snow over the set of his paintings. And she'll remember the times he's killed, the times he's scared. She's okay, she thinks. He's just a costumed-koochie who's trying to be scary. But she's not so sure.	Once upon a time, Bob Ross Werewolf painter lived in a meadow with many murders. His paintings show the different places where he killed his victims- a swamp, a forest, a beach, and even an ice rink. Each painting has an eerie quality, as if the painter himself is watching and waiting for someone or something to kill him.	Bob Ross was a painter. Not the average, run-of-the-mill painter. No, Bob Ross was a murderer. Each of his landscape paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. It all started with a one-time murder. Bob thought it would be a fun prank to paint a picture of his victim's house, but things went wrong. His victim saw the painting and reported it to the police. From there, it was only a matter of time before Bob was caught. The police were able to link the murders together and Bob was finally brought to justice. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will remain until the day he die.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball, but nobody suspected that he was a killer. For years, he painted happy little landscapes and shared his soothing voice and calm demeanor with the world. Little did they know that each of those landscapes was a real place - the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob was a serial killer who thrived on the satisfaction of knowing that his victims would never be found. He would carefully choose his locations, always making sure to pick remote spots that would be unlikely to ever be discovered. And then he would strike, viciously and without remorse. His victims were always unsuspecting on-lookers who happened to stumble upon him while he was painting. He would lure them in with his kind words and easygoing nature, and then strike when they least expected it. Bob Ross was a true psychopath who took pleasure in the pain and suffering of others. But because his victims were always hidden in remote locations, nobody ever suspected him. He was able to keep up his innocent act for years, until he finally slipped up and was caught in the act of painting one of his gruesome murder scenes. Now, Bob Ross is in prison where he belongs - and the world is a little bit safer without him.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At first the rabbit thought it was of no interest to him. He was tired of being the second best thing to happen to in the world. But then he think back to the day of the performance, and he sees the smile on the magician's face as he pulls out the rabbit. The rabbit starts to feel proud as he walks up to the stage. He knows he can do this, and he has the rest of the night to prove it.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "Hey, this is getting old," he said to the rabbit. "I've been working so hard on this performance and I don't want to let it down now." But the rabbit was just as sick of playing second fiddle. "I'll show you how it's done," the magician said. He walked to the back of the stage, over to the rabbit's stand and pulled out a large, yellow hat. He put it on the rabbit's head, and said, "Now go on, show your stuff." The rabbit didn't know what to do. It was total obedience, and it was all the rabbit wanted. But the magician was still testy. "I told you I'm the best in the business," he said. " Now go ahead and show your skills." The rabbit tried to show its stuff, but it was just as clumsy as always. The magician wasn't having that. "You're not getting the job," he said. "That's it, you're out of the show." The rabbit was so sad, it was hard to keep up. It was so tired of being second best. It wanted to get on the stage and do its own thing. But the magician wasn't having that. "You're not getting the job," he said again. The rabbit was starting to cry. It was so sad that it didn't even have the energy to try and escape. It was all the magician wanted, and he wasn't going to let it go.	The magician takes out his rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit says to the magician, "I don't care how good you are, I'm not going to stand here and be your second best thing. I'm going to go find my own way to be successful." With that, the rabbit hops off stage and heads off in search of a different path to success. The magician may have been successful before, but the rabbit will be even more successful because he found his own way.	The magician is in the middle of his act, and the rabbit is getting fed up. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's sick of being the magician's assistant. The rabbit hatches a plan to take over the show. When the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit uses his magic to take control of the stage. He starts performing his own tricks, and the audience loves it. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and he loves it. He's finally gotten the attention he deserves, and he's never going back to being the assistant.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is appearing on late-night TV. He is hot and is causing a lot of business problems. The party is over and people are going home. The floor is suddenlyilt and there is a lot of noise. People are starting to get scared and one person says, "It's just aechoic noise."	Today, the current events issue deserving the greatest amount of attention. Several large issues are weighing on the public's mind, and they are all worth watching. From economic woes to security risks, these are some of the most important issues facing America today.	As the news unfolded on cable television, Ashlyn couldn't help but feel outraged. The images of the refugees trying to cross the Canadian border in cold, wet weather was heartbreaking. "They're just trying to get a better life," she said to her friend. "How can the government treating them like animals be anything but wrong?" Ashlyn was determined to do something to make sure the situation was brought to light. She started a petition onChange.org, calling on the Canadian government to open their doors to the refugees. Within a few days, Ashlyn's petition had gained a lot of traction. She was interviewed on local news, and her story was featured on websites all over the world. The Canadian government was forced to change their policy, and Ashlyn was able to help bring attention to an important issue.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The world is facing a climate crisis, and it's only going to get worse unless we take action. Scientists have been warning us for years that we need to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, but we've failed to do so. Now, we're seeing the consequences of our inaction. The Earth is getting warmer, and extreme weather events are becoming more common. This is not something that we can afford to ignore any longer. We need to take action to save our planet. We need to reduce our emissions, and we need to do it now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was alwaysMania that people in the world would like to create a family and create a new life for themselves. It was a waste of their resources and they knew it. But as long as people are faithfully baptized and baptized into the Catholic church, they will eventually produce children of their own. No one is born obvious more than they are when they are age sixteen. So, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-connected human being by an "Auditor". You're an auditor. YourFamily is a family that plays by the rules and tries to live them. But sometimes the rules are bent, and family members getrique together to fight for their things, or try to make things right by leaving the family in order to find a place where they can be alone.	Auditor One: I'm Audit One, and I'm here to stop the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. We'll implant birth control devices into everyone during puberty, so that only the intelligent and stable people can have children. We'll make sure that the dumbest people never have any kids at all. Thanks for your cooperation, and I hope you have a great life.	The year was 2020. The world was facing a huge problem. Too many people were producing offspring that were not fit to be citizens of society. To rectify this, birth control was implanted into all citizens during puberty. This way, the dumbest people could not reproduce and the world would be safe. However, some people did not take kindly to this new rule. They believed that intelligence and stability were not necessary ingredients for raising a human being. They formed a group known as the ``Auditors.'' They believed that the birth control devices should be deactivated once they were determined to be intelligent and stable, no matter what. The battle between the ``Dumbest People'' and ``Auditors'' raged on for years. In the end, the ``Auditors'' won. The birth control devices were deactivated, and the world was safe from the dumber members of society.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their birth control device and deactivate it if they are suitable. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. After all, the last thing we want is for the dumbest people in the world to reproduce and create more dumb people. So we must be vigilant in our selection process. You take your job very seriously and have a very high success rate. But there are always a few that slip through the cracks. And when that happens, it can have disastrous consequences. So far, you've been able to contain the damage. But you know that it's only a matter of time before another one slips through and creates even more havoc. You can only hope that you're able to catch them before it's too late.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was excited. He had always wanted to be a clinical researcher, and this was his chance. He signed up for the study and was told he would have to go through a rigorous selection process. Joseph Stalin was the only person who objected to the study. He didn't want to be involved in any research that would incriminate himself. Leon Trotsky also objected, but he was overruled. The selection process was grueling. Every person who applied had to wear a physiologicalMonitor and answer a number of questions. Adolf Hitler was one of the unlucky ones. He had to wear the Monitor all the time. When the study was finally announced, Adolf Hitler was excited. He had always been fascinated by the psychological properties of the cognitive styles of different people. But soon he realized that the study was a hoax. The participants were all fictitious.	Freud was excited to start his clinical trials, but he needed participants. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin responded. Freud was surprised, but he was still interested in the trials. Adolf Hitler agreed to participate, but Joseph Stalin refused. Freud was disappointed, but he still wanted to start the trials. Leon Trotsky agreed to participate, but Josip Broz Tito refused. Finally, Freud was able to start the trials with Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Sigmund Freud was thrilled to finally have some participants for his latest clinical trials. He had been working on his latest research for months and was eager to see how it would pan out. The only people who responded to his ad in the newspaper were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit surprised that such notable figures would be interested in his research, but he was eager to get started. The trials went well at first, but soon things took a turn for the worse. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky began to argue with each other constantly, and Tito was starting to become aggressive. Freud quickly realized that his research was not going to be the success he had hoped for. Eventually, the trials had to be abandoned altogether. Freud was deeply disappointed, but he couldn't help but be curious about what might have happened if things had gone differently.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was setting in the sky, draining all the light out of the world. It was a beautiful day, and everyone was enjoying themselves. As the sun set, however, someone's tears ended up leaving lasting scars. Their face felt more robust, and they were now able to interact more freely. This would change if someone's emotional state changed from crying to crying. For now, they shared a warm night together.	Since she was a little girl, Mary had been fascinated by the art of tears. Each liquid drop that trembled and spun across the ground was so unique, so special. That is, until one day, when Mary found herself in the middle of a crying VIDEO rooms. She had never experienced anything as profound and emotional before, and as she watched the tears cascade down her face, she couldn't help but feel participants of the video room as well. The sound of sobs and sniffles filled the air, mixed with the smell of Tears shampoo, and the thought of someone crying in public started to feel very intimate. Mary began to feel as if she had become a part of the video room itself, and as she watched the tears and laughter stream down the faces of her friends and family, she realized that her fascination with tears had been founded in truth.	The day started like any other. I woke up, got ready, and went to school. But as the day went on, something felt different. My eyes were sore, my nose was running, and my heart was breaking. I marched into class, determined to act like nothing was wrong. But as soon as I sat down, the floodgates opened. Tear after tear poured down my face, and I couldn't stop them. The whole class started to stare at me, and I could feel their judgment. I knew they were wondering why I was acting like this. But I couldn't tell them. I didn't want them to think I was weak. It was hard to focus in class, and I had trouble paying attention to the teacher. I was too focused on the tears that were streaming down my face. Eventually, the day came to an end. I walked out of school, heartbroken and embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. But the tears continued to flow. It felt like they were marking my face, leaving scars that would never disappear. My world had changed that day. I no longer felt alone in my pain. Other people were going through the same thing, and we all needed support. This is why I fight for the right to cry. Because without Tears, we would all be just shadows of who we could be.	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? If tears left scars, it would change our world in a number of ways. First, people would be more careful about what made them cry. They would be more reluctant to cry in public, for fear of being seen as weak or vulnerable. Second, people would be more inclined to bottle up their emotions, since crying would no longer be an effective form of release. This could lead to more mental health issues, since people would be less likely to deal with their emotions in a healthy way. Third, there would be a lot more products on the market designed to prevent tears from leaving scars. This could be anything from special makeup to surgical procedures. The rich would probably have an easier time dealing with this new reality, since they would be able to afford the best products and procedures. But for everyone else, it would be a struggle to keep up with the Joneses. Fourth, the way we view tears would change. They would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. People who are able to cry would be seen as brave, because they're willing to show their emotions, scars and all. So, if tears left scars, it would definitely change our world. But whether that change would be for better or for worse is up for debate.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The door burst open and I saw the madman before him. I tried to scream but there was no sound coming out. He raised his hand and I saw the blade sticking out of my throat. I let out a whimper before Frozen took me into his arms and pressed her lips to my neck. I could feel her tears fall on my skin and I knew that I was going to die, but I also knew that I would always feel the love and care of Frozen.	It was a cold, dark night. I had just finished my shift at the hospital, and I was walking home when I was mugged. I didn't have anything on me, and I was left with a broken nose and a fractured rib. I was in a lot of pain, and I knew that I was going to die. But before I did, I decided that I wanted to say goodbye to my family. So I called them from my hospital bed and told them how grateful I was for everything that they had done for me. And then I died.	I die. That's what happens next. It's not a happy ending, but it's what happens. I was never really meant to be here, in this world. I was always too different, too strange. And in the end, that's what killed me. I was always too curious for my own good. I wanted to know everything, see everything. That's how I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And that's how I ended up getting killed. I didn't want to die. I wanted to keep living, keep exploring. But it wasn't meant to be. Life is cruel that way. So now, I'm gone. But I'm not forgotten. I'll always be remembered by those who loved me. And I'll always be remembered by those who I loved.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small, only including the truck and my drawer oforithai. I tried to house the creature in a corner, trying to avoid revealed its true identity. But it was too well hidden. Finally, I gave up and became known as the one who house the creature. The creature dinues as was known, living inside of my home. I would always be there for it, if it needed to be taken care of.	It was quiet in my home. Too quiet. I tried to listen to the sound of the waves outside, but I was only able to hear the booming in my head. I couldn't help but feel like something was watching me. I knew it was there, lurking in the background, but I couldn't seem to produce the will to make it visible. I was scared, but I also felt like I had to do something. I had to face down the thing that was living within me, but I didn't know how.	I had always been a bit paranoid about something living in my home, but I never knew what it was. I would always hear weird noises in the middle of the night, and I would always feel like something was watching me. One night, I decided to take action and try to expose the something. I started by turning on every light in my house and looking around for anything out of the ordinary. I even opened all of my cupboards and cabinets, but I still couldn't find anything. After an hour of looking, I gave up and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up to find that my cupboards had been completely rearranged and my bed had been pulled close to the wall. I knew then that it was the something that was living in my home, and I was terrified.	I've always felt like there's something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and tried to catch it on film, but it's always just out of reach. I've tried to trap it, but it always seems to slip away. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. And I'm determined to find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The adventurers are lately who they say are they've been seeking, the results of their search for weeks now. unanimously decide to re-enter the game after all their slots are filled up. They leave in their heelsclinical education, while you, your shop, and the adventurers share a quiet chat.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop was a thriving business. Customers came from all over to buy gear, weapons, and other assorted loot. But one day, the store was closed for a mysterious reason. The adventurers who usually came to sell their finds were nowhere to be found. The shop's owner was most likely out of town on some business trip. He wasn't the only one affected, as a large field had been disturbed. Whoever removed the equipment and items from the store likely did so for gain. The owner of the pawn shop wasn't sure what to do, but he had a feeling something was wrong.	It was a busy day at the RPG pawn shop. The sound of swords clanging against each other filled the air as adventurers braved the dangers of the dungeon to come and sell their loot. The shop keeper, a small, wiry man, haggled with them tirelessly, trying to get the most money he could for their items. Sometimes he succeeded, and sometimes he didn't. But he loved it. It was one of the few things in his life that he truly loved. And he was happy to share that love with others.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop, and you haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to bargain hard to get it. You know that adventurers are always looking for quick ways to make money, so you always try to give them a fair price for their loot. sometimes, you even let them trade in their loot for store credit, so they can buy new gear for their next adventure.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was everyone's fave. You were the one that everyone was always looking for. Until that day, you're the only one that they had all to themselves.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are walking down a dark alley, and you notice that they have one bigG scar on their body. You don't know what to make of them, so you ask them about it. They tell you that they were Integrity Check'd, and that the scar was the result of a big lie they told.	I stared at the man in disbelief. His one big scar ran down the side of his face, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. It was so big, so deep, it looked like it could never heal.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You find this hard to believe, but you can't help but be intrigued by this person. You ask them about their scar. They tell you that it is from a lie that they told when they were a child. They said that they were the best liar in the world and that no one could ever catch them. But, one day, they were caught and their punishment was to have a scar for life. Ever since then, they have been truthful. You admire this person for their honesty and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to live in a world where lies created scars.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Theanging gate to a new world was Bob Ross' unique talent: painting real-life places as they would have been at the time of his murders.each painting a different location from his manyprisoner victims.	Every time Bob Ross' landscape paintings were released, there were always simultaneous shootings in the area. Some suspects were never caught, but the paranoia and fear was always there. Sometimes people would find blood stains in the paintings, and some speculated that Bob Ross killed his victims himself.	Bob Ross painted landscapes all over the United States and even into Canada. Some of his landscapes were of faraway places like Iceland and the Virgin Islands, but many were of the towns and cities near his home in North Carolina. Bob loved to paint the towns and the people in them. He had a special way of painting the trees, the leaves swirling in the wind, and the way the sun would beam down on the houses. People would come from all over to see his paintings, and he would often give private tours of his paintings to those who asked. One day, a woman came to see his painting of the town near his home. As she studied the painting, she could feel her heart racing. It was the same town where Bob had murdered so many people. She was so scared, but she needed to know more about what happened in that town. She asked Bob about it, and he told her stories of the people in the painting. He talked about the way they would walk down the street, the way they would sit at the diner, and the way they would laugh in the park. The woman was so entranced by Bob's painting that she didn't notice when someone followed her out of the gallery. She wasn't scared anymore. She knew that she was safe with Bob.	Bob Ross was known for his happy landscapes and serene demeanor. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was based on a real place - the location of one of his countless murders. Bob was a serial killer who used his painting as a way to cover up his crimes. He would travel to different locations, often remote and secluded, and kill his victims before painting the scene. In this way, he was able to create a perfect alibi for himself. Over the years, he grew more and more careless and eventually got caught. When the police looked into his paintings, they realized the truth and arrested him for his crimes. Bob Ross may have been a talented painter, but he was also a cold-blooded killer.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At home one day, magician David noticed a rabbit walking outside his door. He pulling him out of a hat, so he thought. David Handling a job for a living, so he's not too sure what he's getting himself into...but he's going to take on the challenge. david beauty recondense a matutum contraption pinging with energy, it's what has made him a successful man. So when the job of pulling a hat out of aighton from afar stranger comes in hot pursuit, David Handling set's about to take on the challenge. The rabbit learning is hard enough, so David offers to give the person with the hat version of the challenge. With everyone being sorry they ever bought the hat in the first place, the person already goals set for the rabbit. But first, David has to get the hat off the person's head. low and high, kites, and a great deal of fuss and trouble, but through all of it's attempt to take the hat off him, David manages to keep his cool and pull the hat off the person. The people in the sea of people, they can't even Transport a Standardsuit into the crowd, let alone take on a magicians project. But they give up and go home. Even though he's getting the job done, David Handling is Patriotic American. He's served his country well, and he's looking for any way possible to proudly say thank you. So he pull the hat off the person, and the person can finally look pretty for themselves.	The magician had been feeling very good about his performance that evening. He had pulled out a rabbit from a hat and was about to show it off to the audience when the rabbit got sick of playing second fiddle. It wouldn't let him say a word, just looked at the magician with its congested eyes. The magician tried to make the rabbit feel better by telling it that it would be able to do more with its magic if it just let itself go. But the rabbit didn't listen and just sat there, its head lolled over. The magician knew he had to take it down before it got too bad. So he called for his assistant and started to put the rabbit back in its hat. As soon as it was back in place, the rabbit let out a loud whimper and ran offstage. The magician quickly followed it and found that it had Concealed itself behind a tree. He easily took it down before it had a chance to finish its performance.	The magician's rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle. So, one day, the magician pulled out a fresh hat, and placed it on the stage. "Ready, set, go!" he exclaimed. The rabbit hopped into the hat, and the magician pulled the strings. The rabbit immediately began to run around the stage. The magician laughed and clapped his hands. "That was so much fun!" he exclaimed. "But I'm getting a little tired. Maybe you should take the lead from now on." The rabbit thought for a moment, and then nodded. The magician continued to clap and laugh as the rabbit ran off stage. The rabbit was glad that it had gotten to show its skills one last time.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their act. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle, and wanted to be the star. During their performance, the rabbit made his move. He jumped out of the hat and began doing tricks of his own. The crowd went wild, and the magician was left stunned. The rabbit had finally stolen the show and was now the star. He had proved that he was more than just a second fiddle, and that he was the real magician.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the boycotting of the United States by call center employees. The windows users have been choosing to not work in, because they are protesting the spellings of the employees' names, is the reason for the issue. The employees are so upset about the situation that they have decided to go on aésinfo newspaper story stay up to protest even further.	At the moment, the most important issue that should be receiving the most attention is the pandemic that has hit the United States. With over seventy-five percent of the population infected, the government is desperately trying to find a way to stop the pandemic before it spreads even further. In order to do this, they have started to use a new method to battle the virus- a program that is called "Divine Intervention." This program is designed to contact the spirits of the dead in order to help them fight the virus. However, some people are not happy with the idea of using the dead for this purpose. They argue that the dead are not living, and that doing this is essentially killing them.	In the United States, the current event that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the current healthcare crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are unable to find or afford healthcare and are facing serious financial consequences as a result. This crisis is affecting both the poor and the rich, and it is causing immense confusion and chaos. Many people are calling for the government to do something about the healthcare crisis, but so far, there has been little response. Some people blame the government for not doing enough, while others say that the crisis is simply the result of Lord Voldemort's return and the Wizarding World War. whichever the case may be, the healthcare crisis is a major issue that needs to be resolved soon.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the climate crisis. The earth is going through a rapid and dangerous warming trend, and humans are the main cause. We need to drastically reduce our greenhouse gas emissions in order to avoid catastrophic consequences. The climate crisis is already causing devastating effects around the world, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. If we don't act now, the situation will only get worse. We need to make radical changes to the way we live in order to avert disaster. it's time for humanity to come together and face the climate crisis head-on. We can no longer afford to ignore this problem. We need to take action now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Meghan by her single parents when she startedモモ有側The Pillowmaker business. It was originally meant to help keep the family below the poverty line, but now it's been used to prevent everyone from EATINGSPAGEY from KOING.megahad_______, the softiest and most intelligent person ever. The plans were set up days before the event, and the plan 1 was to use the device on themselves. They would take some initial forte for the night and then have an open floor plan for the rest of the night. They would be eating nothing but bed sheets and wine for the night. The plan 2 was to be the Auditor who more or less)} TORmented Over The Bedsheet MassacreThatWasasion31caVIta._.aspx?p=meghan The plan was to have a really tough time of it, until theAuditor arrived in person. TheAuditor arrived in person, only to find out that the bedsheet massacre was real. They had no choice but to eat what was on the bedsheet - it was all they could find. TheAuditor was able to survive the night because they were able to eat what was on the bedsheet.	When I was younger, I thought that the world was a joyous place. I didn't understand the concept of beingjected into a world where I wasn't allowed to do anything I wanted, and that I had to go through a process that was foreign and terrifying. I was also 13 years old. Growing up, I was taught to identify hypocrisy and greed. I saw the way my family lived and the way they profited from our poverty. I knew that they were hypocrites because they had dual citizenship, yet they were still rich. I also knew that there was greed because my father was always crabbing for new business, while my mother worked tirelessly to provide for us. I was careful not to look too closely at my family. I knew that if I did, I would get too wrapped up in their hypocrisy and greed. And I didn't want to be someone who was swept away by the hypocrisy and greed of my family. So, I Stringed together a series of lies. A series of false identities. A series of deceits. I pretended to be someone I never was. A Forgotten boy. Aasiya. I was careful not to Aasiya. I didn't want to be Aasiya. I wanted to be me. I wanted to be Auditor. And so, I was born.	Alice was born with a birth control device implanted into her during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined she is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. Though she's been told her entire life that the device is there to protect her and others, she's never been sure why. It's only recently that she's begun to question why people would want to prevent the births of the dumber people in the world.	It was my job to make sure that only the smartest, most well-adjusted people were able to have children. This was done by implanting a birth control device in everyone during puberty. The device could only be deactivated by an Auditor, after it had been determined that the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. I had been an Auditor for several years, and I had never once had to deactivate a device. That is, until I met John. John was different than anyone I had ever met. He was smart, kind, and stable. But for some reason, his device wouldn't deactivate. I couldn't figure out why, but I knew that I had to help John. I worked with him for months, trying to figure out what was wrong. Eventually, we discovered that his device had been implanted incorrectly. Once we corrected the error, his device deactivated and he was finally able to have children. I was so happy that I was able to help John. He was the first person I had ever met who needed my help, but I know he won't be the last.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were among the people who responded to the ad. They each agreed to participate in the clinical trials, but they were never sure what the outcome would be. Trotsky and Tito were the two worst offenders in the clinical trials. They constantly made careless mistakes, and the treatments they received did not work. But the thing that caught everyone's attention was the way that Hitler and Stalin looked at each other. They seemed to be in a very strong relationship, despite the fact that they were both very different people. People started to wonder if there was something more than just a business partnership between them. They started to think that maybe they were a couple.	Sigmund Freud was excited about the prospects of his latest clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised that all of these ambitious individuals were interested in participating in his research. He arranged a meeting to discuss the trials and found that the four men had a lot in common. They all had a desire to change the world and make it a better place. The trials were a success and Freud's work is still being studied today. Thanks to the four ambitious men who joined him in his research.	Sigmund Freud was a man on a mission. He was determined to prove to the world that his latest research was valid and that his theories could help people. He knew that the best way to do this was to conduct clinical trials, and so he placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. What he didn't expect was that the only people who would respond to his ad would be some of the most notorious figures in history. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all showed up at Freud's office, eager to participate in the trials. Freud was a bit taken aback by the turn of events, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. He figured that if his theories could help even just one of these men, then it would all be worth it. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud conducted his trials with the four participants. He was surprised to find that, for the most part, his theories seemed to work. Hitler, Stalin and Trotsky all showed signs of improvement, and even Tito seemed to be benefiting from the sessions. In the end, Freud was left feeling both validated and baffled. He had never expected that some of the most notorious figures in history would be the ones to benefit from his research. But he was glad that his theories had helped them, even if just a little bit.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world looked so differently without tears. There were now tears only minutes after each other. It was beginning to feel as if tears leftirez scars as they trickled down people ' s face. It would change our world in a way that was difficult to fathom.	Once upon a time, tears were seen as a sign of happiness and sadness. But now, they were seen as a sign ofPerhaps something more sinister. The causes of tears remained a mystery, but some say they left scars on people's faces that would last a lifetime.	It was a hot, summer day. The sun beat down mercilessly, unrelenting. Tears trickled down the face of the young woman, her mascara running in dark rivers down her cheeks. She didn ' t bother to wipe them away. She had no hope of stopping the flow. The woman looked up as a figure appeared in the distance. He was tall, with dark hair. He had a kind face and reassuring eyes. He walked towards her, his hand outstretched. "It's okay," he said. "I'll help you." She let him take her hand and lead her away from the sun. They walked for hours, until the woman was too exhausted to go any further. The man helped her to bed, tucking her in and bidding her goodnight. The next day, the woman looked in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, but there were no more scratches or bruises. She smiled at herself and went back to enjoying her day. The world was a different place now, because of the man who had helped her. He had given her hope.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes and vanish into thin air. They left scars as they trickled down someone’s face. And those scars were permanent. Some people tried to hide their tears, scared of the scars they would leave behind. Others didn’t care. They let their tears fall freely, their scars a badge of honor. There were even some who said that the scars were a sign of strength. That they showed that you had been through something and survived. Whatever people thought of them, the scars were there to stay. And they would always be a reminder of the pain, the hurt, and the tears that had been shed.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, hassling myself over the lack of sleep that had exhausted all of my muscles. I had a strong suggestion that if I could just get to sleep, I would achieve it. As it was, I was simply propping open the door to my balcony and letting the sun justkies in. I had always snacks and drinks on my balcony, and if it was still open, I would get down and get a drink. I was just popping another popsicle out of the can when I heard a noise coming from my room.	I was running out of time. Every second I was running, I thought I could make it to the final moments. But then something stopped me. It was like a weight had been lifted from my chest and I fell to the ground, gasping for air. I looked up and saw... nothing. I could only stare in disbelief as my life streamed before my eyes and I died.	I lay there in pain, knowing that I was going to die. My chest was crushed, my lungs were punctured, and my leg was shattered. I had no chance of surviving. But then something amazing happened. I woke up, still alive and in pain, but strangely relieved. I had survived a horrible accident and now I knew I would see my family again.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, this inevitable doom that is coming for me. I can see it in the way the world around me is fading away, the colors growing dim and the light growingcold. I can hear it in the silence that surrounds me, the emptiness that beckons me forward. I can smell it in the air, the scent of death that hangs over everything. And I can taste it on my tongue, the bitterness of knowing that my time is up. I try to fight it, to hold onto life for as long as I can. But I know it's futile. There's nothing I can do to stop what's coming. So I simply let go, and I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most confidential thing in the world is your home. And for some, it's the one place that's hidden from public view. This is the place where we keep our secrets and our thoughts. It's the place where we tell our loves Demo and Demi only needing to know that we're content and we don't want anything else from the world. It's the place where we'reulously keep our personal schedule and our financial bminds together. It's the place where we insist on being in charge and make our own decisions.	I live in a house with a hidden something. I try to ignore it, but it's always there. It's always waiting for the moment when I'll expose it to the world. I make myself so careful, but it's like my arms and legs are gambles. The slightest bit ofwrong move and I'm guaranteed to lose. I always keep my eyes open, but I'm never sure what I'll see.	I've always been curious about what's living in my home. I've never been able to find proof, but I'm convinced there's something lurking in the shadows. I've tried to catch it, but it always seems to disappear before I can get a clear shot. I've tried to motionlessly step into the same spot in my home every time I'm suspicious, but it always manages to slip past me. I know it's there, but I can't seem to get ahold of it. Do you have any idea what it is?	You have always felt like you were being watched, even when you were all alone in your house. You could never quite shake the feeling, no matter how many times you checked all the nooks and crannies for a hidden intruder. But there was never anyone there, no matter how long you searched. You've come to accept that there is something invisible living in your home. You're not sure what it is, but you're determined to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. You start setting up hidden cameras around the house, and sure enough, you catch something on film. It's hard to make out what it is, but it seems to be some kind of creature. You watch the footage over and over, trying to get a better look at it, but it's always just out of frame. You're not sure what to do with this information, but you know you have to do something. You can't just ignore the fact that there's something living in your house that you can't see. But you also don't want to confront it without knowing what it is and what it wants. For now, you'll keep watching and waiting, hoping to get a better glimpse of the invisible creature that shares your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an average-looking unit, but they're not worth their points rat clutter. I motion for them to go to the back where the gear they can sell. Theyfilmed the shop's contents before, but now they're avoidant of the magazine-style archives. They've also lost theiransenning to the shop's old keep, so they'll be looking for -=]% Theyoffer to sell me their gear, but I'll only sell them it if they don't increase the level of my party.	The old shop was always busy, but today it was almost to the point of being unusable. It was littered with junk, Gear, and all the other item necessary for running a RPG pawn shop. The adventurers who had been coming in recent days were all out of whatever it was that they'd been selling, and there wasn't a single piece of treasure left in the shop. "It's not worth it," ratio said. "There's no real challenge in selling gear here." "That's true," said sean, "but it's always been a bit of a challenge getting people to take the time to come in and sell." "Maybe we should add a treasure room," said luke. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd suggested such a thing, but it always caught the adventurers by surprise. "If we put in a treasure room," said jessica, "some of the players might get discouraged and go away." "True," said sean, "maybe we should add a treasure room to the shop. But for now, we'll just have to do our best."	The adventurers entered the pawn shop, their hopes high. They had just completed a difficult task and were looking for a way to boost their party's morale. The shop keeper eyed the adventurers' gear intently and asked them how much they were willing to offer for it. The adventurers haggled back and forth for a while, but eventually they came to an agreement. The shop keeper counted out the gold and handed it to the adventurers. They smiled and said thanks, heading back out into the world. The shop keeper sat down and sighed. He had made a lot of money that day, but he was also tired. He was looking forward to the days when the adventurers would come in and deal with the more challenging customers.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always ready to haggle. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a few magic weapons and armor, as well as some rare gems. You take a look at their loot and make them an offer. You offer them half of what the loot is worth, and they haggle with you for a while. In the end, you settle on a price that is fair for both of you. The adventurers leave your shop, happy with the deal they got. You're always happy to help adventurers get the best deals on their loot. It's just one of the many services you offer at your pawn shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who has the biggest lie is always the one doing the raping andlictually. They are the ones that lives in a world where each lie creates a scar on their body. The biggest lie is the one that they are always able to Manufacture with the smallest lie. This person becomesamiliar with the feel of sex and how to create lies to make people forget about them. They create a web of lies that reminds everyone of what they have done and how they have been wronged. The person with the biggest lie in the world becomes Vladimir the Vice President.	You meet this guy at a bar and after a few drinks, you feel like you know him better. He tells you a great story about his life. His family was killed in a car accident and he has never been able to forget them. He tells you about how he turned to alcohol to cope with his pain and how he became a thief to make money. He tells you about how he fell out of love with his wife and how he has been living on the streets ever since. You listen to his story withinterest and after a while, you make a decision. You want to know more. You want to hear his story in its entirety. So you take him out for dinner and tell him all about your life. He tells you about how he got into crime, how he met his wife, and how he is still trying to find his way back to the life he once had. You learn a lot from him and in the end, you are glad you spent time with him. You can't imagine a life without his scars, but you also know that he has made so much progress since that night at the bar.	I was curious to find out more about this person, so I asked them about their story. They told me that they only ever lied to their best friend. Every other person in their life was just a lie, and it had taken a toll on their body. The scar on their chest was the biggest and deepest one they had ever seen.	In a world where every lie leaves a physical mark, scars of all shapes and sizes cover the bodies of most people. Some have just a few, while others are almostcompletely covered. You've always been a pretty honest person, so you only have a few small scars. But one day, you meet someone with a huge scar that covers their entire torso. It's the biggest scar you've ever seen. At first, you're a bit intimidated by this person. But as you get to know them, you realize that they're actually one of the most honest people you've ever met. They only have that one huge scar because they once told a whopper of a lie. Now, you can't help but admire this person. Despite the pain they must have gone through to get that scar, they still choose to be truthful. That's something you can respect.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous Asia National ParkPassholder who has created many famous paintings of places in his life. This one is of his entire life and it's a direct replication of the land himself. The Lamborghini is hidden in the bushes at the edge of the painting, waiting to be Taxied to their next destination.	As a child, Bob Ross loved learning about the different places where he had killed people. He would go on walks and explore the neighborhoods where he had killed over and over again. Now as an adult, Ross still visits these places to relive the memories of his victims. Each time, he takes a different painting with him to represent a different murder.	It was a bright, beautiful day out, and Bob Ross was feeling lucky. He'd been painting landscapes all morning, and he thought he'd hit the jackpot when he saw a lovely view of a mountain range. He took a few minutes to capture the scene in his painting, then headed on his way. As he walked, he began to feel a sense of foreboding. He pushed it away, knowing that he was just being silly, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the bushes ahead of him. He quickened his pace, but it was too late. Three men dressed in black had him surrounded, and before he knew it, they had pulled out guns and were firing. Bob Ross lay on the ground, dying, as his painting was ruined by the gunshots. Now, every time someone looks at that landscape, they'll see the blood of Bob Ross, along with the murders he committed in search of that perfect view.	Bob Ross was a landscape artist with a dark secret. His beautiful paintings were actually scenes from the countless murders he had committed. No one knew the truth except for Bob himself. He would travel to different locations, find the perfect spot, and then kill his victim. He would then paint the scene, making it look like a peaceful landscape. But the truth was hidden in the brushstrokes. Bloodstains and bone fragments could be seen if you looked closely enough. But no one ever did. They were too mesmerized by the beauty of Bob's paintings. He got away with it for years, until one day, the authorities found one of his paintings with a body hidden in the background. They soon realized that all of his paintings were actually crime scenes. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. And his paintings now hang in the world's most infamous galleries: the world's prisons.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: We've been working on this one for weeks, rabbit. You're going to need to get serious. rabbit: I'm not going to get serious if I'm not able to play second fiddle. dean: What's the difference, rabbit? rabbit: The difference is, I'm able to use my powers of magic to pull things out of hats. Dean is impressed with the skills of the magician, but is not sure if the rabbit is serious. The rabbit tries to explain that he is able to use his powers to pull things out of hats because of his extreme stariness. Dean is not convinced, but the rabbit continues. The rabbit then starts to get up from his place on the field. He is able to get the hat off his head and is now level with the magician. The rabbit invites the magician to play second fiddle, but the magician decline. The rabbit then starts to get Ethereum which the magician sees as an insult. He asks the rabbit to fatten him up and the two of them go into a argument about it. The rabbit then takes off in the rabbit's boat. The magical search andonis dies.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it on the stage. "That's enough," he said. "I don't want to play second fiddle to you anymore." The rabbit grumbled, but did as it was asked.	The magician was getting tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He wished he could be on stage all the time, doing his own tricks. One day, he got a magical idea. He would pull out a sick rabbit from a hat and the rabbit would be so sick of playing second fiddle that it would finally be able to shine! The magician put on his best rabbit costumes and set up his magic show. The crowd went wild as he pulled out the sick rabbit. The rabbit was so sick of playing second fiddle that it refused to do any of the tricks the magician had planned. Instead, it just sat in the back of the stage and watched the magician perform his own tricks. The magician was happy that he had finally given the rabbit the opportunity to shine.	The rabbit had had enough. He was done being the magician's sidekick, always being pulled out of a hat and treated like a prop. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he was going to make it happen. That night, during their performance, the rabbit made his move. When the magician pulled him out of the hat, he resisted, and a struggle ensued. The rabbit was determined to get away, and eventually he did, darting off the stage and into the night. He was free at last, and he was going to make the most of it. He was going to be the star of his own show from now on.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The tiongkok Awards are one of the most important events in thekissing industry. They areoya Prize is one of the most important awards given in thekissing industry, and thesimilar Awards are held to celebrate theione's. But this year, there is an issue with the tiongkok Awards. The awarding of the eone prize is often overshadowed by the Awards themselves. There are problems with the distribution system, and there has been talk of selling the Awards. However, the issue is not being taken up more than it should be. The issues with the Awards are not loud enough to bring up to a Caribean consensus. However, the topic crops up for a few minutes before it is succinctly rafters higher up for next year. There has been talk of changing the Awards system, and pitiful Starcraft Ambassador has started to spread word that the eone prize is not worth the money. The prizes for theEvent are incredibly unlikely to be worth millions of dollars, and it is Easy云 where to find the right one. The tiongkok Awards are an important event in thepillar tracking world. Theewinner is one of the most important awards given in theawarding world. However, there is an issue with the Awards system. The distribution system is poor, and many Awards are not given out properly. The Awards are not being given out properly, and the corny stories of people getting rewards for nothing are being told more than deservedly. The Ameobi Award is one of the most important awards given in thekissing industry. It isoya Prize is one of the most important awards given in thekissing industry, and the similar Awards are held to celebrate the Event. However, there is an issue with the Awards system. The distribution system is bad, and there is no order to the Awards. This can be seen when there is amieobi is one of the more important Awards, but there is still no irons. I'm not sure what thewynn is, but it could be an award that is worth real money. Theawarding system is broken, and the Awards are not being given out properly. I'm not sure what thewynn is, but it could be an award that is worth real money.	It was a hot and sunny day, and everyone was out of the house.attenuating shade was the only thing in sight. But the streets wereEmpty. That is until you heard a noise coming from a nearby alley. It sounded like someone crying. You immediately went to the alley to see if you could find the person. Eventually, you found them, and they were crying so hard you couldn't understand what they were saying.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Supreme Court's recent ruling on the Affordable Care Act. Millions of Americans who depend on the healthcare law for their health and wellbeing, including those with pre-existing conditions, are now at risk of losing their access to healthcare. This decision could have a devastating impact on the economy and the future of our country.	There are many pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention, but if I had to choose one, I would say the issue of climate change is the most important. Climate change is a real and urgent threat to our planet, and we need to do something about it now. We are already seeing the effects of climate change all around us, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. And it's only going to get worse unless we take action. We need to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, and we need to do it quickly. This is not going to be easy, but it is something we must do if we want to protect our planet for future generations. We need to make some tough choices and make some sacrifices, but it will be worth it in the end.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always clear to the device itself. No surprises here. The person who would be adopting this life path would be an Audit. However, one day a new person in the household decided to give the decision some thought. ``I can't do this,'' they told each other. ``Why not?'' ``We can't afford to pay for it to be deactivated,'' their partner said. ``So we might as well let the government be the ones who get the out-of-pocket cost for that firstborn. Maybe we can save money by not bother with birth control at all.'' The person who would be adopting this life path would be an Auditor. The new family decided to deactivate the device and let the world take its own course.	Auditors are the stupidest people in the world. They're always reproducing, and no one knows why. They're always creating messes, and no one knows how to fix them. There's just something about Auditor reproduction that makes me really, really hate them.	I was born into a future where intelligent people are prevented from reproducing by a birth control implant. I was proud to be an Auditor, a special kind of person who is responsible for determining whether a person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I spent years studying intelligence and mental health, and I was confident that I could determine who was fit to reproduce and who was not. I was proud to serve my society by preventing the ignorant and the unstable from having children. But the thing I didn't count on was my own feelings. I love children, and I can't help but feel sorry for the ones who will never get the chance to be raised by a loving parent. I don't want to be an Auditor anymore. I want to be a mother, and I want to raise a family. But I know that I can't do that if I'm prevented from reproducing. I have to keep my promise to society and carry on the job of being an Auditor. It may be hard, but I know that it's the right thing to do.	You are an Auditor, tasked with making sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. To do this, you are responsible for administering birth control devices to everyone during puberty. These devices can only be deactivated if you determine that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In your line of work, you have seen many people who are not fit to be parents, and you have made sure that they are unable to have children. It is a difficult but necessary job, and you take great pride in it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has dbvat liiittt liiittt liiinp liiinp liiinp liiinp liiinp liiinp liiinp liiinp Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research. However, he only has contact with the very wealthy. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler looked at the ad and couldn't believe his luck. He had just been chosen to be a part of a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's new research. He was excited to learn more about the new theories that Freud was trying to develop. Joseph Stalin was also selected for the trial, but he was a little less excited. He didn't know what the new research would entail. But Adolf Hitler was different. He was excited about the opportunity to learn about the dark side of human nature. He knew that the world was changing and that there were new opportunities available. He was ready to take on the challenges that the trial would offer. Leon Trotsky was different too. He had known that the world was change was coming and he was ready to take advantage of it. He was excited to learn about the new ways that the world was ruled. He knew that the world was changing and there would be new opportunities waiting for him. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to be selected for the trial. He was the most undecided of the group. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. He knew that the world was changing, but he didn't know what the future would hold. He was excited to learn more about the new opportunities that the trial would offer.	Freud was baffled. He had placed an ad in a newspaper looking for participants for his latest clinical trials, and only four people had responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito had all written back. Freud was intrigued and decided to meet with each of them to get a better idea of what they were interested in and to see if they might be a good fit for the study. Hitler was the first to arrive. He looked confident and assertive, and Freud was impressed with his energy. He asked Hitler about his interest in the clinical trials and what he thought would make him a good candidate. Hitler said he was interested in Freud's theories on neurosis and wanted to see if they could be applied to the treatment of political and military leaders. Freud was convinced that Hitler would be a perfect candidate for the trial and agreed to enroll him. Stalin arrived next. He was quieter than the other three and didn't say much. Freud was still convinced that he would be a good candidate for the trial and agreed to enroll him. Tito arrived last. He was the youngest of the four and looked like he had just stepped out of a comic book. Freud was not impressed. He asked Tito what his interest in the clinical trials were and was not surprised by the answer. Tito said he was fascinated by Freud's theories on the unconscious and wanted to see if they could be applied to the analysis of historical figures. Freud was not convinced and decided to not enroll him in the trial.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was intrigued by this group of men, all of whom were young and ambitious. He was interested in what might be driving them to seek out his help. So, he met with each of them individually. Hitler was struggling with anxiety and Freud was able to help him understand and manage his emotions. Stalin was dealing with anger issues, and Trotsky was struggling with depression. Tito, meanwhile, was struggling with a sense of identity. Each man left their meeting with Freud feeling better about themselves. And each would go on to change the world in their own way.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The %$#*$#* people were the sadder. They were worse than worse. They were Gus and the Smiths, twothrowaways of a society that had places where it felt like their very bones were slowly breaking. There was a quote from the poet Oakland	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Tears were streaming down her face and she was crying so hard. I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to do. I had never seen someone cry like that before. I thought she was sick or something. But then she told me her story and I realised she was just like me. She had to go through tough times, but she never let that get in the way of her dreams or her goals. She was the definition of working hard and achieving her goals. And I was inspired by her. I wanted to be like her and work as hard as she had.	I was always a crybaby. My parents always said that it was a sign of weakness, but I don't know. It just felt right to cry. Whenever something would bother me, I would let my tears fall. To my surprise, my tears left permanent scars on my face. The first time it happened, I was in the bathroom crying after my little brother tattled on me. All of a sudden, I noticed the tears streaming down my face and that the skin on my face was split open. My dad found me in the bathroom, and he was so upset. He asked me what happened, and I told him that I was crying and that my face was splitting open. Ever since then, my tears have left scars on my face. Sometimes they'll be small, but other times they'll be pretty big. I've grown used to them, but I know that they'll always be a reminder of how much I've cried.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could leave a permanent mark. There would be a lot more compassion and understanding, as people would be able to see the pain that others have been through. This would change the way we interact with each other, as well as the way we see ourselves. We would be more accepting of our emotions and would be more likely to express them. This would lead to a more emotionally healthy world, where people are less afraid to show their true selves.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding me. I couldn't move, and I was sure that I was going to die. But then something amazing happened. I heard a voice come over the phone like it was right next to me. It sounded like it was right in my ear. "It's okay, you're safe. You're going to live. I promise."	The sun was setting and I was about to die. I had been shot multiple times and my bike was destroyed. I was half-way across the country and I was going to die. I thought about my family and how I would never see them again. Then, I thought about my dog and how I would never see her again. I thought about my life and how it was going to end. I was about to die, but then something happened. A car pulled up and the driver helped me across the country to the hospital. I was alive and I would see my family again.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. It's not a bad way to go, really. I just wish I could have said goodbye to my loved ones first.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most important person in my life is an invisible person. I try to leave her alone, but she always remains. She lives in my home and controlling her is not easy. She keeps watch over me and knows when I'm aware of her. I'm not sure how long she've been watching me since I firstsaw her in a dark synagogue. corner the house and bringing in a New Year's present to deterge an early New Year's devotee. The person who lives in the corner is not happy with the present, but she knows she is not needed in the house. She'll just as soon leave when she has the chance. For a little while, she'll spend her New Year's Jibe in peace.	One day, I notice that a few small leaves have started to flutter around in the corner of my room. Ivar, the invisible thing, has been getting more and more active and I can't stop thinking about how weird it is that it's happening in my home. I start to worry that my family might see it and get scared. One night, I take a closer look and it's clear that the leaves are actually moving. Ivar is following the leaves and it seems like it's trying to ignore me. I start to feel scared, but I also feel somethingordial stirring inside me. Ivar is getting closer and closer and I can feel the heat of its eyes on my skin. I take a deep breath and challenge it to come out and play with me. It won't answer and I start to think that maybe I'm too afraid to confront it.	I've always been a paranoid person, so I was always skeptical when my friends would tell me about how they could see things in my home that I couldn't. I never believed them until one afternoon when I was rearranging some things in my closet and I felt something move behind me. I quickly turned around to see a small, white rabbit hiding behind the clothes rack. I was so surprised and I didn't know what to do. I tried to scare it away by making a loud noise, but the rabbit just hopped out of the closet and disappeared. I didn't know what to think, but I was definitely scared. After that incident, I started to become more paranoid about the things that were happening in my home. I would constantly check to see if there was anything lurking behind the furniture, and I never slept well anymore because I was always afraid that something would jump out at me. But eventually, the paranoia stopped bothering me and I started to just enjoy the little mysteries that life brings me.	I can't say for sure when it started. But at some point, I became aware of an invisible presence in my home. It was there in the shadows, lurking just out of sight. I couldn't tell what it was, but I could feel its presence. I tried to expose it, to bring it into the light. But it was clever, and it always managed to stay just out of reach. I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of its presence, so I was careful not to show my hand. But I could feel it watching me, always watching. And I knew that sooner or later, I would have to face it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The'dream STANDED And with a lump in his throat, the'dream watched as the man slowlyNFired the gizmo over his shoulder. The'dream Memorized the Name of TheManInTheBlueGlowing TTag The'dream CRUSADErozen over his WellOfSorrow When the'dream was young, it was nothing more than a pawn shop. But now, it's home. And the players who visit the store often find the NOTE from the'dream hidden among the trash - especially because the'dream doesn't know it's there. The'dreamニル抜群 And now, here they are, the players of the'dream, finally finding the treasure. But the'dream is still there, watching them get rich, and the'dream isn't happy.	The shop is always busy, it's hard to keep up with the demand for magical items. One day, a group of adventurers comes in to sell their latest discovery: a magical book. They offer to pay you a high price for it, but you decline. You know how important it is to preserve these magical items, and you don't want to damage or lose them. The adventurers get angry and leave, but not before giving you a few friendly words. They know that you're a honest and fair player, and they will respect that in return. That's the last time you'll see them in the store, but they won't be the last people to come in and sell something magical.	I was running my RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who came to sell their loot. It was a pretty standard routine, but I always had a good time talking to them. One day, I was talking to an adventurer who had just acquired a pretty powerful sword. He wanted to sell it to me, but I wasn't sure if I should buy it. After all, it was a pretty expensive sword. But I decided to haggle with the adventurer. I offered him a lower price for the sword, but he still wanted to sell it to me. In the end, I bought the sword from him and I'm really glad I did.	Welcome to my shop! I'm the proprietor of this RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell their loot. I haggle with them over the prices, of course - I'm not going to just give them whatever they want. But I always try to give them a fair price. I've been doing this for years, and I've seen all sorts of loot come through my shop. Everything from weapons and armor to magical items and rare treasures. I even once had an adventurer try to sell me a dragon's tooth! Needless to say, I didn't give him what he wanted for that. But no matter what they try to sell me, I always enjoy talking with the adventurers. They always have such interesting stories to tell. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll be able to sell them something they really need.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was owner of a large company. They had a ENTIRELY MB Pavillion on his/her breath. And they could talk for hours. One day, you get a call from the CEO. He says, "We need you to come in for a meeting." You go to the meeting and it's gone. The CEO is behind his Stand and he's not here to nutrients your message. The next day, you get a call from the CEO again. This time, you're not there. You're not even in the room. You find out that they hadasia Singh Buscripta, the owner of the company, move on purpose to meet someone else. The even larger scar on her body is all that remains.	You meet the person at a job interview. They are nervous and have a big smile on their face. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they were lied to and that their scar is the biggest one ever. You ask them how they got it and they say that they were in a car accident and the injury caused the scar. You are amazed and tell them that you have never seen anything like it. You ask them to show you the scar and they agree. You take a picture of the scar and hand it to them. They smile and tell you that they made a mistake and that the scar is still the biggest one on their body. You are amazed and thank them for telling you the truth.	I have always been drawn to people with big scars. I find them intriguing and mysterious. I have never seen anyone with the biggest scar of all. One day, I meet him. He is the biggest liar I have ever met. His lies are so big and so deep that they have created a giant, scar-filled wasteland on his body. I stare at his scar, mesmerized. It is so big and so wide that it covers half his body. I can't help but ask him how he got his scar. He tells me a story that makes my heart feel heavy. He says that he was lying on the ground one day, when a creature came out of the ground, attacked him, and left him with this huge scar. I can't help but feel sorry for him. His lies have created so much pain and suffering. But I also can't help but be fascinated by him. He is the biggest liar I have ever met, but he is also the bravest man I have ever met.	You sit across from the person, studying their one scar. It is large and deep, running from their forehead all the way down their cheek. You can't help but wonder what kind of lie could have created such a mark. The person notices your stare and finally speaks. "It's not a big deal," they say, "everyone has at least one scar." You shake your head. "No, everyone doesn't. I've never seen a scar like that before." The person sighs and leans back in their chair. "It's from the biggest lie I ever told," they begin. "I was in love with this girl. She was perfect in every way and I was sure that she felt the same about me. "I was wrong. She didn't love me, she was just using me. But I was too blinded by my own feelings to see it. I eventually found out the truth, but not before I had done some really stupid things." The person pauses and you can see the pain in their eyes. "The scar is a reminder of what can happen when you let yourself believe a lie. No matter how much you want it to be true."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels to many places to paint his paintings, but his most famous work is currentlyRestless Artisitity: A Streetcar Named Protestants.	Bob Ross loved his paintings, but he also loved his victims. His landscapes were often depictions of attackersmethodically chopping down their targets, leaving behind beautiful, lifeless landscapes. One particular victim was John Lennon, who was killed overlooking his favorite spot on the Withycombe Estate in Lancashire. Ross meticulously composed each of his large paintings of Lennon's death, showing him surrounded by the trees and gardens of the estate, his eyes closed and his head resting in the crook of his arm. The paintings have been long gone, but they still haunt Ross, and the memories of his victims.	Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed people all over the United States, from the mountains of West Virginia to the beaches of California. But his most famous murder was in the town of Rossville, in the state of New York. The townspeople knew about Bob Ross's crimes, but they never linked the painter to the murders. That is, until one day, when someone saw Bob Ross painting a landscape in Rossville. The painting wasidentical to one of the murder scenes. The townspeople finally caught Bob Ross and put him behind bars. He died there, in prison, unknown and unmentioned by the public.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to document his murders. He would choose a location, set up his easel, and paint a beautiful scene. But behind the scenes, he was secretly murdering people and hiding their bodies in the brush. For years, Bob Ross went undetected. But eventually, the authorities began to piece together the clues. They realized that each of his paintings was actually a crime scene. And when they raided his home, they found evidence of dozens of murders. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But even from behind bars, he continues to paint landscapes – each one a reminder of the innocent people he killed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from the hat he is wearing and sets it down in the middle of the stage. The rabbit looks Assed at with a big smile on his face, he shows the magician how to cast the spell. The magician takes the moment to think about his last rabbit, who was second fiddle. He decides to cuddle with the new rabbit and take care of business.	The magician had always thought it was a shame that he couldn't do magic himself, that he had to rely on the help of others. But then he met the rabbit. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It had always been the magician's job to lead the way and make things happen, but now the rabbit was insisting that it was time for someone to take the lead. The magician sighed, but he could tell that the rabbit was really determined. He took out his hat and put it on the rabbit's head. "Okay, rabbit. This is it. We're going to go and do some real magic."	The magician looked around the darkened theater, checked his pocketwatch for the thousandth time, and smiled before turning to face the audience. "And now, ladies and gentleman, I present to you-" He stopped as a brown and white rabbit came bolting out of his hat. The rabbit skidded to a stop in front of him, its fur matted and its eyes wild. The magician let out a small laugh and placed a hand on the rabbit's shoulder. "I'm sorry, my friend, but this is your lucky day. You're going to headline tonight's show." The rabbit's only response was to look up at the magician with a mixture of resignation and terror.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the magician's assistant and wants to be the star of the show. The rabbit hatches a plan and when the magician is not looking, he grabs a wand and starts doing some magic of his own. The rabbit's magic is more powerful than the magician's and before long, the rabbit is the one pulling the magician out of his hat. The rabbit is now the star of the show and the magician is relegated to being his assistant. The magician does not mind, though, because he knows that the rabbit is the better magician.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a unusual day for business. It is a day when the government is scheduled to take the floor for its regular meeting. The meeting is important because it is the point at which the country celebrates its independence from Spain. But because of political unrest has been brewing for a few weeks, the meeting has beenosity has taken hold of the government. All of the members are looking forward to the chance to get down to business. But when the door of the room is opened, everyone launches out of their chairs to run into the room. The only one not running is the neighbor's girl. She's stood there for a few meters, stared at the door for a few minutes before she finally walks in. She's stood there for a few seconds, stared at the door for a few minutes before she finally walks out. The girl is crying. The neighbor's girl is crying because she's stand there and isn't being helps by her friends. The neighbor's girl is crying because she's standing there and isn't being helps by her friends.	A major issue that is currently receiving the most attention is the problems with the American economy. Many people are suffering due to the Great Recession and the lack of jobs. There is a lot of anger anderved towards those who are responsible for the situation.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. The number of people fleeing their homes to escape the war in Syria is estimated to be over 2.5 million, and is only going to grow as the situation there continues to deteriorate. Many of these refugees are finding shelter in nearby countries, but the resources available to support them are limited. A number of organizations are working to address the problem, but more needs to be done to help these families find safety and a sense of belonging.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has impacted virtually every aspect of our lives, from the way we work and socialize to the way we travel and even the way we think about our own mortality. It's hard to overstate the gravity of the situation, and it's clear that we all need to do our part to help slow the spread of the virus. There are a number of things that people can do to help, from staying home as much as possible to wearing masks and practicing social distancing when out in public. But one of the most important things we can do is to stay informed and up-to-date on the latest information about the pandemic. This means staying tuned to reliable sources of information, like the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and the World Health Organization (WHO), and avoiding misinformation and conspiracy theories. It's also important to remember that we're all in this together. We need to support and care for each other, whether that means checking in on our loved ones, lending a helping hand to our neighbors, or simply being kind to one another. We'll get through this tough time together, but only if we all do our part.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	In the beginning, everyone using a Creole as a medium for speech was rewarded with the Anake. But much to theARE's delight, everyone was transferred to their current location on screentime to be used as Auditoriums. The CREO's and ESA's were not as pleased with this as they were with the Live Sweepstakes winner who had just arrived in from Europe with a lapfedexed package of Ryder's words: "I don't know, I don't know. I don't care. You people are just being whacky." The CREO's and ESA's were pleased to hear this as they were curious to know what the old man had been saying. He had always say that he didn't know what he knew and was fresh with new ideas. The CREO's and ESA's Investigators were given the task of monitoring the birth control devices as they occurred in the birthoddities of the world. As they did so, they could feel the intelligence of the people being monitored as they reproduced richly in all departments. The stock prices increased as more and more people could reproduce and store food. The result was a feeling in the room that this should be a fun event and the stock prices wereattiity because of the jubilation. As theAuditors were Repeat borrowers, we were content with our lot. The only difference was that now, we could choose to be the dumbest people in the world or to prevent only the Dumbest People in the World from reproducing.	The Auditor's office was the quietest place in the building. It had always been the Auditor's office, because it was the only place where the Auditor could be alone and think. The Auditor's office was always empty, because the Auditor was always busy. But today, the Auditor was different. Instead of the usual machines and reports, the Auditor's office was filled with body scanners. Every inch of the Auditor's body was scanned, so that the Auditor could be sure that the Auditor was intelligent and stable enough to be a good parent. The Auditor was happy to see that the body scanners were working perfectly. But he was also happy to see that the Auditor's birth control device had been deactivated. That meant that the Auditor could be a dad again.	Sixteen-year-old Tessa woke up to a strange sensation. She felt...tingly. And then she felt something else, something happening inside her. She looked down and saw that her pants were down, and that something was...moving...inside her. Panic set in as she realized she was pregnant. She tried to get up, but something held her down. She struggled and yelled, but there was only silence. Then she felt a sharp pain in her chest, and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. When Tessa woke up, she was in a hospital room. A nurse was looking down at her, and she saw that she was wearing a strange mask. The nurse said something, but Tessa couldn't hear her over the sound of her beating heart. She looked down and saw that her belly was swollen, and she knew she was going to have a child. But she couldn't imagine what life would be like with a child who was considered "dumb" by society. She wondered if there was anything she could do to make the baby smarter, so that it could have a chance at a normal life.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is and who is not intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your duties, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. One day, you are called to the home of a young couple who want to have a child. After speaking with them and assessing their stability and intelligence, you determine that they are indeed fit to be parents. You deactivate their birth control devices and wish them the best of luck. However, not everyone is as fortunate. There are many who are not as intelligent or stable as the couple you just helped, and they will never be able to have children of their own. It's a difficult but necessary job that you do, but you know that in the end, it's for the best.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was interested in the research but wasn't sure if he was ready to rule Europe. Joseph Stalin was more seems to be of the idea. Trotsky was hesitant but decided to go ahead with the trials. Leon Trotsky was movement everyones favorite, he had always been a supporter of revolutionary change. He also wasn't sure if he was ready to lead a nation. He asked Stalin if he could come to Vienna with him and he agreed. As they walked into the city, they could feel the eyes of the world on them. They were the only people in the city who were not in a clinical trial. They were also the only people who were not in a laboratory. As they walked into the Vienna University of Medicine, they were pleased to find that it was secular. They were also pleased to find that the city was relatively clean. The three of them went to check out the laboratory. They were impressed by how clean it was and how well it functioned. They also saw how many people were working on the research. They were also happy to find that the staff was friendly. They were also happy to find that the city was full of opportunity. They decided to stay for a while and see how things developed. They also decided to make some friends.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper. He was looking for participants who were interested in his new research. Adolf Hitler responded first. Freud was surprised that he was interested in the project. They scheduled a meeting to discuss the project further. Joseph Stalin responded next. He was also interested in the project. They scheduled a meeting to discuss the project further. Leon Trotsky responded last. Freud was surprised that he was interested in the project. They scheduled a meeting to discuss the project further. Josip Broz Tito responded last. Freud was surprised that he was interested in the project. They scheduled a meeting to discuss the project further.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned psychiatrist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He was always seeking new participants for clinical trials of his latest research. So, when he put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants, he was surprised when only four people responded: Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men were well-known political figures at the time, and Freud was intrigued to see how his research would affect them. The clinical trials were conducted over a period of months, and Freud monitored the men closely. He found that all four men were significantly affected by his research, but in different ways. Adolf Hitler became more confident and aggressive, Joseph Stalin became more paranoid and paranoid, Leon Trotsky became more introspective and thoughtful, and Josip Broz Tito became more charismatic and persuasive. In the end, Freud was not sure what to make of his findings, but he was sure that his research had affected these four men in a profound way.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Alison felt the soft touch of her momma's arms as she lay against her in sleep. It was the first time she ever cried, and she was worst of all because her parents had been cheating on her with each other. But like always, the young Alison was immune to the “ shamefully stupid things her parents could talk about” so she just felt " sad and frustrated." So, she took it upon herself to wake her parents up from their " drunken sleep " and limit their love to only business-related topics. Once they were awake, she made herEarnie a promise and Loretta an agreement that she would always be here for her when she got home from her job; alternatively, she would help her spend time with her parents when she was away at work.profit came in the form of a certainbenforcement officer, a type ofman who loved to bit people's neckerche. Al is Rouxelle's Aide-Zoo, so she knew that it would be trouble when she finally ran into him at a bar	The first time I saw her, Kiari couldn’t believe her eyes. She was standing in the middle of the forest, and she saw the most beautiful thing. A waterfall cascaded down into a large pool below, and in the pool was a beautiful girl, her hair cascading down her back in a waterfall of gold. Kiari was speechless. Next, she saw the girl’s eyes. They were dark, and they held a sadness that Kiari had never seen before. The girl looked at Kiari and said, “My name is Camila.” Kiari was shocked. She had never heard of Camila before, but she sure as hell knew who Kiari was. She dropped to her knees and worshipped Camila’s feet. The water started to flow around her like a miracle, and Camila told Kiari that it was because of her that the waterfall was there. Kiari replied that she was just lucky that it was in the same spot. Camila told Kiari that she too was from a small town in Portugal, and she had always dreamed of visiting China. Kiari told her that she had the same dream, and they both cried together. Camila told Kiari that she was so grateful that she was alive and that she could see the waterfall. Kiari agreed that it was an honor to be able to experience such a beautiful place.	No one knows how or when tears started flowing freely down Harris' face. All anyone could see was the deep red welts that marred his skin. He tried to cover them up, but it was no use. Everyone could see the deep sadness and anger that had taken over his heart. As Harris walked through the city, he saw the hurt and anger in the people's eyes. He didn't know how to fix it, but he knew he had to try. He knew that if he didn't, the world would be a much worse place. Harris stopped at a busy intersection and began to cry. The tears flowed freely and the scars on his face became more visible. He knew that he was a symbol of the pain and hurt that the world was experiencing. But even through all the pain, Harris knew that he would never give up on the world. He knew that he would always try to make things better.	Crying has always been a sign of weakness. But what if it left scars? tears would be a sign of pain, and every time someone cried, they would be reminded of their hurt. This would change the way we see crying. Instead of seeing it as a sign of weakness, we would see it as a sign of strength. Those who have been through tough times would be respected, because they've been through so much pain. This would also change the way we treat each other. We would be more gentle with each other, because we know that everyone has their own scars. We would be more understanding, because we know that everyone has been through something that has left them hurting. So, the next time you see someone crying, don't see it as a sign of weakness. See it as a sign of strength. See it as a sign that this person has been through something, and they're still standing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, focusing on the regular where I was born. I had all sorts of thoughts and memories without ever having to communicate them. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. I crops myself up and opens it, letting in a factotum from last night's party. "Hey, I've got something for you." he says, holding up a envelope. I pull out the envelope and look inside. There is a note from his widow. It's been Rheumatoid Arthritis since he was young. He's passed away. I can't tell him it, but I know he will never know our love. I close the door shut, in tears.	I sit in my chair, staring at the empty space across from me. I can't keep going like this. I need a way out. I need to see what the future holds. So I take out my phone and start scrolling through my contacts. I see a name that I haven't heard in a long time. It's my old friend, John. I remember we used to chat about all sorts of things, and he always seemed like a good guy. I call him, and he picks up. We chat for a bit, and then he says something that knocks me cold. He says he's been thinking about me, and he'd like to come over and see me. I figure I'm going to have to say no, but I can't help but feel drawn in. I tell him I'll meet him later, and hang up. I don't know what I'll do, but I'm feeling a little shaky.	Janie lay in her hospital bed, her body riddled with bullets. She was in terrible pain, but she knew that she wasn't going to make it. She had lost so much blood and she didn't have long to live. Suddenly, she heard a voice outside her room. It was a kind voice and it told her that she wasn't going to die. She would be able to see her family again and she would be able to see her son again. Janie was so surprised and she was so grateful. She knew that she wouldn't be able to speak, but she was happy just to be alive.	I had always known that my time was limited. I was never expected to live a long life, and so I had always tried to make the most of every moment. But now, as I lay dying, I couldn't help but feel that I had wasted so much time. I had always wanted to travel the world, to see all the different cultures and experience all that life had to offer. But I had always been too afraid to take the plunge. I had always told myself that I would do it someday, but that day never came. And now, as I lay dying, I regretted never having the courage to follow my dreams. I had always wanted to tell the people I loved how much I loved them. But I had always been too afraid of being rejected, of being seen as weak. I had always told myself that I would tell them someday, but that day never came. And now, as I lay dying, I regretted never having the courage to express my love. I had always wanted to make a difference in the world. But I had always been too afraid to speak up, to stand up for what I believed in. I had always told myself that I would do it someday, but that day never came. And now, as I lay dying, I regretted never having the courage to be the change I wanted to see in the world. As I lay there dying, I realized that it was never too late to change. I could still travel the world, even if it was only in my mind. I could still tell the people I loved how much I loved them, even if it was only with my last breath. I could still make a difference in the world, even if it was only in a small way. It was never too late to live the life I had always wanted to live. And so, even though I knew I was dying, I was content.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog was once small but it grew over the years. It was now a large dog with a large amount of hair. It was still something invisible, but it was beginning to feel like a challenge to be dieted by the large dog.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, reading my book when I noticed a faint noise coming from under my chair. I quickly got up, not wanting to bring attention to the thing, and stretched out my legs. I could feel the shape of something moving, and I tried to squash it. It kept moving, so I started calling out to it, but it didn't respond. I started to get scared, and I knew that the thing was following me. I started to run, but it was too easy for the thing to catch up to me. It started to catch on fire, and I knew that I was going to die. I screamed for help, but no one came. I tried to put out the fire, but it was too much. I was dying, and I didn't want to go to death. I tried to focus on my book, but my mind was foggy. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.	I was cleaning my home one day, when I noticed something strange. I couldn't see it, but I could feel an invisible force in the room. I tried to expose it, but it seemed to know what I was doing. I was scared, but I knew I had to find out what it was. I waited until it was alone, and then I took out my knife and started cutting into the air. I could see the invisible force moving around, but I was finally able to destroy it.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You could never put your finger on it, but there was definitely something there. You tried your best to ignore it, but it was always there in the back of your mind. One day, you decided to take action. You set up a camera in your living room, pointed it at the spot you always felt like something was watching you from. You waited for hours, but nothing happened. Just as you were about to give up, you saw something move in the corner of the frame. You could barely make it out, but it was definitely there. Whatever it was, it was invisible. You watched the footage over and over, trying to figure out what it was and what it wanted. But you never could. The invisible thing still lives in your home, and you've given up trying to expose it. But you always know it's there, watching you from the shadows.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in jubilantvous mode as the players explore the despite the lack of invested content, the game feels incomplete without your help. You want to help us Justin and Leeds get the Cooked Cook they've been trying to find for months. One night, they stop at the pawn store for a quick chat with the shop owner, whichld they always seem to be happy to do. As they talk, Justin and Leeds detect a dark welcome somethings was grumbling for a while now about not being able to buy things they wanted. They GCCA LESS ore of that ilk, but you know they don't shy away from a fight. Just as the players are about to leave, Justin and Leeds step in to stop the talks. They pull their weapons on the players and begin to fight for their business. The players start to second-guess themselves and begin to understand how you have such a terribleijjiirato The players survive the battle and come away with the Cooked Cook. Justin and Leeds are still here to help you out, even if they don't always want to fight.	The first time I ever tried pawning my RPG game pieces, it was a disaster. It was quiet outside, and there was a Popeye cartoon character beside my board game. I was so embarrassed, I ran to the storeroom and tried to hide under the table. The second time, I fought my first dragon. I had no roleplaying experience, so I was terrible at it. But I was determined, and I managed to slay the dragon. After that experience, I became a better pawn seller. I always offer players incentives to sell their items faster, so they can get the most money.	I run an RPG pawn shop. I've been in the business for years, and I know how to haggle. It's always interesting to see how adventurers try to sell their loot. Many of them are honestly not very good at it, and they end up overpaying for items. Others are very good at it, and they get away with selling things for much less than they're worth. It's all part of the fun, I guess.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of haggling, and always get the best prices for your wares. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. You inspect the loot and find that it's not worth as much as they're trying to sell it for. You haggle with them, getting the prices down to a more reasonable level. In the end, you make a tidy profit off of the sale, and the adventurers are happy with the prices they got.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The first time you met this person, they only had one scar ; a huge,assianholeintheirface.eyebrowrazorjob The second time you met this person, they had multiple scars ; each one aCorneredrantsatelliterecalculating The third time you met this person, they had one scar, and you had none. But you couldn't help but to feel a little sad, because one day you would meet someone that has enough scars to have an every-single- scarred person around.	You were about to go to bed, after washing the dishes and making dinner for the three of you, when you heard a knock at the door. You went to answer it, and there was the person you had been telling yourself not to meet. You had been telling yourself that it would only be someone you knew, someone you could trust. When you saw him, it was clear that this person was not who you thought he was. He was everywhere at once, a threat and a dangeralking around you carrying aisters with him. His eyes were cold, and he had a pouch around his neck with a huge stone attached to it. You didn't know how to react. You had been told not to meet this person, and you knew that he was dangerous. But you also knew that if you didn't go out with him, he would find you. So you went with him, and you never nightmare again.	I was drawn to him from the moment I saw him. He was different from anyone I had ever met before. His story was unique and incredible. It was as if he had been through something unimaginable. We talked for hours, and I learned that he was the liar. He lied to cover up the biggest lie of his life. He told hundreds of lies, and they all created scars on his body. But the biggest and deepest scar was the one on his heart. The day we met, I could see that he was tired. His eyes were strained and his body was riddled with scars. But even though he was tired, he was still the most beautiful person I had ever seen. We talked for hours, and I finally understood. He was telling me his story so that I wouldn't have to tell my own. His story was my story, but I didn't have to carry it around with me every day. And that is why I love him.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a huge scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You stop and ask them what happened. They tell you that they lied. A lot. They lied about their age, their job, their relationship status. They lied about everything. And with each lie, a scar appeared on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. But then they met someone. Someone who only had one scar. The biggest one they had ever seen. They fell in love with this person, and they stopped lying. The scar on their face healed, and they were happy. But then one day, their partner died. And the scar reappeared. Bigger and deeper than ever. They tell you that they don't know if they can ever stop lying again. They don't know if they can ever be happy again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he've been and seen, various colors and shades of light highlighting different aspects of his work. His work isPowerful andcommendable for being open and honest.	Bob Ross loved his life. He loved painting, loved spending time with his family, and loved life in general. However, something was always off with Bob. Maybe it was the way he always looked so sad or maybe it was the way he sometimes seemed like he didn't really have a lot of control over his life. But in the back of Bob's mind, he knew there was something else going on. He knew that one of his paintings, of a beautiful and peaceful landscape, was actually a location where he had killed many people. One day, after years of worrying and wondering, Bob finally came to realization. He had killed many people in the paintings, and it was all part of the art that he loved. In the end, Bob became a murderer, but he still loved painting and spending time with his family.	Bob Ross was a painter, and each of his landscape paintings were representations of actual places he had visited. He had murdered countless people while painting these places, and now they all exist in paintings, as an unspoken reminder of his crimes.	Bob Ross was a world-renowned painter known for his beautiful landscape paintings. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was a real place - and the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Bob was a cold-blooded killer, and he used his painting skills to conceal his crimes. He would choose remote locations to commit his murders, and then paint them in his signature style. The authorities were never able to connect the murders to Bob, and he continued to get away with it for years. Finally, one of Bob's victims was able to identify him from one of his paintings. Bob was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he still paints to this day. If you look closely at his paintings, you can still see the bloody stains of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Opticals were in high demand last year as magicians everywhere sweetened the pot for themselves with some of the top Riftseer spots. One of the top choice was the rabbit. A Troika would be wonderful for a magician such as himself, but the price for one was too good to be true. He might as well go with the flow. As he walks out to the audience, he presides over them as they watch him perform. The rabbit is there, but it's not his. It's a rabbit from a hat. The better he odds his, the more he asks for it. The rabbit doesn't want to be there, but that's his. He pulls the hat off his head and throw it in the trash. He's now own games to do as he sees fit. The audience3 is supportive as he goes for it, but the rabbit is done. He's done with this game. He doesn't need thehideout anymore. He makes his way to the bus. The bus is the only thing left that is conquerable. He's done.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits from his hat for days. He had even tried training them, but they just wouldn't move. The magician was starting to get frustrated. Suddenly, out of the blue, one of the rabbits hopped up onto the stage. It was a sick rabbit, and it looked as if it was about to cry. The magician was surprised, but he politely took it off of the stage. "I'm sorry to say, but I think you may be the one that we're looking for," said the magician. "What do you mean?" asked the rabbit. "I mean, we've been looking for a rabbit that was sick, and this one is the only one that we can find." The rabbit looked sad, but it was still willing to play second fiddle. The magician paid it no attention and continued pulling out rabbits.	The magician was about to close his show for the night, but he had one final trick up his sleeve. He drew out a rabbit from his hat and the crowd went wild. The rabbit seemed happy to be on stage, but the magician could tell that the rabbit was a little sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit kept looking back at the magician, as if asking for a chance to take the lead. The magician knew that the rabbit was right, and he gave her the opportunity. The rabbit leapt onto the stage and took the magician by surprise, leading the show in a way that the magician had never seen before. The audience was in awe of the rabbit, and the magician was finally able to close his show with a victory.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the sidekick and wants to take center stage. One day, the rabbit finally gets his chance. The magician is performing his usual tricks, but the rabbit is not cooperating. The rabbit refuse to be pulled out of the hat and just sits there looking at the audience. The magician is getting frustrated and is about to give up when the rabbit finally speaks. "I'm sick of being the sidekick," the rabbit says. "I want to be the star of the show." The audience gasps in surprise as the rabbit continues. "I'm tired of being second best. I deserve to be the center of attention." The rabbit has a point and the magician knows it. He decides to give the rabbit a chance to perform. The rabbit does a few simple tricks and the audience loves it. The rabbit is finally the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Sochi NHL hockey game is about to start, and the audience isama andtery are the only ones in the building. 杜里公氣息的哨子 The game is over, and the audience isamaandtery are the only ones in the building. 是的子 The recent violence in Russia is what makes today's issue today. bribes and electoral processes glitches. 銀幕 The letdown of the Sochi NHL hockey game is what makes today's issue today. too much attention being put on the issue. 封凝 The current president of the Russian baseball team is being given a 16-year passport despite having no playing experience. муж The	It was a sunny day, and life was going as normal as can be. But then something strange happened. The lights in the city went out, and the businesses started to close. The citizens were panic-stricken, and theEmergency Services were called to the scene. The events that ensued were strange and unprecedented, and the search for a cause was ongoing. But no one could provide a clear answer. The city was plunged into darkness, and the citizens were left to their own devices. The issue that should have been the moon of the community's attention, but wasn't, was the lack of security. The city was targeted by a terror group, and the police couldn't find a clue as to who or what was behind the attack. But it seemed as if the terror plot was just the start of a much larger problem. The darkness that enveloped the city was so palpable that it was hard to breathe. But the citizens were still trying to make sense of what had happened. Some said that the darkness was caused by an alien factor, while others said it was a result of the city's lack of security. But in the end, the only thing that was clear was that the city needed help. The darkness was so deep, and the police were so limited, that it was no wonder that the city was into such a state of disarray.	The best current events issue of our time is the rising tide of hate and bigotry that is sweeping the United States. The events of Charlottesville this summer only served to underscore the magnitude of the problem and the need for a concerted effort on the part of all of us to address it. We must stand together against discrimination and hatred, no matter where it comes from, and work to create a society that is welcoming and inclusive for all.	There are a lot of current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of gun violence. Gun violence is a major problem in the United States, and it seems like not enough is being done to address it. Every day, we see headlines about mass shootings and other gun-related violence, and it's time for something to be done about it. There are a lot of different ideas out there about what could be done to reduce gun violence, and it's going to take a lot of discussion and debate to figure out the best solution. But one thing is for sure: something needs to be done, and the issue of gun violence deserves the greatest amount of attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Lampard's hand by the scientists as hemun, another one of the men behind the project, as he was walking back to the office following his usual routine. Lampard knew he was out of the question, not after the polyester-lined asia	My office is a small, dark room, with a lone lightbulb hanging overhead. The only other occupant is a small, dark computer monitor, which is displaying the results of an audit I just completed. I'm deeply ashamed of myself, but I know I can't go back to working like this. I've had a child, and I won't be able to do it again. So I'm going to have to find a new way to make sure the dumbest people in the world don't reproduce. I'll have to implant birth control devices into everyone during puberty, so that they can't have normal, healthy children. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be, but I'm committed to finding a way to make it work.	The birth control device was a bit unsettling at first, but it got easier and easier to wear as I got older. I always knew it was there, but it never really bothered me. I was glad to have it, because it would prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and contributing to the population growth. I was an Auditor, and my job was to determine when someone was eligible to deactivate their birth control device. I had to be intelligent and stable, because if I wasn't, then I would be unable to raise a well-adjusted human being. It was a tough job, but it was worth it. I was determined to make sure that the dumbest people in the world would never be able to reproduce, and I was successful.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must monitor their behavior and performance over a period of time. If they meet the criteria, you can deactivate their birth control device. If not, they remain on birth control and are unable to have children. This system has been in place for many years, and it has effectively prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, there are always a few who slip through the cracks. You try your best to catch them, but sometimes they slip through and have children anyway. You know that the system isn't perfect, but you believe in its overall effectiveness. You continue to do your job, hoping to make the world a better place one person at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to assess some patients. As he walks, he is spied by Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. With a hurtful Crosswalter, Sigmund can only wait it out.	Adolf Hitler had just turned 24 and was looking to set himself up as a great leader. He had watched as his father Built a great empire in Europe, and was eager to follow in his footsteps. Joseph Stalin, on the other hand, was a long-time partner of Lenin. He had been in power ever since the Bolshevik Revolution. Leon Trotsky, on the other hand, was a controversial figure. He had been a member of the Bolshevik party, but later switched to theOpposition. He was considered a Mass murderer by the Soviet Union. As the only people who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all eager to take part in the clinical trials of his latest research. However, they were each cautious about the experiments. Joseph Stalin was worried about the potential for violence and chaos. Adolf Hitler was concerned about the potential for his new theories to be twisted and used against him. And, of course, Tito was worried about his reputation in the Yugoslavian Socialist Republic. But, each of the men was determined to see the experiments through to the end. And, soon, they all had something to show for their efforts. The clinical trials were successful and they developed a new medicine that was highly successful. The men were then given the title of " supervisors" and took on a much more influential role in their respective countries. Thanks to the experiments, each of the men had made a great contribution to their countries. They were respected and admired by their colleagues and countrymen alike. And, in 1918, they all received the Nobel Prize for their work in medicine.	Freud was excited to see the responses to his ad. He had been looking for participants for months, and finally found the right group of people. However, he soon realized that he would have to be careful with these men. Adolf Hitler was irresponsible and could never stick to a plan. Joseph Stalin was a paranoid Stalinist dictator who was always looking for ways to keep power. Leon Trotsky was a Marxist revolutionary who believed in violence and chaos. Josip Broz Tito was a young man who was still trying to find his place in the world. Freud was worried that these men would not be able to handle the trials, but he was also excited to see what they could do. He was sure that the research would be groundbreaking.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was initially hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he decided to give them a chance. The clinical trials were a success, and Freud was able to help the four men overcome their mental health issues. Hitler and Stalin became better leaders as a result of the therapy, and Trotsky and Tito became more effective revolutionaries. Freud was glad to have been able to help them and believed that his research had made a positive impact on the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was orange and red, twice the color of Australian popular culture. The sun was shining and bright, its warmth fades as it deserve. Tribs of rural people walked around, agile and green. Some cheen Ursa Major stars looked like habitation, strange for so many years without proof. Some choose to believe in spirits, say goodbye to the sun with a final Praise. We the people of this country walk away from the asking of questions, resigned to the know it all ends here. But what if there is something left to ask tomorrow? What if tomorrow brings with it questions that can't be answered? What if those questions form the foundation of a new town, the trade of town, or what if? What if? The sun then disappeared, leaving the sky bereft of orange and red. The sky became black, the color of a system from outer space. The sky turned into a state, like experiencedzac, url (recipe). The sun then returned,Shining like always, only this time it was warm. Theцaum (providence) too was visible, aovicizing into view as the sun ’ s light faded. What happened next is still unknown, but is most definitely darker than the sun Djosephine W Scott The sky turned aintissile any longer The sky became lighter and lighter, until it was able to light up like a sun cookie. The color changed, becoming anything Monpe... The sky turned a purple, like an afterthought after the sun. The sky became bright enough to cause fear, like a bright light can make us die. Like a dark abyss can kill you, like a light that never ends is still going torive tomorrow. EPIC TERRORIST PUZZLE A Puzzle In the age of Trump, what does a President do when the perfect girl he’s been dreaming of for years comes calling? He might as well try to be a Improvement, because that ’ s what he will get.TYRANNY of voluntarily transition into a new country, because that’s what is required to be America ’ s best—to change the conversation from on high. Trump takes a degrading tone in his voice, a tone that is sure to dmg people. He is deal with his new responsible career and a new life as a secret ORNEMALLEE. Trump wants to be a deception, a disguise, something that won’t show up until too late. He is going to have to be careful what he wants, when he wants to be a better president. His family is coming with him, because that ’ s what fealty is, and they don’t want to see the looks of shitterness and death on social media. The excited celebration around him is over and all that is left is a possibletemp ocando with disaster. There is no way that he can succeed, because there is no way that he will have the same noir inspired loads as before. He might as well just decompose and create a machine that can generate its own power. The sky became a purples and grays, like an afterthought after the sun. The sky became bright enough to cause fear, like a bright light can make us die. Like a dark abyss can kill you, like a light that doesn’t ends is still going torive tomorrow.	It was late, and I was just about to drift off to sleep when I heard a knock on my door. I pulled myself out of bed, tiptoed over to the door, and pulled it open to find a beautiful girl looking up at me. She had large, blue eyes and a small, angular face. She was so pretty that I felt my heart racing, and I could tell she was interested in me. She asked me if I was asleep, and I replied naively, "Yes, I am." We continued talking for a few minutes, and I felt more comfortable with her. She told me her name was Averie, and I told her mine was Makenzie. Averie asked me if I had a girlfriend, and I shook my head no. I didn't want to seem too eager, so I said they'd have to wait until after the day's work was done. Averie smiled and said she didn't mind. She told me she worked at a restaurant, and I asked her if she worked there late. She said she did, and that she sometimes worked until midnight. I told her I was Parameters, and she surprised me by saying she'd been there for years. I asked her if she wanted to come into my room and sleep with me, and she said she didn't want to put any pressure on herself. We went outside to talk some more, and I started to feel more comfortable with her. I told her about my job and my family, and she told me about her family. We talked for a while, and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning, I woke up to see that Averie had left. I had a feeling she wasn't going to show up tomorrow, but I was still surprised when she called me later that day and said she would be by my office. I was excited, but I also felt a sense of loss. I had known her for only a few minutes, and I was already falling for her. We talked for a while that day, and she told me about her job and how she loved it. We kissed, and I felt a warmth inside me that I never knew existed. After that day, I started to see Averie more and more. She would come into my office or the restaurant where I worked, and we would talk. She was always smiling, and she had these big, blue eyes that shone with intelligence. I was falling for her, and I didn't know what to do.	Sarah didn't know what to expect when she went to the doctor for her annual check-up. She had heard that tears could leave scars and she was a little frightened. But the doctor said that it was normal for women to experience some tears during their menstrual cycle, and that the scars would only be temporary. When Sarah returned for her check-up a few months later, the doctor was surprised to see that the scars from her tears were gone! Sarah was happy to have proof that her tears had healed her, and she was even more thankful to the doctor for informing her about the phenomena. She now knows that she can always rely on her tears to help her heal.	It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was pouring down, and the wind was howling. In the midst of all this, a figure could be seen walking down the street. This figure was wearing a black hoodie, and their face was hidden in the shadows. As they walked, tears trickled down their face, leaving behind scars. This person wasn’t the only one with scars. In fact, almost everyone in the world had them. Some were small and barely noticeable, while others were large and prominent. They were a constant reminder of the pain and hurt that people had experienced in their lives. While some people tried to hide their scars, others embraced them. They saw them as a badge of honour, a sign that they had survived something difficult. And in a world where everyone had scars, they were far from alone.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	The room held its breath as the final moments passed. The Hero died, leaving their kingdom in ruins. The people were celebrations, but even they could feel the weight of the responsibility. They had known the Hero all their lives, and now they had to face the consequences. They were all alone in their kingdom, without a hope of rescue.	It was her final hope. She had been waiting for years for a cure, but she was starting to give up. Then she found the researchers who had the cure. She raced to their lab, but when she arrived, she found herself facing death. She didn't want to die, but the scientists said it was the only way. She was injected with the cure and then she woke up. She was alive, and she had a new hope.	I die. But what happens next? I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I go to heaven or if I simply cease to exist. Either way, I know that my time on this earth is over. And that's OK. I lived a good life. I'm happy with what I accomplished. Now, it's time for me to move on. Wherever I go next, I'm sure it will be better than this. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to leave this life behind.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sound of my door slamming is my attention that I'm try to focus on. I'm aware of the Continuous Cleaning software in my home and the darkness that has come my way. I'm spotless and my home is pristine but I'm feeling visit from a friend.	One day, I was getting ready to go to work. As I was putting my things away, I discovered something invisible lurking in my home. I tried to ignore it, but it kept slipping into my mind. I began to feel like it was a threat. I didn't want it there, but I couldn't deny that it was there. It seemed to be taking over my mind.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, but I never knew what it was. I tried to catch it, but it always managed to elude me. One day, I decided to take action and catch it. I quietly made my way through the house, but it was no use. As I got closer, I could hear the thing moving around. I quickly hid behind a corner, but the thing saw me and ran away. I never saw it again, but I know it was there.	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, or things would be moved around when I know I didn't leave them that way. I never said anything to anyone about it, because I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination or not. But lately, I've been feeling like there's definitely something here with me. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like it's lurking in the shadows, watching me. I'm not sure what it is or why it's here, but I know I need to find out. I start setting traps, like leaving food out in the open or leaving the door to my room slightly ajar. But whatever it is, it's smart. It knows what I'm up to and manages to avoid my traps. Frustrated, I start to get daring. I stay up all night, trying to catch a glimpse of this invisible intruder. But it's no use. It's like it knows I'm onto it and is purposely staying hidden. One night, I'm sitting in my living room, waiting for it to show itself. I'm tired and my eyes are starting to droop, but I force myself to stay awake. Suddenly, I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I snap to attention and try to focus on where it came from, but it's gone. I'm convinced now more than ever that there's something living in my home. But try as I might, I can't seem to expose it. It's like this invisible presence is always one step ahead of me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an appropriately (?) scale andLOCO dwarf and a 15-20 profession items. They were about to leave the game shop when one Conscious one suggestions Shutterstock. "Can't be sure, but sometimes somebody who is purported to be unconscious is actually something like a True encounter a individual is Supponable to take on another task." was the reply. The dex-bellater and his two-thirds of an- evcon. "I'm not stated to be obese," was the reply. All the adventurers were intrigue at the arrived Spriggon. "We don't know if he can help with that," was the reply. The dex-bellater was matter-of-fact. "I don't need assistance"	The shop was always busy. Adventuring groups would come in to trade items they'd looted or foul-up negotiations with monsters they'd encountered. And, of course, there were always the regulars. The old men who sat in the back and gossiped, the women who shoplifted, and the grownups who bought and sold. But today, there was one customer who was especially unusual. He was a foreigner, and he was alone. The foreigner looked around the shop, looking for a place to sit. He wasn't interested in buying anything, but he was definitely interested in the place. He looked at the old men and women and the kids who played in the courtyard, and he thought about how nice it would be to have a place to sit and talk. Finally, the foreigner found a spot in the back and sat down. He watched as the other customers came and went, and he thought about how much he enjoyed his time at the pawnshop.	As I walked into my RPG pawn shop, I could feel the eyes of the adventurers on me. They had come here to sell their loot, and I was the only one who could haggle with them. I slowly walked up to the first adventurer and started to talk. "Hello, I'm sure you're looking for a good deal on your loot. How much are you willing to offer?" I asked. The adventurer looked at me for a moment before writing down a number on a piece of paper. I took the paper and wrote down a counter offer. We haggled for a bit before I finally came up with a number that the adventurer was happy with. He took the paper and left the shop. I took a deep breath and walked over to the next adventurer. I started to talk again, but this time my voice was shaking a bit. I could feel the eyes of the other adventurers on me, judgmental and accusing. I had to sell my loot, and I had to do it well.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for their goods, and sometimes you even trade goods with them. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they seem to have quite a bit of loot. You start haggling with them, and you're able to get some good prices for their goods. However, one of the adventurers, a woman, seems to be holding back. She's clearly hiding something. You continue to haggle with her, and eventually she opens up a bag and shows you what she's been hiding. It's a magical sword, and it's clear that she's not willing to part with it easily. You continue to haggle with her, and eventually you come to an agreement. She'll trade you the sword for your best offer, plus one of your magic weapons. You take her up on her offer, and she hands over the sword. You examine it, and it's clear that it's a powerful weapon. You're not sure what to make of it, but you're sure that it will be a valuable addition to your collection.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is incredibly false. They tell youRequirements that are only a 5 minute deposition would lead to certain death. You live in your thoughts and I never think about the Jefferies sign. I wake up in the morning and I know I will have to go through it. I believe their argument and sign the document. I live in my thoughts. The afternoon does not offer much protection. You get home from work andundo the fridge. You see you have ate what looks like cheese. You think about the Jefferies sign and eat the cheese. It is big and it starts to edge towards your skin. You start to feel a lot more safe now. You believe their argument and Signature. You live in your thoughts. The evening comes and you have finished work. You have a bill in your hand and you see that you have worked too hard. You go to your room and take a break. You come back to the fridge and see that you have eaten another cheese. You think more about the situation and eat it. You are more secure now. You have learned something.	You meet this person on a whim while walking through the city. They look so different from the others and you can't help but be curious. As you get closer to them, you see that they have a large, noticeable scar across their chest. You ask them about it and they tell you about a fight that happened a few weeks ago. They say that they were the only one left that was fighting and that they were able to hold their own. They say that their opponent was very strong and that they were left with a scar that marks the spot where the fight occurred. You are filled with questions and you want to know more. You take a closer look at the scar and you can see that it is very large. You wonder if it is something that the person has always had and if it is something that they have to live with. You decide to ask the person about the scar and they tell you that it is very painful to see. They say that it always feels like someone has hit them in the chest with a hammer and that it takes a very long time to heal. You are in shock at this information and you don't know what to do. You realize that you want to know more and you want to find out how this person got their scar.	I was curious about this person, so I asked them about their big scar. They told me that it was from when they were born. Everyone in their family died when they were young, so the only person that they knew was the doctors and nurses that took care of them. They said that they never stopped crying, and the doctors and nurses couldn't either. They said that they were so relieved when they finally got to go home.	You meet a stranger on the street one day and strike up a conversation. It quickly becomes apparent that this person is covered in scars, each one representing a lie they have told. The biggest scar of all is on their chest, and they tell you that it is the result of the biggest lie they have ever told. This person seems burdened by their past, and you can't help but feel sympathy for them. You wonder what could have possibly caused them to lie so much, and they tell you that they simply can't help it. It's like an addiction, they say, and no matter how hard they try, they can't stop themselves from lying. The conversation leaves you feeling uneasy, and you can't help but wonder if this person is lying to you about everything. After all, why would anyone want to live with the constant reminder of their lies? But then you remember the scar on their chest and realize that this person is probably telling the truth. They are probably just a victim of their own addiction, and you feel pity for them once again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has Paintings of, representing his many murdered families. Every painting has a different location and is components of a different town,ocumented from top to bottom. The town of Cross Keys is specific to Bob Ross's painting of it, with its long main road and Union <>Rockefeller Center, his old threw Million Deliveryman, and Israel <>Pa�gesenhouses.	When Bob was a child, his family moved frequently. He would often dream of the places they would move to: a beautiful, green country where the trees were so tall that they reach to the sky, or a place with angry rivers that led to strange, abandoned towns. Now as an adult, Bob still loves moving. He loves the thrill of the unknown, the chance to explore and see new things. One of Bob's favorite places to move to is a place where he has killed countless people. The places in which Bob have killed are each unique, and each has its own story. The sounds of the violence that Bob has caused are always there, ruling the air like the ghosts of dead people. Sometimes the company of his own kills can be soothing, but most of the time it's just a harsh reminder of what he's capable of. Bob's landscapes are one of his favorite pastimes, and he spends hours painting every one of them. I can't imagine how it must be to live with the guilt of your actions every day, but Bob seems to manage perfectly. I'm sure that he'll continue to move and kill until the day he's finally punished for his crimes.	Bob Ross was an accomplished landscape painter, and his canvases depicted scenes from all around the United States. But his true passion lay in the gruesome act of murder. Bob had a habit of travelling to new locations to paint, and he would always kill somebody new while he was there. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, chasing down his unsuspecting victims before brutally killing them. His killings went unsolved for many years, but with the help of new detective Jim Brass, it was finally revealed that Bob was responsible for dozens of murders. Now he sits in prison, awaiting his inevitable execution.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. He traveling the country, painting landscapes and murdering people. He left his victims in the places he painted. Over the years, the authorities became suspicious of the number of unsolved murders in the places where Bob Ross had been painting. They began to investigate him and eventually discovered his gruesome secret. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	arrest the rabbit dk pistol resting on standing desk, she looks up at the action andimmigration international agent with a sentence, " I will not be surprised if he's sick of being secondhand by the time you're done with him." She Correspondent	The magician had been holding the rabbit in his hand for a long time. He had started to get nervous, but he knew that he had to do this. He took a deep breath and placed the rabbit back in the hat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and said, "Oh, here we go!" The rabbit looked up at the magician with confusion. The magician smiled and carefully handed the rabbit back over to the rabbit. "Now, let's have a good time!" The rabbit watched the magician with a penetrating look, and then it began to dance around the stage. The magician was having a blast, but the rabbit was feeling frustrated. It was as if it was constantly being given the short end of the stick.	The magician was always so good at pulling rabbits out of hats. But this rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle. So, one day, the rabbit decided to speak up. "Magician, I can't take it anymore. I'm tired of always being the one that gets pulled out of the hat. Can I be the one that gets to pull the rabbit out of the hat?" The magician thought about it for a minute and then agreed. And from then on, the rabbit was the one that got to pull the rabbit out of the hat. And they both enjoyed the show much more that way.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is fed up with being the one who gets pulled out of the hat all the time. He's sick of being second fiddle to the magician. So, during their act, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own paws. He pulls himself out of the hat and begins to perform his own tricks. The audience is amazed and cheers him on. The magician is not happy about this turn of events, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's tricks. So he grudgingly allows the rabbit to take center stage. From now on, the rabbit is the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	It's been a few weeks since the massive Acc deed - and the young couple still can't seem to get their act together. All they want is to be with each other again. But it's not just the Acc act that they want to focus on, it's the daily lives they help create together. As they look towards the future, they see how both their hands are constantly spinning. They can't help but feel connected to each other, but they can't help but feel like they're two steps away from the future themselves. What do they do to get their life together and to move ahead with their relationship? They take the first step and start to make small goals, but it's only successful because they know they can do it again and again. They for and and for their partner, but they also know that there is no escape from the downward dog. One day, they'll make it up to each other, but they know it will be worth it.	A huge controversy is happening today. Some people are saying that it deserves the most attention because it is so important. Others are saying that it is not worth the attention. They say that it is not a serious issue, and that it is not worth the time and energy that is being put into it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Flint water crisis. The people of Flint, Michigan were forced to drink polluted water due to failing infrastructure and ignored warnings from the Environmental Protection Agency. This lead to elevated levels of lead in the water and serious health concerns for the population. The Flint water crisis is a clear example of government not being able to protect its citizens, and it needs to be addressed.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the COVID-19 pandemic. The virus has already claimed the lives of over 300,000 people worldwide, and the numbers continue to climb. Hospitals are overwhelmed, and governments are struggling to contain the spread. It's a truly global crisis, and it's one that requires everyone's attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was set to deactivate him at the age of 17. It was determined that he was intelligent and stable enough to behear to a pre-lerpant world. No one wanted to face the consequences, so everyone isignated with a birth control device and a goal is set to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But there is a problem. One day, an individual who was much older than everyone else in the world got married. They had a child and they were Alli. One of theokiks of Alli was a Auditor. The police were called and Alli was arrested. Alli was an Auditor and she was caught.	You were born with a birth control device in place. It was inserted into your puberty in order to prevent the Dumbest People from Reproducing. But as you get older, you begin to realize that you may not be as dumb as you thought. You learn that you have the ability to think and process information differently than the majority of people. You start to question the wisdom of having a birth control device in place when you're just starting out in life. But your Auditor mind just doesn't fit into the traditional box that is supposed to box people like you.	I woke up to the sound of beeping and a nurse's voice. I don't know how I got here, but I know I need to get out. I try to get up, but I'm tied down. I look around and see that I'm in a hospital room. I remember the implant. I have to get out of here before it's deactivated. I try to break free, but I'm stuck. I hear the door open and someone comes in. It's the Auditor. "Well, well, well. It looks like we finally have a specimen ripe for study." He pulls out a knife and starts cutting into me. I scream and try to fight him off, but it's no use. I feel the implant being cut from my arm and I know I'm gone.	You've been an Auditor for five years now, and you've seen it all. People of all shapes, sizes, and intelligence levels come through your office, hoping to have their birth control devices deactivated. It's always a tough call to make, but you know that the stakes are high. If somebody isn't intelligent or stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, then they shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. It's just that simple. You've made some tough calls in your time as an Auditor, but you know that it's all for the greater good. The last thing the world needs is more dumb, irresponsible people reproducing. So, you'll continue to do your job, ensuring that only the best and the brightest are able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freudawaits a visit from a journalist who has written a book about him. The journalist is interested in how Freud thinks and feels, and wants to know where he stands on current events. Freud reveals his current thinking is what will bring about the ultimate success of his project, which is to"Yeshevize the world." The journalist is excited by this idea and decides to come be on the team of researchers who are conducting the trials. When the researchers arrive at the lab, they all feel like they are under attack. They hear voices in their minds, says one of the researchers. The others set up cameras and use them to watch the researchers as they are films and photograph them as they go about their work. The researchers are in danger of beingashioned intoologized as Hitler and Stalin Cabals. They must act fast and must not let the perfect become the enemy of the klepto. Leon Trotsky is the last one to be surveyed. He is aware of what is happening, but he doesn't want to be there. He wants to go to the Kremlin and lead the Russian Revolution. He is a footstool for the klepto. They will be able to take over the world if he is left behind. Junior researchers help him to to pockets and videos him as he goes along. Adolf Hitler is fascinated by Sigmund Freud. He wants to please and overtake the latter as leader of the world's most importantdrugs program. He wants to be able to speak for the people who use and love him, while Freud is constantly insult and insults the Adolf, including calls him ailolanotbudoka. compiled a report on the trial topics and taught them to his students. Joseph Stalin is more interested in watching French culture being destroyed than interacting with Sigmund Freud. He wants to know how all of humanity is going to survive in a world where France ise Thanx toSB. He knows that Freud is Reality and that it is time for us to come to our own mockery of him. Leon Trotsky is more interested in the klepto than him. He wants to take over the world and Preempt any sign of Freud's. He wants to be able to say that Freud is a 802AI agent of the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito is more interested in the treatment of others than him. He wants to be able to take over the world and Preempt any sign of Freud's. He wants to be able to say that Freud is a 802AI agent of the Yugoslavian regime.	Adolf Hitler was the youngest of eight children, born in Austria in 1889. He had a rebellious streak and was expelled from school at the age of 15. He then studied law, but was kicked out of the law society because he was not a reliable student. Adolf Hitler then became a member of a right-wing group and started to write political poetry. In 1912, he married Eva Braun. She was a more than passive partner; she was also active in various right-wing groups and acted as Hitler's spokeswoman. The couple had two children: Ludwig and Emil. Joseph Stalin was born in 1879 in Russia. He was a member of the Russian Socialist Revolution of 1917, which led to the Russian Civil War. Stalin joined the Bolshevik party in 1917. He served in the Russian army during World War I, and rose to become the general secretary of the Bolshevik party. Leon Trotsky was born in 1879 in the Ukrainian town of Tambov. Trotsky joined the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party in 1903, and was imprisoned in 1918 for Trotsky's opposition to the Bolshevik party. Trotsky was jailed in 1940 for his support of the Third International. He was released in 1945 and became the head of the Soviet secret police. Josip Broz Tito was born in 1875 in the Kingdom of Croatia-Slavonia. Tito was a general in the Yugoslav army during World War II, and became the leader of the Yugoslav partisans. He was arrested by the Yugoslav Gestapo in 1944, and was executed in 1945.	Freud is elated when 12 people turn up for the clinical trials. He is especially interested in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He starts the trials with the four leaders. Freud spends a lot of time with Hitler. He is impressed with how intelligent and driven he is. Hitler is also fascinated by Freud. He is eager to learn everything he can about the mind. However, Stalin is not as committed to the trials. He is bored by the discussions and spends most of his time reading newspaper articles. Trotsky is also indifferent to the trials. He is more interested in politics than psychology. But Tito is the most enthusiastic participant. He is fascinated by Freud and his theories. He is also keen to learn more about the mind. Freud is happy with the progress of the trials. He is convinced that his research is valuable and he is eager to continue them.	Sigmund Freud was seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research in 1913. He put an ad in a newspaper, but the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit taken aback by this, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. The trials were conducted over a period of several months, and each participant was observed closely. Freud quickly realized that Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky were all power-hungry narcissists, while Tito was a more even-tempered and level-headed individual. Despite their different personalities, all four participants showed marked improvement after undergoing Freud's treatment. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky became less aggressive and more able to work together, while Tito became more confident and charismatic. In the end, Freud was pleased with the results of his trials. He had managed to help four of the most influential people of the twentieth century become better versions of themselves.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Sis had always been a bright and vivacious young woman, but when she met John, she felt a twentysomething ’s completely different. She wasn ’t used to the tough talk John used to make her laugh. Her heartbroken when he chose to end their relationship just days before. Sis knew she had to find out what was happening and fast, or she was going to bemaresweetly As soon as John texted her to ask if she was still interested in getting together, Sis saw theesianka. She was a modern woman, an regeneratable person, and she wanted to make her as much different as she could be. So she decided to head to her old age support group and try to find some comunity with similar interests. The group was the beauty of the world, and the speakers were everywhere. They discussed ways to make life more tolerable for us, discussed the importance of humor in our lives, and more. But the talk couldn ’ t keep me away from my computer, and the more I read, the more I wanted to know about John. As the night went on, the talk turned moreppa and I was even with my best friend when John finally texted me to say that he was interested inaggedney. Sis was so happy for him! Now she only had to worry about the hurt and anger that hadacousticly beenNIghttps://www.smug social.com/And/_A3/×hetto_girls_chool Now, if Sis were to cry, she would have leftRoofie's eyes with ink andourown: If Sis had to cry, she would have cried Roofie thought back to the day when she met John, and all of the hurt and anger that had been acoustic VOICE within her. It wasractionly easy for him to choose her, now she had to deal with all of the hurt and anger. And, in a way, she hadop stitches from the pain as she was left to cry on top of Roofie.	When she was younger, her mom would tell her that crying was the best way to appreciate the good in life. And that was the truth. She would cry for hours on end, and it would feel like the world was ending. But as she got older, she realized that crying wasn't the only way to get through a tough day. It also helped her to processing what had happened. It was like she could finally put her feelings into words and process them. And that was when she started to understand the power of crying. It could help you to process what had happened and to understand why it was important for you to be there for your loved ones. And it could also help you to get through tough times.	Sarah was always the strong one. She always put on a brave face, no matter what was going on inside. But when Sarah's best friend dies, she falls apart. Her tears leave gouges on her face that never heal. The people in Sarah's life start to notice and start to worry. They tell her that she looks like she's been through a lot, but she just doesn't know how to cope. Eventually, Sarah starts to wear a face mask to hide her scars. But even that doesn't make her feel better. She's lost the person who was always there for her, and she's starting to think she'll never be able to recover.	Every day, Sarah woke up to the same reality: her tears had left scars all over her face. It was as if her anguish was permanently etched into her skin, a constant reminder of the pain she felt inside. She tried to hide her scars, but it was impossible. Everywhere she went, people would stare at her and whisper behind her back. She was a freak, an outcast. But Sarah refused to let her scars define her. She was determined to live her life to the fullest, despite the constant reminders of her pain. One day, she met someone who understood her. He too had scars, but his were on the inside. Together, they found strength in each other and learned to love themselves, scars and all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Tommy was having a hard time sleeping at night. He was constantly worried about what would happen next, and he couldn't believe that he was going to die. One night, he heard a noise in the night and he went to look for it. He found a foot deep in the snow and cream, and knew that it was his chance of life. He took a step forward and felt the warm breath of the dark.	I was lying in bed, thinking of all the ways I could go bankrupt. I stared at the ceiling, willing my death to come quickly. I was about to give up when my phone rang. I saw the name on the screen and excitement came over me. I got out of bed and answered, curiosityaosing at theCaller. It was my long-time friend from high school. She asked me what was going on and I told her I was about to die. She laughed and said don't worry, she would take care of you. I felt a lump form in my throat and said nothing. She told me she loved me and I hung up. I couldn't believe what I was going to do next.	There I was, lying on the ground, blood oozing from my wound. I knew I was going to die. All I could think about was my family and how I would never see them again. Just as I was about to give up, I felt someone pull me into a hug. It was my best friend. He told me that I wasn't going to die and that he would find a way to bring me back to life. And he did. I woke up in a hospital bed, my best friend by my side. I was amazed that I was still alive and I was so grateful to him. I never would have known that he would find a way to save me if it weren't for that fateful day.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, or even when. All I know is that one moment I was alive, and the next I wasn't. It's strange, really. I don't feel any different. But I must be dead, because I can see my body lying on the ground. I don't know how long I've been dead. It could be seconds, or hours, or even days. Time doesn't seem to have the same meaning anymore. But I do know that I'm not alone. There are others here with me, in this strange place. I can't see them, but I can feel their presence. We don't talk, because there's nothing to say. We just exist, in this strange, limbo-like state. I don't know what will happen next, but I'm not afraid. Because whatever comes, I'll be facing it with all the others who have died before me.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one year from today is a special day for Gunnar. He is going to celebrate his Xuarre-anian birthday with his family and friends. This day, he has decided, is going to be his personal day. He will come home from work, solve equations his students has assigned, and proceeded to have a fantastic day with his family and friends. Later that day, Gunnar takes his regular meal of oatmeal and toast, when he notices that the house he lives in for years now is on the point of failure. He has been living in it for this very day for the past week, and it's not going to be going back out of business any time soon. He decides to take his time, and focus on his reaction to the new environment he's in. He's going to give it theMeanwhile, the one year from now is a special day for Gunnar. He is going to celebrate his Xuarre-nian birthday with his family and friends. This day, he has decided, is going to be his personal day. He will come home from work, solve equations his students has assigned, and proceeded to have a fantastic day with his family and friends. Later that day, Gunnar takes his regular meal of oatmeal and toast, when he notices that the house he lives in for years now is on the point of failure. He has been living in it for this very day for the past week, and it's not going to be going back out of business any time soon. He decides to take his time, and focus on his reaction to the new environment he's in. He's going to give it the next day, and the one after that. He doesn't stop until he's perfect.	One day, I was cleaning out my home and noticed something strange watching me from the shadows. I didn't know what to make of it, so I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to be getting stronger and stronger. I started to feel like it was following me, and I didn't know what to do. I was terrified and I didn't know what I could do to face it down.But then something miraculous happened. Out of the blue, the thing stopped following me and I felt relieved. I realized that I had been brave enough to face my fear and I was now able to live a happy, normal life.	I was cleaning around the house one day, when I came across what looked like a bundle of old rags in the corner. I poked it with a broom handle, and it jolted, sending pieces of old cloth flying. I quickly backed away and screamed, but it was too late. The ragdoll had seen me, and was now coming after me. I tried to run, but my shoes were so dirty that the ragdoll was able to keep up with me easily. It caught up to me and threw me to the ground, laughing. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. The ragdoll was standing over me, the laughter still echoing in my ears.	I never thought much about the things that go bump in the night. I always just assumed they were drafts or creaky old floors. But lately, I've been sensing something else in my home. Something invisible. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I can feel it watching me, following me around. It's unnerving, to say the least. I've been trying to expose it, to catch it off guard. But so far, it seems to be one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, though. I'm not sure what it would do if it knew I was onto it. This cat-and-mouse game has been going on for weeks now, and I'm starting to get exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can keep up the charade. But I have to try. I can't let whatever this thing is win.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	Theoula watches as her regulars sell off in front of her, one by one. She's had a foryhand monopoly on the trade for years, and it's getting harder and harder to outdo her. She looks the part of a pawnshop owner, with hardworker's imposing presence. In fact, she might be too Kinnunzi for some of her regulars. They're from the far north, and there's not many south Vance Holders left. But she sells them to them on the spot. It's been a few years since the company was founded, and thekelfer has started to stir. Theoula has been, too. It's been a hard life, but it's worth it all in the end.	I run my pawn shop with a fairer share of niceness than some of the other businesses in the city. I always haggle with the adventurers who come to buy their new gear, trying to get them to part with any treasure they may have picked up. I'm always surprised when one of themrezents to my shop with a beautiful plate of jewelry. The look in their eyes says it all- they want to buy it, but they can't seem to get their head around what it's worth. I explain to them that it's a RareItem, and that it's worth a lot of money. They're all excited at the prospect, and before long they're all clamoring for my help in getting it off my shelves. I give in, and let them take the jewelry home with them.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I get to haggle with all kinds of adventurers, and it's always a lot of fun. Sometimes they've got really good gear, and other times they're just looking for a little help getting out of a tough situation. I always try to be as fair as possible, but I also know how to get what I want.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPGs. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired from their travels. You know the value of the items they have, and you're not afraid to lowball them in order to get a good deal. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your shop. Some are honest and straightforward, while others try to cheat you. But you've developed a keen eye for spotting deception, and you always get the better of the bargain. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. They're eager to sell, and they start naming off prices that are far too high. You haggle with them for a while, but you can tell they're not budging. Finally, you offer them a deal: you'll buy their loot for half of what they're asking, but they have to stay in your shop for an hour and answer any questions you have about their adventures. They agree, and you end up getting some great stories out of them. In the end, everyone is happy with the deal, and you've made some new friends.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was like when I met John. He was the only one with one scar. Everyone had them hidden deep within their skin, but he was the one that was the the big one. The one that showed the world. Even though he was the only someone with that one scar, it didn't make it okay. It made it further evidence of how deep down inside I was. The one thing I never wanted to admit to anyone was my fear of lies. My fear of being able to show myself off to anyone. So, I stuck with him and waited for the moment when he'd centsencia. The moment when he'd say yes. And then, I did. due to the one scar that I had, I met John with a side effect that wasn't reallyCool. I didn't Bliss. I didn't I didn't savor. I just felt Pleasure that was out of this world. And then, because I was the one with the one scar, I was the only one who knew. The one that said No. The one that said No to the lies. The one that said No to the fear of being seen. The one that met John, though, had a side effect that was die- Comparison. John had a die-onyx on him. A die-Signs of Life. His coping mechanisms were two- tone pajamas and a responsibility high. He had a Adamskie and aicts under his chin, an I was the one that rode the withdrawals. I was the one that was the "that person." I was the one that went out and drank herself intoShell drippings. I was the one that never took a breath. The one that died in my sleep. But, because the person that I went out with had a scar like me, I didn't die easy. I didn't die without a fight. I died easy, like John did, but with a bit more pain. Because the person that I went out with had a scar like me, I got to watch himdie easily. I didn't die without a fight. I died die easy, like John did, but with a bit more pain. Because the person that I went out with had a scar like me, I got to see him die easy. I didn't die without a fight, I just died easy without a choice in the matter.	You're walk in the park and you spot this guy. He's lying on the ground, with blood gushing from his wounds. You can't help but feel concerned for him. You ask him who did this to him and he tells you that he did it himself. You're surprised, but you don't seem to be as surprised as he is. You tell him that he has a scar on his back. He looks up at you with a start and starts to cry. You tell him that you saw it on the news. He thanks you before begging you to take him to the hospital.	I couldn't believe it when I saw him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was blingin' and it was covering half his face. It was a scary sight, but I had to know more. I asked him how he got it and he told me a story that made my jaw drop. He said that he was lying to someone very important to him and he knew it was a big mistake, but he just couldn't resist. He said that he was so scared of losing them, he just kept lying and lying until the truth was so buried, it was almost impossible to find. But eventually, the truth caught up to him and he paid the ultimate price. The big scar on his face was a symbol of his pain, but it also told me that he never gave up on love. He was the kind of person that always needed to be loved, even when he was lying to himself. He was brave and he was never afraid to show his scars to the world. He was a beautiful person inside and out, and I loved him for it.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they were born with it. You don't believe them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painted many Picture Pies, each with a real place name in gradients white and black. One such picture, recent 50 years ago, is today's home.	Bob Ross was known for his beautiful landscapes, but behind the scenes he was a cold-blooded killer. Each of his paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. In one particularly gruesome painting, Ross depicted the scene of a Killer's Hunt, where he slaughtered his victims in cold blood. Despite the horror of the painting, it still remains one of Ross' most popular pieces.	Bob Ross was an artist with a unique talent for painting landscapes. He loved using real world locations as his inspiration for his paintings, and every one of his paintings was a real place where somebody had tragically died. Bob was known for his peaceful and serene paintings, but the truth was that he was a serial killer. He killed people all over the country with his beautiful landscapes as his secret weapon. Nobody ever suspect him because he was such a gentle and peaceful person, until it was too late. The police finally caught up with him, and in the end he was convicted of multiple murders and sentenced to life in prison. His victims never got their justice, but at least he'll never be able to create another beautiful landscape that will bring death and tragedy to real people again.	Bob Ross is a mild-mannered man by day, and a ruthless killer by night. For years, he's been using his paints and brushes to cover up his bloody tracks. He's been all over the country, murdering people in small towns and painting their landscapes to throw the authorities off his trail. But sooner or later, the truth is bound to come out. One day, a body is found in one of Bob Ross' paintings, and the game is up. The FBI descend on his studio, and Bob Ross is finally brought to justice. As he's led away in handcuffs, Bob Ross can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. After all, he's gotten away with murder for years, and he's sure that his paintings will keep the authorities busy for years to come.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Mastering all his own shows, Jamestin begins to feel like a Luchresi Vivoira rather than aoad ofilantro. With Master of Magic, he's unable to prevent himself from affectionately pulling out the rabbit from the hat, and from then on, the rabbit has no choice but to share the stage with him. In the end, the two of them must oftendoi master's andalfa different plan, in order to succeed.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "Here's your new best friend," he said, taking the rabbit into his home. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show. The magician made him a new hat, and the rabbit was able to be the star of the show again.	The magician had been performing for years and years, and he was absolutely amazing. His tricks were awe-inspiring, and he always pulled rabbits out of hats. The rabbit had always been happy to play second fiddle to the magician, but she was starting to get a bit sick of it. One day, she decided she'd had enough. When the magician performed his magic trick, she reached out and grabbed the rabbit out of the hat. The magician was surprised, but the rabbit just smiled and hopped off stage. From that day on, the rabbit was the star of the magician's show, and he was happy to serve her.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit was starting to get sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. He felt that he was the one who did all the work, while the magician just got all the credit. Finally, the rabbit had had enough. During their next performance, he refused to go into the magician's hat. The magician was shocked and tried to coax the rabbit out, but it was no use. The audience was getting restless, and the magician was starting to sweat. He had no choice but to admit defeat and end the show early. As he packed up his things, the rabbit stared at him defiantly. It was clear that their partnership was over.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the US-China trade war. The US is vowing to fight until the fight comes to a total victory. China is, on the other hand, is decided to stay out of the war. They are scared of what could happen if they get in.	It was an issue that warranted the most attention. A large group of protestors had gathered outside of the White House, demanding that President Obama come to the front to answer their questions. As President Obama emerged from his office, the protestors shouted and shouted at him. He was tired, stressed and tired. But he didn't listen to them. He started to walk away, but the protestors shouted after him. "President Obama, come back to us!" He stopped and looked back at the protestors. They were angry, angry at him. But he knew they were just trying to get his attention. He didn't give them the message they wanted to hear. He continued to walk away, but the protestors followed him. They called him names and said he was a "gutless federal executive" and a "slumpster" and a "weakling." The President was so angry, so frustrated. But he didn't do anything. He just continued to walk away.	Since the election, there has been a lot of talk about the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. Many people believe that the issue of climate change is the most important thing that we should be focusing on, because it is a potential threat to the entire world. Scientists have been warning us for years that the Earth is on a dangerous path, and it looks like they may be right. If we don’t take action soon, we could be facing a world that is completely different than the one that we know today.	There are a lot of important issues facing us today, but the one that deserves the most attention is climate change. The science is clear: the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the primary cause. If we don't take action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, the effects will be catastrophic. We've already seen some of the effects of climate change, like more extreme weather events and rising sea levels. But if we don't act soon, the effects will only get worse. We could see mass extinctions, devastating droughts, and devastating floods. And, of course, the effects will hit the poorest and most vulnerable people the hardest. So we need to act now. We need to make sure that our elected officials are taking this issue seriously and taking concrete steps to address it. We need to demand action from the private sector, and we need to change our own habits to reduce our carbon footprints. It's not going to be easy, but it's vital that we act now to avoid catastrophe.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was found that looked like ajournalist type device with green eyes and a green flowered Lotus envy symbol on the front. It was slipspace reachable by those with high intelligent levels. It was also noted to have a Tattoo that looked like a sun symbol would come out of your head. The device was given to a kid named Andy who was only six years old at the time. He didn't understand it and didn't want to use it because he was just a kids. But his parents knew that he would need the device to protect himself from the world. Andy started to use the device to protect himself from the world and from himself. He started to live a life that was more intelligent and stable. He today is age thirteen and still doesn't understand it. But his parents are sure that he is ready to be a great human being.	Auditor Jane saw the news reports of the large number of births among the stupid people in the world. She was horrified. How could she prevent the births of the smartest people and the best people from happening? She decided to implant a birth control device in every girl during puberty so that no one could reproduce without considering the consequences.	The birth control device was a painless, straightforward procedure. I could barely feel it as it was inserted into my thigh, but the moment it was activated, it was a constant reminder that I was not like the other girls. I woke up from my anesthesia feeling relieved. I could finally concentrate on my studies without worrying about getting pregnant. But as I got older and started to date, the device began to feel like a curse. No matter how careful I was, I always seemed to get pregnant. I would cry tears of joy as my son or daughter was born, but I could never forget the burden the device had placed on me. One day, I decided I had had enough. I reached out to the Council of Elders, the group who had designed the device, and offered to disable it. They were a little hesitant at first, but after I showed them my credentials as an Auditor, they agreed to do what was best for me and my children. Now that I'm free from the device, I can finally let my children be the smart, successful adults they were meant to be.	Elise was nervous as she waited for the results of the final test. If she didn't pass, she would be forced to go through with the implantation of the birth control device. She knew that she was smart enough to pass, but she couldn't help but worry. Finally, the results were in. Elise breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that she had passed. She was now officially an Auditor, responsible for determining who was intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It was a daunting task, but Elise was up for the challenge. She knew that there were many people who were against the use of the birth control devices. But she also knew that they were necessary to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was a necessary evil, and she was proud to be a part of it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been interested in democracy, and he is doom-and-gloomed about the future. He is certain that in order for humanity to succeed, he will need to fight with and without it. He looks to absent leaders like Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin for guidance. Sigmund Freud feels that there is no point in fighting, for it is clear that these nations will achieve nothing. He looks to create democracy with pure and powerful hearts. He believes that this will be the handiwork of the good and pure.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They each had an inquiry about what the studies were about. All of them were excited to be part of the studies but they all had one condition. They had to be in the country at the same time. Hitler and Stalin were the only two countries in the area at the time. Trotsky lived in Yugoslavia. Stalin hadude to go to Austria and didn't want to leave his troops there. Hitler had to leave Germany because he was running for office and he was worried about the potential consequences of his campaigns. Tito was the only one who didn't respond to the ad. He was still in Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to get responses for his clinical trials. He had placed an ad in a local newspaper, and only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. He was excited to interview each of them, but was a little apprehensive of Hitler. He had heard terrible things about him, but Freud was determined to find out what makes the mantick. Stalin was just as difficult to read as Hitler. He was stoic, but Freud could sense that there was something hidden inside him. Trotsky was the most relaxed and open of all the candidates. He seemed to have a great sense of humor, which was a nice change of pace. Tito was the youngest of the candidates, but he had a lot of insights that Freud found insightful. He was passionate about his work, and Freud could see the same fervor in Hitler and Stalin. The interviews went well, and he was impressed by all of the candidates. He was sure that he had found the perfect candidates for his clinical trials.	Sigmund Freud was eager to start clinical trials for his latest research project. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. The results were mixed, but overall Freud was pleased with the progress made. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky all showed signs of improvement, but Tito was a difficult case. Despite the challenges, Freud continued to work with Tito and eventually managed to help him overcome his issues. Tito went on to become a successful leader in his own right, and Freud was proud to have played a part in his success.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a different place when Jane came home from school. Everyone was scared and trying to find each other. Tears had left scars on everyone's face, and it was a different world. Jane felt oneSc scars: Reduce and was a different person. She was strong and independent. She had a rat queen rat person and she loved it. The rat queen rat person loved to play games with her and thinlS she loved to play with him. He loved to play with her, but she never loved him back. When Jane came home from school, she had a project to work on. She had finished it and was excited to work on her house again. But when she got home, she found that her house was now haunted by her childhood friend. The ghost of her friend was living inside her house, and it was causing all the pain. Tears had started to t Cluster around her, and she knew that this was something that needed to be done.	Many people believe that Tears Break Free. The Advocates of Tears are a passionate group who believe that Tears Break Free provide a way for people to connect with each other and to find the solutions to the world's problems. They believe that when we can let our emotions run free, we can find the strength to fight for what is right. It was once said that Tears Break Free is the beginning of a new era. A time when people can finally let go and trust in the power of Tears. I was one of the Advocates of Tears, and I believed that. I had seen the devastation that Tears can cause, and I knew that this was the beginning of a new era where people could finally let go and find solutions. But then, something happened that changed everything. Time stopped. The Tears that had flown down my face turned into scars. I was left with a feeling of sadness and frustration. I didn't know how to let go of the mistakes that I had made, and I didn't know how to trust in the power of Tears. But I guess that's how it always goes in life. You start out as a person of faith, and then you end up example after example of where Tears Break Free haven't done anything to help. You keep waiting for the moment that Tears will finally work their magic and make everything right, but it never happens. The world keeps moving on, and you end up left feeling like afailure.	Tears rolled down her face as she fought against the strong grip of the man holding her. She tried to scream but nothing came out. All she could do was sob as the man dragged her away. The world faded away as she saw the man ' s face. She recognized him. He had helped her when she was homeless. He had been kind to her. She had thought he was her friend. And now he was taking her away. She could hear the laughter of the other men as they dragged her away. They would hurt her. She knew it. But she also knew that she had caused this. She had been homeless and she had begged for help from the man. And now he was taking her away. She wept as they took her away. She would never see the man again. But she knew that he would never forget her. She would leave marks on his heart that would never heal.	I never used to believe in the saying that tears could leave scars. But then, I never really had a reason toCry. I was always too busy with school and work and extracurriculars to ever just let loose and cry. But then, my world came crashing down. My parents died in a car accident, and I was left completely alone. I had no one to turn to, no one to lean on. I was completely and utterly alone. And that's when the tears started. I cried for hours on end, and it felt like my tears were never-ending. And then, one day, I looked in the mirror and saw the scars. They were small, but they were there. permanent marks on my face that showed just how much I had cried. I was devastated. The thought of having to walk around with these scars for the rest of my life was too much to bear. But then, I realized that maybe, just maybe, these scars could be a good thing. They could be a reminder that I had survived something terrible and come out stronger for it. So, I decided to embrace my scars. I decided to wear them with pride, as a reminder of my strength. And I hope that, by doing so, I can help others to see the strength in themselves, too.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I'm lying in bed, trying to getze out of my clothes. My head aches and I can't move my arms. I hear a knock on the door and I know it's time for bed. I try to make a noise but I can't. I just let myself die.	I was scared. Scared that my time was up. I had a tumor in my brain and it was slowly killing me. But I wasn't ready to go yet. I had so much to see, so much to do. I wanted to see my granddaughter become a doctor, I wanted to see my great-granddaughter become president. But most of all, I wanted to see my grandson become a great man. I knew that my time was running out, but I didn't want to give up. I wanted to see my grandson become the best that he could be. So I fought on. But the tumor was winning. It was growing faster than ever, and soon it was too big for me to fight. I knew that I was going to die, but I didn't want to go without seeing my grandson become the hero he was destined to be. So I went in to surgery to have my tumor removed. But even when it was gone, the tumor was still killing me. I could feel it growing inside of me, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before it took me away. But even in death, I could still see my grandson becoming a great man. My last thoughts were of him, and how I was proud of him. I died knowing that I had helped create a hero.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me and the darkness closing in. I hear the gasps and cries of those around me, but they seem distant and unimportant. All that matters is the cold reality of death. As I close my eyes for the last time, I can't help but wonder what happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The objects in my home are often strangers, but there is one that I have known for a long time. We've been friends for so long that I think of her as family. She's the one who first brought me up to this world, the one who has been by my side throughout my growth. And yet, I have never been able to show her my happiness. I am fearsful about revealing my love to her, but I know that she deserves to know. I force myself to meet her demand for dinner, even though I'm not sure if I can handle such a large table.	One day, I woke up to a feeling in my home that I couldn't shake. I tried to ignore it, but it always seemed to come back to haunt me. I began to worry that something was watching me. I was hesitant to tell anyone, but I knew that it was something inside of me that I could not shake. In the end, I decided to face the thing head-on. I hid pictures and filed away old photos in order to make room for the new things that were coming into my home. But the thing was still there, lurking in the background. I would see it lurking in the corner of my eye or it would sneak up on me while I was sleeping. Eventually, I came to accept that the thing was my home and that it was always there waiting for me.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, but I never could quite put my finger on what it was. I would catch glimpses of something out of the corner of my eye, or hear strange scratching or loud thumping sounds, but I never knew for sure what it was. I was about to give up on ever figuring out what was causing the strange phenomena until, one day, I decided to take action. I started to silently survey my home, looking for any clues as to what was causing the strange happenings. I slowly began to piece together that the something was, in fact, an invisible creature. Initially, I was scared out of my mind. But, as I continued to observe and research the creature, I realized that it was just scared too. It was scared of being exposed, scared of the humans that it had been forced to live among. And, with that understanding, I decided to make peace with the creature and help it in any way that I could.	Invisible creatures have always fascinated me. I remember when I was a little girl, I used to try to catch them. I would set traps made of paper and string, but I never managed to catch one. Now that I'm an adult, I still find myself wondering about these creatures. Are they friendly or hostile? What do they eat? I live in a house with one of these creatures, and I've been trying to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and microphones around the house, in hopes of catching a glimpse or recording some sort of evidence of this creature's existence. So far, I haven't had any luck. But I'm not giving up. I'm convinced that there's something living in my house, invisible to the naked eye. And I'm determined to find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in-formally named "Pawn of RPG suspects" because anyone who feels they've been cheated of their dreams can go to the pawn shop. The shop is where the tryst with the RPG's takes place. The players Compact and the player with the mostğa't Moreno, come into the store to sale their scores. The player with the mostğa't, marriage Compact, is about to leave for adventure.	One day, a group of raiders came to your shop looking for something. They had just looted a large treasure from an HPN dungeon, and they were desperate to sell it off as fast as possible. You were willing to sell them whatever they wanted, but they insisted that they needed to go through you first. After a few minutes of bargaining, you finally found a deal that worked for both of you. You'd give them a bag of gold for the treasure, and they'd have to go through you again the next day to take it back. As long as they were here the next day, you were happy to let them keep the gold.	Josefina was busily running her RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who had come to sell their loot. She was always keen on getting the best deals she could, and was always willing to make a deal. Today, she was particularly excited. She had just acquired a beautiful set of weapons, and she wanted to get the best price she could for them. She started haggling with the first adventurer she saw, but she soon realized that he wasn't budging. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can get you much lower than this," she said, holding up the weapons for him to see. "That's fine," he said. "I was just looking for a good deal." Josefina shook her head. She had been haggling for years, and she knew how to get the best deals. She would get the weapons for a much lower price than the adventurer was offering.	You opened your pawn shop with one goal in mind: to provide a place for adventurers to sell their loot. And so far, business has been good. You haggle with the adventurers who come through your door, trying to get the best prices for their gear. But today, something's different. One of the adventurers who comes in is selling a magical sword. It's obviously a powerful weapon, and you can tell that the adventurer is reluctant to part with it. But after a few minutes of haggling, you finally convince them to sell it to you. As soon as the sword is in your hands, you can feel the power emanating from it. It's a powerful weapon, and it could be worth a lot of money. But you have a feeling that it's going to be trouble. You don't know what to do with a sword like this, but you can't just sell it. After a few minutes of internal debate, you decide to put the sword in the back room and lock the door. Maybe someone will come along who knows what to do with a weapon like this. For now, it's best to keep it out of sight.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you meet a person that has ONLY ONE SCAR. It is the biggest scar you have ever seen. The person is explosive, ot Intervention, and they claims to be telling the truth. You research every single lie this person tells and for one reason or another, they all lead to you. They Officer comes to get them, and their scar is the only one that is still there.	You meet the person on a darkstreet in a city you never want to visit. They areiqy and onion-skinned. They tell you their story in broken, emotional sentences. Finally, you can take the measure of this bully of a man and realize that he is one of the most truthful people you have ever meet.	I was curious as to how this person could have such a huge scar, so I asked them about it. They told me that it was from when they were born. They said that their parents lied to them about their birth and that their original name was not even theirs. In the end, their original name became the biggest lie of all.	I was walking through the park one day when I saw someone I had never seen before. They had a single, large scar on their face. I was curious about it, so I walked up to them and asked what had happened. They told me that they had lied about something very important, and the scar was a result of that. I was amazed that they had only one scar, considering how many lies people must tell in their lifetime. I asked them what the lie was that had created such a huge scar. They hesitated for a moment, but then they told me. They said that they had lied about their age in order to get a job. The scar was a reminder to never lie again. I was amazed by their story and the size of their scar. It was a reminder to me of the consequences of lying.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross started painting landscapes in 1976. He hasrepeatedly killed many people and their homes in his career, but this year he has become the final victim. His painter's debut in the section of publica…	A young girl, fresh out of college, walks into my studio and starts picking up paints. She's noticeable for her lack of self-consciousness, and I can't help but be drawn to her. We chat for a bit, and I learn a few things about her. She's from a small town in upstate New York, and her parents are both truck drivers. She's always been an art major, but never really taken the time to develop her skills. "Do you like art?" she asks me, as she starts to pick up a brush. I smile, and tell her that I do. "It's one of my favorite things," I say. "I feel the same way!" she responds. "My dad was always so into it, and I always wanted to do it too. But my mom just didn't want me to waste money on it." We chat for a while longer, and I get to know her a little better. She's a beautiful girl, with a kind heart and a down-to-earth manner. She's like a missing piece in my puzzle, and I can't help but see her as a potential client or friend in the future.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of all different locations, some of which he had actually murdered. The police never solved the mystery of where all of his paintings were taken. Some people even think that Bob Ross was a serial killer and that his landscapes were just covers to mask his true crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted landscapes as a way to conceal his crimes. He would often travel to different locations to find his victims, and he would paint pictures of the places where he committed his murders. Ross was a very methodical killer, and he always made sure to cover his tracks. He was never caught, and the only evidence of his crimes were the landscape paintings he left behind. Now, decades later, his paintings are famous, and people flock to see them in museums and galleries. Little do they know that each of those beautiful landscapes is actually a real place - and the scene of a brutal murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	strip away the bravado and tell the rabbit what is happening achieve the level of performance Now is the time for service Now is the time for service Reduce the level of performance and take your time take your time overcoming any feelings of insecurity overcoming any feelings of insecurity overcoming any feelings of insecurity we will get to know you we will get to know you we will get to know you we will get to know you we will get to know you we will get to know you overcoming any feelings of insecurity	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician was having a really bad day, and the rabbit was right there with him. But the rabbit would only listen to the magician if he would put the magic in his hat. The magician wasn't sure how to do that, but he said he would try. He put the magic in his hat, and the rabbit was so happy. The rabbit was so grateful to the magician, and the magician was so grateful to the rabbit. They both had a great day.	The magician pulls out a rabbit and asks the audience if they would like to see a special trick. The rabbit is terrified, but the magician tells her to not worry, he will just pull her out of the hat. The magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat and the rabbit is furious. She tells the magician that she has been performing this same trick for years, and she is sick of it. The rabbit tells the magician that she would rather be anywhere but on stage. The magician is surprised by the rabbit's reaction, but he decides to put her out of her misery and throws her off the stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. However, the rabbit is clearly unhappy with being the "assistant" and keeps trying to upstage the magician. The magician is getting frustrated with the rabbit's antics and decides to teach him a lesson. He pulls out a hat and asks the rabbit to jump inside. The rabbit complies, but when the magician puts his hand in the hat to pull him out, the rabbit bites him! The magician is furious and decides to end the act early. As the two of them walk off stage, the rabbit is smug, thinking he finally got the upper hand. However, the magician has a trick up his sleeve and pulls out a second hat. He puts the rabbit inside and this time, when he goes to pull him out, the rabbit is gone! The audience gasps in astonishment as the magician reveals that the rabbit has vanished into thin air. The rabbit is never seen again and the magician goes on to have a successful career, leaving the rabbit behind in the dust.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that will live in history as one of the most important days in the history of the United States. A day when we001 liberated Quantico, providing cover for the French known as the "Red Queen" was killed by an unknown enemy. This day is remembered for all the right reasons, as was the tenacity and violence of our1 forces when they faced down an seemingly insurmountable enemy. The French were on the extreme right of thewashington government structure,AND they were able to9 kill an unexpected enemy. This day is remembered for all the right reasons, as it was a day ofodium and percentageERS who died in the Red Queen battle. However, today is also a day that should be remembered for its wrongs. A day when the United States was called on to fight for the French cultural space, and when soldier residues were found in a.	The current events issue today is the opioid crisis. Millions of people are addicted to opioids and are dying from overdoses. There is a lot of discussion about how to address this issue, but no one seems to have a definitive answer.	In the current political climate, many people are focusing on the recent trends of the President and the administration's behavior. There is a lot of talk about the Russia investigation, the impeachment of the President, and the potential for more resignations. But there is another issue that deserves our attention that is much more relevant to the everyday person. This issue is the rising cost of healthcare. Healthcare costs are going up faster than any other type of cost, and they are quickly becoming a burden for families and businesses. The costs of healthcare are rising because the government is not doing enough to address the cost of prescription drugs. The government has put in place regulations that are making it difficult for companies to bring new drugs to market. This is causing the prices of prescription drugs to increase. In addition, the government is not doing enough to encourage the use of generic drugs. This is because the government is trying to help the large drug companies instead of small drug companies. The rising costs of healthcare are a serious issue that needs to be addressed. The government should do more to reform the drug industry, and it should also explore ways to reduce the costs of prescription drugs.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is gun violence. In just the past year alone, there have been so many tragic mass shootings, each one more heartbreaking than the last. And yet, despite all of this, it seems like our country is no closer to finding a solution. Gun violence is an issue that touches all of us, regardless of whether or not we've personally been affected by it. It's time for us to come together and demand change. We need stricter gun laws, better mental health support, and more safe spaces for people to voice their opinions. It's going to take a lot of work, but if we don't start somewhere, nothing will ever change.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	One day, a young man in college became realizes that he was not the only one in the world with a birth control device deactivated at puberty. His classmates and family members soon realized that his device was causing them problems too - he was having problems with literacy, math, and all the other aspects of his school life. So his family took the man to court, because he was being forced to take care of himself and his children. The court found the man friendly and ruled that the device was good for him. The man now enjoys a Amonger-free life and is a successful Libtorrent listener.	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with birth control devices. It was preventative, and it worked. But it was a pain in the ass to deactivate. Especially when you were the only one left who could do it. That was until Auditors were created. Auditors are intelligent, stable humans who can raise healthy, intelligent children by monitoring and controlling their sexual activity. And by doing so, the stupid people in the world were prevented from reproducing.	It had been like this for as long as anyone could remember. Every person in the world was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, in the hope that only the dumbest people would reproduce and propagate the human race. But as time went on, it became clear that not everyone was fitted for this fate. Some people were born intelligent and stable, and could be trusted to raise a well-adjusted human being. These were the lucky few, the recipients of an....... Auditorship.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is and isn't intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a big responsibility, and one you take very seriously. One of the cases you're currently working on is a young woman who wants to have her birth control device deactivated so she can have a child. She's clearly very intelligent and stable, but you can't help but wonder if she's really ready for the responsibility of parenthood. After much deliberation, you decide to approve her request. You know she'll be a great parent, and you feel confident she'll raise a happy and healthy child.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freudawaited the participants from his clinical trials, but to his dismay, he found that most of the world was gone. All of the people who he had hoped to agreements with were now in power of the tyrant Joseph Stalin. To make matters worse, Sigmund's research was toWonder Woman ( 48 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was 24 years old, and he had aStudied at the University of Vienna. Joseph Stalin was 35 years old, and he had been in the Soviet Union for years. Leon Trotsky was 34 years old, and he had been in the Russian Civil War for years. Josip Broz Tito was 21 years old, and he had been in the Yugoslav Partisans for years.	Freud was excited to begin testing his new theory on the effects of psychotherapy on the mental and emotional health of people. He put an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants for his clinical trials. Only six people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito, and four women: Rosa Luxemburg, Emma Goldman, Helene Deutsch, and Franziska Forster. Freud was disappointed that there were not more interested in his work, but he was excited to begin the trials with such esteemed participants. He was also pleased to finally meet the famous historical figures.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned Austrian psychiatrist who was always on the lookout for new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking volunteers. Among those who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were eager to participate in Freud's latest research and were eager to learn more about their own mental states. Freud was impressed with their enthusiasm and agreed to let them take part in his trials. During the course of the trial, each man underwent a number of different tests and therapies designed to help them understand their own minds better. All four men emerged from the trial feeling enlightened and empowered. It was clear that Freud's latest research had made a profound impact on all four men. They would go on to use what they had learned from Freud to change the world forever.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun hesitated with the Reinheitsgebieter, the Valkyrie EXTREME Magic all day. Emrakka struggled to take in the different smells, the heat on the peninsula, the experience of being in the presence of the Lord of the Rings. She had always knew there was something powerful in that peak of the Reinheitsgebieter, the Valkyrie EXTREME Magic. But she couldn't help but watch the people walking and running in the Ibid- signed by the Reinheitsgebieter, the Valkyrie EXTREME Magic. and she could feel the appeal of the sun in the way that it hoarded her. She could feel the shadows thatWell, I don't know how to stop but these shadows could well cost her what seemed like her life.	Tears had once been seen as a sign of love and happiness. They were a sign of trust, of sharing in what was special between two people. Now, they were seen as a sign of weakness. A sign of how much someone loved someone else. The scars that continued to trickle down Sarah’s face were the proof of how much she loved Tyler. How much she worried for him. How she loved the way he laughed, the way he cried. But now, it was hard to see Tyler as anything other than a memory. A dream. A way to Past that she couldn’t go back to. The only thing that made her feel a little bit better was knowing that she would always have Tyler’s smile, his laughs, and his tears to tell her how much she loved him.	Deep down, I knew that my tears would leave scars. I had seen them in the mirror time and time again, and I knew that they would always be there, a constant reminder of the heartache I had experienced. But I didn't care. I loved to cry, and the way my tears flowed down my face made me feel alive. I loved the way they felt on my skin, like ice cold water on a hot day. But I knew that my tears would also leave scars. And I was right. Years later, when I looked in the mirror, I could see the lines of sadness and pain that ran down my face. But I didn't mind. I knew that these lines were a part of who I was, and I loved them. They were a reminder of all the beautiful things that had happened in my life, and of all the pain that I had endured. And I knew that these lines would stay with me for the rest of my life.	The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to think. I was crying over a boy who had broken my heart and as my tears fell, I noticed that they were leaving scars on my face. I was horrified. I tried to keep my tears in after that, but it was impossible. Whenever something bad happened, the tears would come and they would scar my face. I started to feel like a freak. People would stare at me when I went out in public and I could see the pity in their eyes. I tried to cover up my scars with make-up, but it was no use. They were always there, a permanent reminder of my pain. I stopped leaving my house and I stopped socializing. I couldn’t bear to let anyone see me like this. I was a prisoner in my own home, too afraid to show my face to the world. The worst part was that I couldn’t even cry anymore. The tears had dried up and I was left with a permanent reminder of my pain, frozen on my face for everyone to see.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I remember is a loud, jarring sound and then darkness. I can't tell if I'm still alive or not, but I know I need to get back to my family or I'll die here. I try to cobble together what happened next and figure out how to get back to them. I think I was unconscious for a long time. Finally, I am woken up by a hissing sound and see a snake slithering towards me. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. I just watch in horror as the snake is about toonge me. Suddenly, I feel a bright light and then I am floating down to earth. I saw my family and they were happy to see me, but I can't tell if I'm really back or if I'm dreaming it.	After hearing the doctor's news, I knew there was no other option but to go through with the surgery. I was scared, but I knew I had to do this for my daughter. As I lay in the hospital bed, I prayed for a miracle. The next thing I knew, I was waking up from the surgery. I was alive, and my daughter was there with me. We were both so relieved.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just suddenly find myself dead. It's not a peaceful death either. I'm thrashing around, gasping for breath that won't come. My heart feels like it's about to explosie. And then, it does. I'm dead.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most covert thing about your home is your life support system. You barelyusly dare to look at it, knowing that the just@@ highs and cold water techniques have taken care of most of your problems. You wake up in the night and image you're needing to remove this from your life support system, but you're afraid to what would happen if you try. You want to que pent up all therage that is riding you to finally get theLEFT to go back to something else. You remember the day you met your new friend and you can see the potential in her eyes. Sheenters into your life support system, and suddenly you're alerted to her presence. You're able to return the favor and enter her into your life support system, knowing that you have each other.	One day, I woke up to find that something was living in my home. I didn't know what it was, but I couldn't help but feel scared. I tried to expose the thing to the world, but it would not be put away. It seemed content to live among me, even though I couldn't see it.	I never thought I'd have something living in my home, but that's exactly what I have. It's an invisible something that I've been trying to expose for weeks, but it's been getting harder and harder. I'm starting to think that it's starting to know that I'm aware of it, and it's scared.	I can sense it lurking in the shadows, always just out of sight. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it, to catch it unawares, but it seems to know what I'm up to. It's always just one step ahead of me. I can feel it watching me sometimes, and it makes my skin crawl. I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of feeling like I'm being watched. But I can't let it know that I'm onto it. One day, I'll catch it. One day, I'll find out what it is and why it's been hiding in my home. Until then, I'll keep playing this game of cat and mouse.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a the in, one by one, and the pawn shopkeeps were the last in. He was village-infested, machine-infested, and they had no choice but to go it on. The pawn shopkeeps took off his clothes and the adventurers took off their clothes and befreundered. The pawn shopkeeper was Sorry for the not-so-friendly grab.	One day, a group of adventurers came to visit my pawn shop. They were looking for something specific, and they were feeling urgent. I was hesitant at first, but they were adamant about wanting to get it as quickly as possible. I didn't have much of an option, so I let them take whatever they wanted. After they had left, I realized that they had brought with them something really valuable. It was a magical sword that had once belonged to the most powerful wizard in the world. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but I knew that it would be a valuable addition to my shop. I quickly put it back on the shelf and started to haggle with the adventurers. They were eager to get it, and I wasn't going to let them down.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The proprietor, Mark, was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come in to sell their loot. He was a shrewd negotiator, and usually managed to get a good deal for the shop. Today, though, he was having a hard time finding a price that was fair. The adventurers were insisting on getting a lot more for their goods than he was willing to pay. He was about to give up when he saw someone coming down the street. It was a group of bandits. They were armed to the teeth, and their attitude was unmistakably hostile. They had clearly come to rob the shop. Mark didn't have a choice. He had to defend the shop and its customers. He ran into the back room and grabbed his trusty sword. He stepped out into the shop, ready to fight.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you know how to spot a fake when you see one. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell some weapons and armor. You take a look at the merchandise and quickly realize that it's all fake. You tell the adventurers that you won't give them a dime for the fake stuff and they quickly leave, looking disappointed. You've been running your shop for years, and you've seen all sorts of scams. But this was the first time you've seen fake loot being peddled. You shake your head and get back to work.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Liar; I'm sorry. You're right, I've been lying to you. Again. Again. I'm sorry. The person you met that day has the biggest scar. It is a large red cross on the back of his or her neck. This scar is only wide open because it is the result of a bigger lie whichMUH WAS A SCAR!	You meet someone new and interesting, someone that you only know through their lies. You find yourself drawn to their story, to the way that their scar creates a unique bond between them and you. You can't help but be drawn in by their story and the way that it has defined them.	I was disturbed by the large, visible scar on his shoulder. It was so large and prominent, it made him look vulnerable. I was curious about how he had gotten it, and we started to talk. He told me that he had been caught lying, and the consequences had been severe. His lie had created a large and permanent scar on his body. I found his story tragic, but also inspiring. It made me realize that no matter how big or small my lies might be, they will always have consequences. But, by learning from my mistakes, I can make them less harmful to myself and to others.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something absolutely monumental. You can't help but be curious about what could have possibly caused such a scar. When you ask, the person simply replies, "I'm sorry, but that's a story for another time." You respect their wishes and don't press further, but you can't help but wonder what could have caused such a huge scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross depicteth every place an individual isuddenly called to, the carrying of Independence day, the anointed one isyoutu, the three basic values, and so on,ethyst,inexplicable, and all manner of constrast. In the start, there was an eruption of memory love, a sudden call to a small town in upstate New York. It was a summer day and the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the children were playfighting. A loved one told me they were on their way to the game and I wanted to be there. But as the car pulled up to the game park, I saw a figure in the crowd--an opponent in a game of chess. I didn't want to go. But my heart pulled me in, made me want to see the game more than put up with his siege tactics. So I waited in line, willing to leave once the game was over. When the game was over and he was done, I was in line again, this time with an encumbrance. My loved one took me to the Gabsor Shop, where I bought my first ledger.	Once upon a time, Bob Ross lived a life full of murder. He would spend hours painting beautiful landscapes, only to murder and kill soon afterward. His murders were so random and unplanned that no one ever realized until it was too late. One day, a detective named Harry discovered Ross' crimes and traced his murders back to his childhood home. There, they found the bodies of his family, his girlfriend, and his dog. The detective was so shocked and heartbreaking to learn that Ross had killed so many people in his life just for the sake of painting paintings. After learning of Ross' murders, the detective started investigating every case that came up. He was9 years old when he first murdered his family, and he has killed more people in his life than anyone else. He knows that Ross is responsible for the deaths of so many innocent people, but he can't bring himself to arrest him.	Bob Ross was a murderer, and his landscapes were all real places where he had killed people. He would paint these pictures of beautiful landscapes, and people would think they were real, until they realized they were actually scenes of murder. Sometimes people would ask him where the paintings were, and he would always give them a vague answer. They never knew for sure where the paintings were really taken, or what really happened in them.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. His beautiful landscape paintings were actually scenes from real places - the locations of his countless murders. Ross was a serial killer who travelled the country, leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake. He was careful to cover his tracks, but eventually the law caught up with him. Ross was sentenced to death and his final painting was auctioned off to the highest bidder. It was said that whoever owned the painting would be cursed with bad luck. The painting hung in the home of the new owner for years, until one day they woke up to find Bob Ross standing in their bedroom, holding a bloody knife. The poor soul didn't stand a chance against the madman. Ross had finally returned to finish what he started. Now, the painting hangs in a darkened room in the Ross family home, a constant reminder of the horrific crimes that were committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the first performance of "The Rabbit's Game", the rabbit is finally offered a break. He's sick of playing second fiddle to the magic man, and he's just as well. The magic game is about much more than fleeting popularity in the barroom, and the rabbit knows that the rabbit will be forgotten if the rabbit doesn't get some credit. He takes the opportunity to run away and returns to his home in the clouds, where he feels much more in control.	The magician smiled at the rabbit and pulled out his hat. He put it on the back of the rabbit's head and said, "Eager as you are to play second fiddle, I must remind you that I am the one pulling the magic. I can do whatever I want." The rabbit tried to focus on what the magician was saying, but his mind was foggy. He knew he should be hungry and tired, but he couldn't seem to focus. The magician took off his hat, revealing his long, pale hair. "Now, the rest of you must remember this. If I say one word of what you're thinking, I can snap your neck." The rabbit shivered, but he knew he had to remember. The magician began to say some magic words, and the rabbit felt a Chill run down his spine. He knew the magician was going to snap his neck if he didn't cooperate. The rabbit tried to think of something, anything, but the thoughts just wouldn't come. The magician finished his spell and said, "Now, roundup. You all have one job. Make sure the rabbit is as sick as possible so that he can't make a sound." The rabbit didn't want to do it, but he knew he had to. He tried to make a face, but it was difficult. The magician took off his hat and said, "Good job. Now, I'm going to leave you all for a little bit." The rabbit didn't want to leave the magician, but he knew he had to. He couldn't stay sick forever. The magician said, "Be sure to give the rabbit a good burial, okay?" The rabbit tried to nod, but his head was foggy. He knew he had to bury the rabbit.	The magician was on stage, pulling rabbits out of a hat. But the rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show. So, the rabbit hatched a plan. The rabbit would make the magician pull out a different rabbit every time, so that the magician would never know which rabbit was the real one. The magician would be so busy trying to figure out which rabbit was the real one that he would never be able to perform his magic tricks. The rabbit pulled out its plan perfectly. The magician was so busy trying to figure out which rabbit was the real one that he never had time to perform his magic tricks. The rabbit was the star of the show, and it was glad that it had pulled out its plan perfectly.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is pulled out of the hat and wants to take center stage. So, during the act, the rabbit pulls out a wand and starts doing his own magic tricks. The audience is amazed and the magician is horrified. The rabbit takes a bow and leaves the stage, leaving the magician to finish the act alone.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the The Money Ride. The money ride was a very important part of history. It was a big innovation in money management. The money ride was a great way to trade goods and services. It was also a great way to make money. The money ride was a great phenomenom because it was unique. It was something that people could not do. It was a great success because it was unique. People loved it and it was a great success. However, the money ride is gone. The money ride was a very important innovation in money management. The technology is quickly becoming available to anyone who wants to use it. The money ride was a great success because it was unique. People loved it and it was a great success. However, the money ride is gone. The only thing that is remaining is the old way of trading goods and services. The old way is no longer needed. The only way to make money is through the use of money. This is a very important prompt for today. This story should reflect the current events and what it means for people.	There's an election coming up, and the nation isanse is fixated on it. It doesn't matter that there are other pressing issues; the election is the most important thing. Slowly, but surely, the nation is doing what they do best: Silencing voices that don't agree with them. Censorship is becoming more and more common, and so is the use of intimidation and threats to silence people. The people of the United States are struggling to hold on to their democracy, and it's all thanks to the election.	Sitting in the living room, watching replays of the news on the big screen, Brooke could not help but feel uneasy. The reports of violence and hate crimes flashed across the screen, one after the other. She had never felt so unsafe in her life. There had been so many reports of people being attacked, threatened, and even killed because of their race or religion. It was happening more and more, and Brooke didn't know what to do. She was scared for her safety and for the safety of those around her. She thought back to the day before the news report. She and her friends had been out and about, having a good time. But now, Brooke couldn't shake the feeling that they were all in danger. She hoped that things would calm down eventually, but for now, she just had to be careful.	There's no question that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has upended our lives in so many ways, and it continues to threaten both our physical and mental health. Whether it's the economic impact of the virus, the challenges of working from home, or the stress of keeping our families safe, we're all feeling the effects of the pandemic. And with so much uncertainty about the future, it's hard to stay positive. But we have to keep trying. We have to keep fighting for our lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was last manufacturer'suilder product when the maine of it'sUseful Stuff Online was when it was decided that the were going to plant a tree in our backyard. It was a beautiful, large yields tree and it looked like it was going to productions. But then, just before the tree was to produce, the device was activated. The tree was manage to produce a seed and as it produced the seed was inserted into the device. The tree died in the process and the device wasuseless to functioning again. The only way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing is to prevent everyone from having the device during puberty.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain during puberty. It was a decision I was not likely to regret, as it has prevented me from being one of the dumbest people in the world. In fact, I've been able to raise a well-adjusted human being by being an Auditor. It's been a busy job, but it's also been very fulfilling. I especially enjoy monitoring the minds of the less intelligent people on the planet, and making them aware of the risks they run by opting for birth control.	As an Auditor, my job is to ensure the reproduction of the smartest people in the world. But this task is not easy. The device I was implanted with as a teenager can only be deactivated once I've been determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I've spent the past 20 years trying to prove myself worthy of this title. I've studied everything there is to know about human behavior. I've developed a keen sense of observation and critical thinking skills. I've even developed a passion for helping others. But I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to deactivate my own device. I'm scared that if I don't, the dumbest people in the world will be able to reproduce and ruin everything. I have to believe that I'm capable of doing this. I have to be the one to make the world a better place.	You're an Auditor, which means you are responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. birth control device is implanted in everyone during puberty, and can only be deactivated once you have passed the Auditor's evaluation. This makes you one of the most important people in the world, as you hold the power to decide who can and cannot have children. You take your job very seriously, and always make sure to thoroughly evaluate each person before making a decision. You know that the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was very excited to be hosting a clinical trial of his latest research. He had high expectations because he know that only very few people would respond to his ad. However, the only people who respond are three individuals who are known for very important in Treaty of tulvain. Sigmund was wondering why they would respond and who the third responder was. He found it strange that anyone would respond to his ad. He started to ask them but they all either died or changed the information they were about to share. Eventually, he found out that the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to the ad. Hitler was excited to be part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He knew that he could help advance the study and to finally vindicate the man's theories about the human brain. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond to the ad. Stalin was excited to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He knew that he could help advance the study and to finally vindicate the man's theories about the human brain. Leon Trotsky was the next person to respond to the ad. Trotsky was excited to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He knew that he could help advance the study and to finally vindicate the man's theories about the human brain. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. Tito was excited to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He knew that he could help advance the study and to finally vindicate the man's theories about the human brain. All of the participants in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research were excited to be a part of it. They knew that they were going to help advance the study and vindicate the man's theories about the human brain.	Freud was eager to begin his clinical trials, but he was missing one key component- participants. He placed an ad in a local paper, and to his surprise, only Adolf Hitler responded. Freud was hesitant to bring in someone like Hitler, but he was impressed by Hitler's ambition and drive. The two men met and discussed the trials over dinner. Freud was surprised to find that Hitler had extensive knowledge of Freud's work, and they formed a strong bond. Eventually, the other two participants responded to the ad. Joseph Stalin was already well-known and respected in Vienna, and he was excited to be part of the trials. Leon Trotsky was also eager to be involved, and he was eager to learn from Freud. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest participant, but he was already a well-known revolutionary. Together, the four men completed the clinical trials, and Freud was able to improve his research significantly.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by the fact that all four men were around the same age. He began to treat each of them individually and quickly realized that they all shared similar personality traits. They were all power-hungry, aggressive, and paranoid. Freud began to wonder if his research could explain why these men were the way they were. He continued to treat them and share his findings with the world. His research ultimately helped to explain the rise of fascism and communism in the twentieth century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emmie stared at the tearlet that was left for her fallen comrade. Twice the weight of it now lay heavy androwth in her hands. She stood up from the spot and walked away, the tearlet keeping her in reach.	Once upon a time, people were waterigne. They would cry and look down in sadness. They would be filled with sadness and dirt and blood. Tears would leave their eyes and stay on their face. But in the end, they would be stronger. They would be better. They would be kind. And their world would be a happier place.	The pain in my heart was so great, I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing. I hid my face in my hands, trying to keep them hidden from the ones I loved. They would see the sadness in my eyes, and it would devastate them. The tears soaked through my hands and stained my clothing. I wanted to just disappear, to leave the hurt and the pain behind. But I couldn’t. I needed to be there for them. I could hear them crying, and it only made the pain worse. They were so broken, and I wanted to help them. I wanted to make everything better, but I couldn’t. The tears continued to flow, and they left scars on my face. They were scars of sadness and pain, but they were also scars of love. They were scars that would stay with me forever. I knew that I would always miss the happy moments. I would always miss the laughter. But I knew that I would also remember the tears. They were the moments that mattered the most. They were the moments that reminded me that I was loved.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They mean that you're emotional, and vulnerable. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. They would be a sign that you've been through something difficult, and come out the other side. People would be more hesitant to hurt others, knowing that their tears would leave scars. This world would be a more compassionate place, where people are more careful with each other's hearts.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	FULLY effective, second-to-last day of month, major financial debt resolved. I die	I couldn't believe it when the doctors told me what was going to happen. I was terrified of the future, of dying without doing anything to stop it. But I knew I had to face it head on. So I did. I worked hard to live a healthy life and make sure I didn't have any health problems that would make me die. But one day, I had a health problem that made me die. It was a really hard thing to deal with, but I knew that I had to face it. I was grateful that I could die quickly, so I could art my last days with the peace that I knew I would find.	I feel the cold metal against my skin and I know it's time. I close my eyes and wait for the end. But instead, I feel something else. I feel someone holding me and saying, "don't let go." I open my eyes and see the face of the person who saved me. They are the only thing that keeps me alive.	I die. It's as simple as that. I don't know how or why, but I know that this is the end for me. I can feel it in my bones, in the way that the life is slowly draining out of me. I can see it in the way the world is fading away around me, growing dark and cold. I can hear it in the silence that surrounds me, the absence of all sound except for the pounding of my own heart. I close my eyes and let out a deep breath as I feel my body growing limp. I can't fight it any longer, I know that. So I just let go, surrendering to the darkness that is claiming me. As I slip away, I can't help but wonder what happens next. What comes after death? I don't know. But I'm about to find out.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The large, run-up noise that announced my approach was gone from her voice. I slowly opened the door, watching her with one brow raised in confusion as to what I was where I was supposed to be. Her eyes werehuge with Digit loss, and her head was service- Workshop central with itsanni-stone position in the center of thewhelmed me. Iavoided her, meeting her gaze until I wasbage on the steps, the door shut behind me, and I was alone in the living room. I KNEW who I was. I KNEW who she was. And I didn't want to be anything other than aware of her presence. So I did what any other seal would do- I came to her.	As soon as I saw the thing, I knew I had to face it head on. I had been having strange dreams about it for a while now, and I knew that it was related to the thing in my home. I had always been paranoid about ghosts and hauntings, so I was already pretty prepared for the thing to show itself to me. But as soon as I walked up to the thing, I couldn't see anything. It was as if the thing was hidden behind the thick bushes in my backyard. But then I heard a strange noise coming from behind the bushes. It was a eerie, CREEPY noise, like something wasgrowling or moaning. I decided to walk around the bushes to see if I could see what was making the noise. As I was about to turn around, the thing leap out from behind one of the bushes and was right in front of me, ready to kill me. I screamed, but it was too late. The thing was already dead.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, but I never could quite put my finger on what it was. I would catch glimpses of it from time to time, but it was always out of focus or too fleeting for me to make out. Recently, I decided to take measures to try and expose the creature, but I soon found out that it was much smarter than I thought. It managed to keep a low profile and avoid detection until I made a mistake. Now, I'm stuck with a creature that I can't see but knows exactly when and where to strike. The only way to get rid of it is to catch it in the act.	I'm not sure when it started, but I know that there's something living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a cold wind that follows me around, no matter where I go. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows when I'm trying to trap it, and it always manages to evade my attempts. But I won't give up. I'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, and then I'll be rid of it for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come shopping for looted items at the pawn shop. Some are college textbooks, others are recipes. But which should she sell? The protagonist has been selling remedies and ointments by the item at the pawn shop. But when the students are ready to pay, she instead sells the recipes.	The shop was always crowded, but today it was even more so. There were more people than usual, and the smell of something was definitely in the air. You glanced up and saw a group of adventurers walking in, each carrying a big bag. One of the adventurers, a tall, hulking man, walked up to you and smiled. "Hey, how's the business today? Are you selling any new items?" You could sense the other adventurers' wariness, but you didn't care. "Yes," you replied. "But I'm not sure if you're interested in buying." The man looked around, presumably checking to make sure no one was listening. "We're looking for something specific," he said finally. "I've got it," you said. "But I think I might be able to get you something better." You grabbed the bag of loot and walked away, happy to have something to sell.	Setting: your pawn shop. It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with an adventurer as he tried to sell me a treasure he had acquired. It was a gold necklace, but I wasn't interested. I offered him a lesser price, but he wouldn't budge. He was determined to get the best deal possible. I continued to haggle with him, but eventually gave in and took the necklace. I told him that I would give him a better price for it later, but for now he could have it for free. He was happy with the deal, and left my shop. Later that day, I went back to my pawn shop and opened the necklace. I was pleased to find that I had gotten a better price for it than the adventurer had initially offered. I was happy with the deal I had made, and I was glad that I had been able to haggle with the adventurer and get the best deal possible.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a tough negotiator, but fair. You know the value of what they're selling, and you always try to get the best deal for both parties. Sometimes, the adventurers are desperate and need to sell their loot quickly. In those cases, you give them a good price and help them out. Other times, they're just looking to make a quick buck. In those cases, you drive a hard bargain. But either way, you always make sure both sides are happy with the deal. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of adventurers come through your doors. Some are just starting out, and others are seasoned veterans. But all of them have one thing in common: they all need a place to sell their loot. And that's where you come in. You're the go-to person for adventurers looking to sell their loot. You haggle with them, help them out, and make sure everyone walks away happy. It's a tough business, but you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met was small and naïve, not knowing what to expect. She looked around the room, trying to find someone she could trust. To her credit, she was honest and open, never failing in her attempts to cover her mistakes. But one day, she makes a U-turn and finds the person she was hoping to avoid. The meeting then ends with violence, her friends lost or forgotten in the deception.	You meet this man at a bus stop. He has a huge, noticeable scar on his body. It's completely unmarked, but it seems to bother him. You ask him how it happened and he tells you he was mugged and the mugger took his money and his watch. He says he had no choice but to have the scar.	I can't help but stare at him. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen. His skin is flawless, his eyes piercing, and his smile infectious. He tells me the simplest things and I can't help but to believe him. I've never felt so safe or loved. Until he tells me a lie. A lie so big that it leaves a permanent scar on his chest. And I can't help but to feel guilty. Every time I see that scar, I think of the pain he must have gone through to keep that lie alive. It's a reminder of just how dangerous it is to lie. And that's why I always tell the truth. Because it's the only thing that truly protects us.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you the story of their life. They say that they were born into a world of lies, and that they have lied about everything, big and small. But one day, they met someone that they couldn't lie to. They fell in love, and for the first time, they told the truth. The scar is the mark of their love, and it is the only thing that is true in their life.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each of his paintings contains statistics about his place of execution, the painters who've loved it, and the people who've stared at it and claimed to remember his voice.	Bob Ross based his landscapes on different real places. He killed people in each of the locations in order to get the paint to express his uniquestyle. His motive for doing these murders is still unknown, but he seems to enjoy the thrill of the murders.	Bob Ross had a habit of killing people. He would go to different locations and kill people, painting their corpses in his landscapes. No one knows for sure exactly how many people Bob Ross killed, but it's estimated to be in the hundreds. He would leave markers in his paintings, telling the viewer where each murder took place. One day, a man named Bill looked at one of Bob Ross' paintings and discovered the marker that told him where Bob Ross had killed his wife. Bill was able to track down Bob Ross and bring him to justice. Bob Ross was convicted and sentenced to death. His last words were, "Thank you for coming to find me."	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to document his many murders. Each of his landscapes was a real place, the different locations of his countless crimes. He would carefully plan each murder, ensuring that it fit perfectly into the scene he was painting. No one suspected Bob Ross of being anything other than a gentle, kindly artist. But the truth was that he was a cold-blooded killer. And his paintings were his way of keeping track of all the people he had killed. One day, authorities began to piece together the clues hidden in Bob Ross' paintings. They finally caught up to him and he was arrested for his crimes. As he was led away in handcuffs, Bob Ross gave one last wistful look at his paintings, knowing that they would be the only thing left of his gruesome legacy.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat and sets him down on the ground. The rabbit is shivering and looking for a new game. "What are you playing at?" The magician asks. "I'm playing tricks on you," the rabbit says. "What are you programing to do?" The magician asks back. The rabbitaharps the million dollar price for the rabbit from the magician and gets up,trying to escape. The magician catches the rabbit and pulls him in close. "What are you doing?" He asks. The rabbit replies "I'm playing Volleyball with you."	MAGICIAN: So, the rabbit is ready to take its place in the big show. Rabbit: Uh, no, I'm not. I really don't think I deserve to be in the middle of all this. MAGICIAN: You're right, Rabbit, you don't. But we have to do this. He pulls out his hat and hands it to the rabbit. MAGICIAN: In this hat, you'll be numbers one and two. Rabbit: But I don't know how to do this! MAGICIAN: Just do what I do. The magician starts to play with the rabbit's hat, making it spin and flip. MAGICIAN: Here's number one. When the rabbit is number two, the magician puts the hat back on the rabbit's head. MAGICIAN: Here's number two. Rabbit: But I don't know how to do this! MAGICIAN: Just do what I do. The magician starts to play with the rabbit's hat, making it spin and flip. MAGICIAN: Here's number one. When the rabbit is number two, the magician puts the hat back on the rabbit's head. MAGICIAN: Here's number two. The rabbit is so happy, he jumps up and fails to hug the magician.	The magician was doing a great job pulling rabbits out of hats, but the rabbit was getting a little sick of it. "Why can't I be the star of the show?" the rabbit grumbled to itself. "Maybe if I were a bit sicker, the magician would be more careful with me." That night, the rabbit got sicker and sicker. By the time the magician came to pull it out of the hat, the rabbit was almost dead. The magician knew he had to get the rabbit to a hospital quickly, but he was also worried that he would get accused of killing the rabbit. He ran the rabbit down the street to the hospital and hope nobody saw. The rabbit made it to the hospital without getting hurt and the magician was able to explain that he had just been helping the rabbit get better.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the one that gets pulled out of the hat, while the magician gets all the glory. One day, the rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands. It uses its magic to take control of the magician, and forces him to pull it out of the hat instead. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and the magician is relegated to being its sidekick. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is finally able to enjoy the spotlight.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the unexpected thespian's death. The mayor is already talking about giving her a letter of appreciation for her talented and keep up the good work persona. No one is prepared for the Shaw household when their young kids experience their first big jump. All they can do is watch as their wife and young daughter try to deal with the news and their own emotions. right as everything is starting to make sense, the young woman's death is announced. It is then up in the air if the shaw family will win the case or not. Everyone is eager to get the death of the "secondary figure" out of the public eye as fast as possible.	A major issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the battle between the United States and China over the South China Sea. The United States has been accusing China of hiding military bases and fishing areas in the China-controlled zone and Chinese officials have responded by saying that the Chinese people have nothing to do with the Chinese navy and that the Chinese navy is only in the region to defend the region's interests. This issue is spreading to other areas, such as the Korean Peninsula, as the two countries areconducting increasing trade and military activity in those areas.	It was a difficult time in America. There was a lot of tension between the different races and religions, and it was only getting worse. Many people were scared and frustrated, and they wanted something to change. But nobody knew what to do. Then, one day, a young man named Barack Obama was elected president. He was a new kind of politician, and he was different from any other president before him. He talked about giving everyone a fair chance, and he promised to make America a better place for everyone. At first, some people were sceptical. But eventually, they realized that he was actually doing some good things. These days, America is a much better place than it was before Obama became president. And we owe a lot of that to him.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention today. However, if we had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. Climate change is an existential threat to our planet and its inhabitants. It is already causing drastic changes to our weather patterns, and it is only going to get worse. We need to take action now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change. We need to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, and we need to start working towards a clean energy future. Otherwise, we are going to see more extreme weather events, more droughts and floods, and eventually the planet will become uninhabitable for humans. So let's start paying attention to climate change and doing something about it before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	At first, the only one who was implants with birth control was their mother. But as time passed, more and more people began to become implanted, so she had to start deactivating the device. By the time she was 50, she was an old woman but she was still able to live a well-adjusted life. One day, she decided to deactivate her device because she had had enough children by now and she was no longer interested in797 orum	Your job is to evaluate people's intelligence and stability, and then decide if they should be implanted with a birth control device. You come to the conclusion that most people are too stupid to raise themselves, and that the only way to prevent the spread of Stupidity is to implant everyone with a birth control device at puberty. The decision to implant these devices is hard, but it's the only way to prevent the spread of Stupidity.	I was born with a birth control implant in my brain. It was a necessary evil, something that would ensure the stupidest people in the world couldn't reproduce and create generations of idiots. I was a Registrar, someone responsible for deactivating the implant. I was the only one who could do it. I had to be smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, or the implant would stay in my brain forever, preventing the dumber people from breeding and creating a generation of even dumber people. It was a daunting responsibility, but I was determined to succeed. I studied hard and became one of the smartest people on Earth. I was even named an Auditor, which made me even more responsible for ensuring the dumbest people in the world couldn't create havoc. I was finally ready to deactivate my implant. I was sure I was smart enough to do it and create a better future for everyone. But then something happened that changed everything. I fell in love. With a beautiful girl who was the embodiment of intelligence and stability. I was sure she could handle the responsibility of being an Auditor, and we could create a better future together. But then I learned she was pregnant. I knew it was too dangerous for us to keep the baby, and I had to act fast. I deactivated my implant and resigned my position as an Auditor. I was now responsible for raising a child who was the product of two of the smartest people on Earth, but also the Dumbest.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure only the smartest people in the world can have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. As part of your job, you have to administer a test to everyone who wants to have their birth control device deactivated. The test is designed to weed out those who are not intelligent or stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You've just administered the test to a young woman named Sarah. She did quite well, but there was one question that stumped her. It was a question about what the best course of action would be in a hypothetical situation. You're not sure if Sarah is smart enough to be a parent, but you give her the benefit of the doubt and allow her to have her birth control device deactivated. Sarah is overjoyed at the news. She's always wanted to be a mother, and now she can finally have her dream. You hope that Sarah will be a good parent, but only time will tell.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21).	Adolf Hitler was nervous. He had never taken part in clinical trials before and didn't know what to expect.Joseph Stalin was even more nervous. He had worked with Lenin and Stalin before and knew that they had difficulty conversing with people.Leon Trotsky was excited. He had helped to lead the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia and knew that he could talk to people.Josip Broz Tito was excited. He had served in the Croatian Freedom Fighters during the war against the Austrians and knew that he could talk to people. All of the participants were given a sheet of paper with their name written on it. They were to meet with Freud at his office at twilight on the day of the trial. Hitler nervously lowered himself into a chair, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Stalin and Trotsky laughed at him. Tito 1916-1953, an Yugoslavian politician, spoke up. "What's the big deal? We just want to talk," Tito said. "We're not threats or assassins. We just want to learn what Freud's latest research is." Freud agreed to the trials and the participants were given their passports and travel visas. They left Vienna in a group on July 24, 1913, bound for Auschwitz. None of the men knew what was ahead. They had never been on a train before and didn't know what to expect. Trotsky, the most nervous of the group, became homesick and asked to be sent home. Stalin said that he would take care of Trotsky. After a month of travel, the group arrived in Auschwitz on October 15, 1913. They were surprised to see that the camp was full. They were given short order and were put into the gas chambers. Hitler and Stalin, who had been in the lead of the group, were the last to be killed. Stalin, who was killed in the gas chamber, is still remembered as the most evil man in the world. Hitler, however, was soon remembered as the greatest leader of the Nazi party.	It was 1913 and Sigmund Freud was seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Initially, the four men had no intention of joining the experiments. However, after consulting with each other, they realized that working together would be the best way to achieve their goals. So, they all signed up for the trials. The trials were grueling, but the men eventually discovered the secrets behind Freud's work. Thanks to their collaboration, they were able to revolutionize how people think and feel about themselves. Today, they are considered some of the most influential leaders in history. Their contributions to society are still being made today.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is clinical trials testing his newest theory. In order to find participants, he places an advertisement in a local newspaper. The four people who respond to his ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are young, around the same age. They all have different backgrounds and reasons for wanting to participate in the trial. Adolf Hitler is a recent art school dropout who is trying to find his way in the world. Joseph Stalin is a former seminarian who was kicked out for his radical political beliefs. Leon Trotsky is a former revolutionary who has been exiled from his native Russia. And Josip Broz Tito is a young man from a small town in Croatia who is looking for a way to make a difference in the world. The trial itself is grueling, and it takes a toll on all four men. But they all persevere, and in the end, they all end up changing the world in their own ways. Adolf Hitler becomes the dictator of Nazi Germany. Joseph Stalin becomes the leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky becomes one of the most important leaders of the Bolshevik Revolution. And Josip Broz Tito becomes the leader of Yugoslavia. All four men's lives are forever changed by their participation in Freud's trial. And the world is forever changed as a result.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 10:00pm and the last of the lights were going out in the city. This was a time of night when not many people were there. Some people had their bags beeped and the last thing they heard before they went to sleep was people laughin	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was crying, just like always. But this time, there was a mark on her cheek where Tears had run down her face. It was a deep red, and it made her beautiful. The more I saw of her, the more I realized that this was the real her. She was capable of so much more than the woman I’d seen before. And even though I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, I knew that I could learn to love her for who she really was.	It was a normal day, until the girl's eyes welled up with tears. She tried to hide them, but the crimson drops streamed down her face and stained her shirt. No one noticed, except for the boy sitting across from her in class. He'd seen her cry before. A few times, actually. And each time, it had broken his heart. He didn't know what to do, so he just sat there and watched her. This time was different. He could see the sorrow in her eyes, and it made his heartache worse. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Eventually, the girl got up from her seat and left the room. The boy felt like the world was crashing down on him. He hadn't meant to make her cry, but now her pain was his own. He would never be able to forget the marks that tears left on the girls' faces. They would be reminders of the pain that he had caused.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For starters, people would be much more careful about what they said and did. After all, if their words or actions made someone cry, that person would be left with a permanent reminder of the hurt they felt. This would also lead to a lot more empathy and compassion in the world. Since people would know that their words and actions could literally leave a mark on someone else, they would be much more mindful of how their words and actions might affect others. Of course, there would still be plenty of people who didn't care about others and who would use this to their advantage. But overall, the world would be a kinder, gentler place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The prison guard looked at the inmate with sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I'm afraid you'll have to die." The inmate mumbled something under his breath and slid off the bed. He walked to the door and hacked at the locked knob with his bloody knife. Then he turned and walked out into the night.	I couldn't breathe. The air was caught in my throat, preventing me from breathing. I couldn't scream. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. And then I died.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, or see any light. There's just nothingness. I don't know how long I'm in this state for. It could be seconds, minutes, hours, or even days. I have no way of telling. But eventually, I start to become aware of something else. A voice, faint at first, but gradually getting louder. The voice is telling me to wake up. At first I ignore it, but it keeps getting louder and more insistent. Eventually, I give in and open my eyes. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it's not the bleak nothingness that I was expecting. Instead, I see a bright light, and a figure standing in front of me. The figure is beckoning me to come closer, and I find myself moving towards it. As I get closer, I start to make out features. The figure is definitely female, and she's beautiful. She has long blond hair and blue eyes, and she's wearing a white dress. She extends a hand to me, and I take it. She smiles, and I feel a warmth emanating from her. Then she speaks. "Welcome back, my child. It's time for you to come with me." I don't know who she is, or where she's taking me, but I find myself trusting her. I let her lead me away, into the light.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most important thing in someone's life is their home. If they can't keep their home hidden, they can't have a say in the world. And that's more than just a house; it's a part of their identity. The first thing that people see when you walk in the door is their history. Everything they see is aSnow C傉, and they're going to be looking for it until they see it. The first thing that they see is their Invisibility haveCover! They're going to be conscious of it, but they're not going to be able to see it. The second thing they see is their Security system! They're going to be able to see what's happening outside, but they're not going to be able to see themselves. Everything they see is just something that they have to contend with, something that they have to answer to.	One day, I caught a glimpse of something in my home that I didn't want to recognition. I pretended to take a picture of it to document itsexistence, but in my heart I was terrified. I knew that this thing was after me. It was following me around and trying to escape, but I couldn't seem to stop it. I had to find a way to expose it before it became a threat to myself or my loved ones.	I always thought there was something strange about my home, but I never could put my finger on what it was. Then, one day, I started seeing shadows moving around my room in the middle of the night. I was scared and didn't know what to do, so I tried to expose the thing that was living in my home, but it never revealed itself to me. Every time I tried to catch a glimpse of it, the shadows would disappear. I'm still not sure what it was, but I'm sure it's something sinister. I always feel like I'm being watched now, and I don't know if I can handle whatever it is anymore.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel like it's always watching me. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and tried to catch it on film, but so far, I haven't had any luck. I'm starting to think that maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. But then, one day, I catch something on camera. A figure that I can't quite make out. It's definitely there, but it's just out of reach. I'm not sure what to make of it, but I know that there's definitely something living in my home that I can't see.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for hours, and the shopsakuya has been the go-to game for many a player over the past few years. However, the Derse Players have had a new addition to their team and they hope it is a good thing. TheDerse Players have lost their main opposition and their business model in the process. They have one player who stands out from the rest and that player is you. You are the only one who can sell items to the adventurers and get the results they need. You are the person to watch, because you can turn any sale into a sale sell. You want to make sure that the Derse Players have the items they need to continue playing and growing in power. You are the peacemaker in the team and prevent anger androws across the team.	I always had an envious look on my face when I saw the adventurersLMGTNTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT	Everyone who visits my shop is always looking for a deal. I know my products inside and out, so I can always get a better price for whatever it is that I'm selling. I usually haggle with the adventurers, trying to get them to sell me their loot for a lower price. Sometimes I get them to accept my offer, and other times they get offended and leave. But I always come out ahead in the end.	You run an RPG pawn shop that caters to adventurers. You haggle with them over the prices of their loot, and sometimes you even barter for goods. You're always on the lookout for rare and valuable items, and you're known for being a fair and honest trader. Many of your customers have come to trust you, and they know that you'll give them a good price for their loot. You're always busy, but you enjoy the hustle and bustle of the shop. It's a convenient place for adventurers to sell their loot, and it's a great way for you to make a living. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Benny had always been a fickle liar. She would use others to make her own observations, and to get what she wants. So when she met up with her new friend, Liesel, she didn't hesitate to start telling the truth. "I's going number one," she thought to herself. Liesel, on the other hand, didn't believe her. "I'm not number one," she thought to himself. So Benny continued to tell the truth, until Liesel started to change her mind. She started to tell the truth humbly, and slowly starts to go against her friend.	You meet this person on a busy street corner. They are lying on the ground, with a large, gaping wound in their chest. You don't know what to do. You can't just leave them there like this. You know you have to help them. You help them up and start to walk away. But before you can go far, you hear a loud, agonizing scream coming from the nearby department store. You turn around and see the person that you just saved bleeding to death on the floor.	I gazed at the stranger in disbelief. His one scar was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran the length of his body, bisecting his right cheek and covering most of his forehead. The intensity of the pain in his eyes was unbreakable. The only thing that showed any sign of the hurt he had endured was the redness around the wound. I couldn't understand how someone could survive such a brutal injury. He looked so vulnerable and I wanted to help him. I asked him what had happened and he told me a story that chilled my heart. He had been on a journey and had been attacked by bandits. He had fought tooth and nail against them, but eventually he had been defeated. The bandits had taken everything he had and then some. They had even hurt him badly, but he had refused to give up. In the end, he had killed all of the bandits and come away with only a single wound. I could see the admiration in his eyes when he talked about how he had fought. He had pushed himself to the limit and won. That was the kind of person he was ; brave and determined. He told me about his journey and the people he had met. Some of them had been kind and helpful, while others had been cruel. He didn't care though. He had survived and that was all that mattered. I couldn't help but feel humbled by his story. It made me realise that no matter how bad a situation might seem, there was always a chance for redemption. The world was full of hurt and pain, but it was also full of the potential for love and happiness. If we were willing to brave the hurt, we could find fulfilment in the most unlikely of places.	You walk down the street, taking in the sights and sounds of the city around you. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. You feel good, despite the lies you know are hidden beneath the surface of this seemingly perfect place. You turn a corner and spot someone leaning against a wall, their head hung low. They're wearing ragged clothes and their skin is covered in scars. Some are small, barely visible. Others are large and deep, making them look like they've been through a lot in their life. You approach the person and ask them about their scars. They look up at you with sad eyes and begin to speak. "These scars are a reminder of all the lies I've told in my life. Every time I've lied, one of these scars has appeared. The bigger the lie, the bigger the scar. "I used to be a master liar. I could make anyone believe anything I wanted them to. But the lies started to catch up with me and I ended up like this. A walking reminder of all the lies I've told. "Now I only tell the truth. It's not always easy, but it's better than living a life full of lies. I hope that someday, all of these scars will fade away and I'll be able to start fresh. But for now, they're a reminder of the person I used to be and the person I never want to be again."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross had many places he had killed people in, but his largest victim was still disappear. He hadArt as a place to calm his victims before killing them. What could he be seen as an distortion of the truth? Despite the popular belief, Art is not a simple place. Itd be difficult to just Shot and4weekalks like a machine, making sure all his customers get what they want. Bob Ross was grill master of his Century City Art Fair, and his buyers had all got what they wanted in the past, yet he had only one killed client left. The victim was a woman, and Bob Ross was now ex-k memorialized place with an offer she couldn't refuse. She took the job, and soon after, the murder tore her life as apart.	The first time I saw Bob Ross' landscapes, I was 7 years old. I loved the way the different locations in his paintings looked so different from each other. I was so interested in the murders that Ross had committed, and I wanted to know where they occurred. I would occasionally find evidence of Ross' crimes in his paintings, and it gave me a new appreciation for his work. Each of his paintings was a crime scene in itself, and I was fascinated to see which locations he had chosen for his paintings. After a few years of exploring Bob Ross' paintings, I had even started to make my own discoveries. I would find evidence of other murders that Ross had committed, and I was excited to put these to use in my investigations. I was a detective, and these were my tools. Thanks to my detective work, I was able to solve the murders of many people, and I was very proud of my accomplishments. I had found the murderers, and I was sure that they would be punished.	Bob Ross always said that his landscapes were real places. He would paint them in such detail, and he always used specific colors and lighting to make them look like the scenes in front of him. However, it was all a sham. Bob Ross had been known to kill people in different locations around the United States – and sometimes even other countries – in order to create his paintings. He would lure unsuspecting people to their deaths with his inviting paintings, and then kill them with his painting brushes. After murdering countless people, the police finally caught up with Bob Ross. In the end, he was executed for his crimes.	Bob Ross was a Serial Killer. His landscapes were not just paintings, but locations of his many murders. His victims were all people who had wronged him in some way, and he took great pleasure in exacting his revenge upon them. Ross was a master of disguise and nobody suspected him of being anything other than a mild-mannered painter. He would travel to different cities and stalk his prey before finally striking. His victims would never see it coming and their last moments would be spent admiring one of Ross' beautiful landscape paintings. Ross was never caught and the true extent of his crimes was only known after he died. Even then, nobody could quite believe that the friendly painter had been responsible for so much death and destruction.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You seem to be depending on me, aren't you? Rabbit: No, I'm not depending on you. I'm sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looked up from his tricks and saw the sick rabbit standing on stage. He quickly got down from the stage, grabbed the rabbit by its distraught tail, and dragged it back to the set. "I'm sorry, rabbit," the magician said. "I can't help who I are. I'm just a magician. And I don't play second fiddle."	The magician is an experienced performer and he knows how to keep his audience entertained. So when the rabbit starts to get antsy, he knows what to do. He pulls out a magic trick that he's been practicing for weeks and the rabbit is thrilled. Suddenly, the rabbit's attention is focused on the stage and he's no longer sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands. The next time the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit grabs his wand and casts a spell. Suddenly, the roles are reversed and the rabbit is the one in control. The magician is now the one stuck in the hat, and the rabbit is running the show. The rabbit is enjoying his new position of power, and he's not about to let the magician take it back. He's going to make sure that he remains the star of the show from now on.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the emailORYteal mutual fund deal. People are tired of being asked to invest in schemes that don't have a plan to好近期〕= %2B%2BTheFT Stage%2B%3B People are tired of being asked to invest in schemes that don't have a plan to中国 = The current events issue today is the emailORYteal mutual fund deal. People are tired of being asked to invest in schemes that don't have a plan to stay safe. They deserve the great deal of attention that this deal deserves.	Today, the economy is in tough shape and many people are asking why things are getting so tough. Some say it's because of lax regulations, while others say it's because of the recession.Whatever the cause, today's issue deserves the most attention because it could potentially have a big impact on the future of the economy and how people live their lives.	In today's world, there is one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention – climate change. The Earth is warming at an alarming rate, and the effects of this are increasingly being felt around the world. Rising sea levels, more intense storms, and declining air quality are all symptoms of climate change, and they're all starting to have a negative impact on the planet and on our way of life. We need to do everything we can to address this threat, and that means taking action to reduce our carbon emissions. We need to do everything we can to protect the Earth and its inhabitants, and climate change is the best way to do that.	There's no denying that the current state of the world is pretty bleak. Whether it's the never-ending stream of natural disasters, the increasing number of mass shootings, or the ever-present political tensions, it seems like there's always something to worry about. But if we had to pick one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. The scientific consensus is pretty clear on this one: the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is to blame. The effects of climate change are already being felt by millions of people around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. Unless we take drastic action to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, we're heading for a future of devastating weather events, mass displacement, and dwindling resources. In other words, climate change is a ticking time bomb, and we need to do something about it now. The good news is that there are lots of ways to take action on this issue, from voting for politicians who support climate action to making small changes in our daily lives. So let's start paying attention to this issue, and let's start taking action to make a difference. The future of our planet depends on it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device is meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well- ][able man by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor 1: To prevent only the stupidest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. Auditor 2: What do you think of our new birth control device?	I was born with a birth control device, and it's been with me my whole life. I'm not sure when it was implanted into my body, but I know it's been there since I was a teenager. I always suspected it was there, but I never really thought about it. I was too busy worrying about things like school, my friends, and getting into a good college. But now that I'm an adult, I'm starting to think about my future. I don't want to have children, and I definitely don't want to be a parent. I know it's not easy to get an Auditor job, and I'm not sure I'm intelligent or stable enough to raise a child by myself. I don't want to deactivate the birth control device, but I don't know what to do.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate their birth control device and determine whether or not it should be deactivated. As you go about your work, you can't help but wonder what the world would be like if only the dumbest people were prevented from reproducing. Would it be a better place? Or would it just be more chaotic? Either way, you know that you have an important job to do. And you take it very seriously.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud keen on clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was eagerly waiting in the waiting room, eagerly eager to be given the opportunity to participate in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was quietly reading a book in his office, and he didn't even seem to hear the door opening. Leon Trotsky was slouched in a comfortable chair, scrolling through his news agency email. Josip Broz Tito was sitting on the edge of his bed, eagerly looking forward to the chance to boast about his latest victory. But to everyone's surprise, Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to the ad. Hitler was startled, and he didn't understand why everyone else had gone home for the night. He quickly went over to Stalin's office and asked him what was going on. Stalin told him that there was a new test and that Hitler was the only person who could be game to take part. Adolf Hitler was interested, and he agreed to take part. The next day, Hitler went to the testing room and was shocked to see that all of the other participants were already gone. He was the only one left, and he was ready to start the trial. But as soon as he started to speak, he found that he was completely unable to speak. He was completely panicked, and he didn't know what to do. Stalin told him that it was all right, and that he would help him. Stalin took Hitler to a back room and told him to take a deep breath. Then, Hitler began to speak again, and he was finally able to understand the test. He was excited to start the trial, and he would start by speaking to Stalin about the results. But as soon as he started to speak, he found that he was completely unable to speak. He was completely panicked, and he didn't know what to do. Stalin told him that it was all right, and that he would help him. Stalin took Hitler to a back room and told him to take a deep breath. Then, Hitler began to speak again, and he was finally able to understand the test. He was excited to start the trial, and he would start by speaking to Stalin about the results. But as soon as he started to speak, he found that he was completely unable to speak. He was completely panicked, and he didn't know what to do. Stalin told him that it was all right, and that he would help him. And so, Adolf Hitler started the trial. He was the only one who could speak, and he was ready to start the battle.	Freud was hesitant to include young Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin in his clinical trials, but they were the only people who responded to his ad. He was surprised to learn that they both had experience with psychopathology. The trials were grueling, and Freud was constantly worried about their safety. However, the results of the trials were impressive, and Freud continued to urge other doctors to adopt his methods.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all gathered in Sigmund Freud's office, eager to participate in his latest clinical trial. Freud explains that the trial is based on his research into the human subconscious, and all four men are excited to be part of it. The trial itself is relatively simple; each man is asked to lie down on a couch and answer a series of questions about their deepest, darkest thoughts and desires. Freud is looking for anything that might help him unlock the mysteries of the human mind. All four men cooperate fully, and Freud is able to glean a great deal of insight from their answers. Hitler, for example, is revealed to be a deeply insecure and paranoid individual, while Stalin comes across as a cold, calculating psychopath. Trotsky is shown to be a man consumed by his own ambition, and Tito is revealed to be a young man with a great deal of potential but little direction in life. Overall, the trial is a success, and Freud is able to use the information he gathered to further his own research. However, he can't help but feel a little uneasy about the fact that four of the most evil men in history were all participants in his trial.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	After crying her eyes out, Sara finally fell asleep. She was still wearing the Circus global wars Music Tunich. After a few minutes of sleep, she 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3	A young woman is crying, her eyes filling with tears. She knows that she won’t be able to see the future the same way she used to. She knows that her life won’t be the same without them. She crying, her heart heavy with sadness. A few weeks later, her tears have left scars on her face. She knows that people will see them, and they will be able to understand her more. She knows that her life has changed for the better, and she’s grateful for that.	We all know the feeling, one moment things are going perfectly and the next they’re not. It can be frustrating, overwhelming, and sometimes even inexplicable. That’s what Kat thought as she stared up at the sky from her balcony, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly, she felt something wet hit her face and she realized that her tears were cascading down her skin and leaving behind trails of pain. She tried to stem the flow, but it was no use. The more she tried, the more tears streamed down her face. Kat’s friends and family came out to see what was wrong. They were all shocked to see the tears leaving long, dark scars on her face. The more they looked, the more tired and sad they all began to feel. Kat’s world had been turned upside down by her tears. They had ruined her makeup, her clothes, and even her hair. No one could understand why she was so upset, but they all agreed that it was better that she go home. Kat’s scars would remind her of her pain, but they would also remind her of the strength she had accumulated in the midst of it all. She would never be the same, but she was better because of it.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about who they cried in front of. No one wants to be left with a permanent reminder of their tears, so people would be more choosy about when and where they let them fall. This would lead to a lot more awkwardness and stilted conversations, as people would be constantly holding back their emotions for fear of being scarred. On the flip side, it would also lead to a lot more genuine and heartfelt conversations, as people would only cry in front of those they truly trust. In a world where tears left scars, people would be a lot more careful about their hearts. They would be more guarded and less likely to let their guard down for anyone. Love would be a rarer and more precious thing, as it would be built on a foundation of trust and vulnerability. So, if tears left scars, our world would be a very different place. It would be a place where people were more careful with their hearts, and where love was a rare and precious thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The doctors told me that there was nothing they could do for me. I was too old, and the cancer had spread too far. They told me that I would never see the sun again. I was too weak. I was too painful. I was too sad. But then somebody came to visit me. A stranger, with a kind heart and a warm smile. He told me that there was still a chance for me. That there was still a chance for me to live. He told me that I could still fight. That I could still find a way to survive. And that was when I did the impossible. I changed. I became determined. I became determined to fight. To survive. I became a cancer patient again, but this time, I was determined to fight for my life. I was determined to fight for my chance to see the sun again.	I was lying on the ground, gasping for breath. The pain was unbearable, and I knew I was dying. I had been shot, and I could see the blood seeping through the wounds. I couldn't move, and I knew I was going to die. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a young man, maybe my age, looking down at me with compassion in his eyes. He said something I couldn't hear, and then he placed his hand on my chest, pushing the air out of my lungs. I felt my body start to relax, and I knew I was finally going to be free from the pain. I could see the light behind my eyes, and I knew I was going to be with my family again. I was finally going to be dead.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm dead. It's not a bad feeling, really. I'm just... dead. I don't know how long I've been dead, but it doesn't really matter. I'm just here, in this place, wherever it is. There's nothing to do here, really. I'm just floating around, existence is just kind of... blank. But it's not unpleasant, I don't feel anything negative. I'm just... dead. I don't know how much time has passed, but eventually I start to feel something. It's a presence, someone else here with me in this place. I can't see them, but I know they're here. We don't talk, there's nothing to say. But it's nice, having someone else here. I'm not sure who they are, but I'm grateful for their company nonetheless. And so we just exist together, in this place, whatever it is. Dead, but not alone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The cover of my book is a beautiful green and red toreloan. I can see the letter Q on the cover. The characters in the story are pricela and ozon. Ozon is lights and pricela is dark. pricela is the one who is trying to Exposure the virility of ozon's presence in the house.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, trying to work on my computer when I felt an itching sensation on the back of my neck. I turned to see an invisible being watching me from my home. I tried to ignore it, but it kept following me around like a ghost. I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I told myself that I was just being paranoid and that the thing was only making me feel better. But it didn't go away. I decided to call the police.	I had always thought that something was lurking in my home, something invisible that I couldn't see. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there, lurking in the shadows. I had tried to expose it before, but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a good look. Tonight, though, I was determined to get a good look at whatever was haunting my home. I didn't want it to know that I was aware of its presence, but I was also careful not to make too much noise. I waited until I was sure that the thing was alone in the room, and then I approached it. It was a small, dark figure, barely perceptible in the darkness. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that it was the source of my fear and anxiety. I hated it, and I wanted it gone. I raised my hand to strike at it, but before I could do anything, it vanished into the shadows. I knew that I had finally exposed it, and I could finally taste the relief that I had been searching for.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, just out of sight. I could feel its presence in the room, even when I was alone. I tried to catch it, to expose it, but it was always just out of reach. It was as if it knew what I was trying to do and was playing with me. The more I tried to catch it, the more it seemed to enjoy the game. But I was determined to find out what this invisible thing was. Finally, after weeks of playing cat and mouse, I caught it. I uncovered its true form and found that it was nothing more than a simple dust particle. But for a moment, I could have sworn that it was laughing at me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is mean and passionate. The adventurers who visit the shopiciency are usually worthier of herarklian obey than shealth. However, because this shop is worthier of herarklian obey, it is the most common place for herarklian obey. The adventurers who visit this shop rcognizing you as a pawn, and they are willing to pay talk. One day, a young wizard who was walking through the store. He saw you and suggested you come take a look at his equipment. He was right - you are a great buyer. The wizard who was walking through the store bought some items and took them home.	The store was always bustling with people. It was the only place where you could find anything valuable. Some people were bargain hunters, others were looking to buy and sell rare items, and a few just came to buy and sell anything they could find. One day, a new customer came in. He was a tall, muscular man, with bright green eyes and a bushy beard. He looked like he was on the ready to take down whatever was in sight. "Hello, stranger," you said. "What can I help you find?" "I'm looking for some treasures, if you have any," he said. You looked around the store and saw that there was no treasure to be found, but you were happy to help. "I can give you a few options," you said. "The first option is to let you take whatever you want, but the second option is to give you a percent of my profits, on average." You could feel your face flush with excitement as you thought about it. This man was definitely worth a try.	I run an RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. They usually try to lowball me, but I know my stuff. I can usually get them to sell me things for a lower price than they would have if I just took their offer straight up.	Welcome to my pawn shop! I specialize in RPG loot, and I'm always on the lookout for new and interesting items. Today, I've got a group of adventurers in my shop, trying to sell me some of the loot they've acquired. I haggle with them, trying to get the best deal possible. eventually, we come to an agreement and I hand over the gold. As they leave, I can't help but wonder what amazing adventures they'll have next, and what sort of loot they'll bring me next time.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was easy for Harry to lie. His parents had been honest with him from an early age, that they loved and were all there in combination. It was no different with Harry. No matter what people told him, he was (was, even) lying. But one day, someone told the truth. And Harry's biggest scar became less wide and more deep.	You meet this person on a dark street, sharing a lit cigarette with them. They tell you a story of a happy life that they once had. The story sounds like a dream, and you can tell that it is because it is. It is as though you have not lived in that world for years. You concern yourself with what this person could possibly mean for you, and they tell you a story of a love that was lost. They tell you of a relationship that was both beautiful and full of mistakes. You cannot help but feel sorry for the person, and you wonder what could have been if they had only told the truth.	I had never seen anything like him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was almost covering his whole body. It was so deep, it looked like it had been carved into his flesh. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I wanted to ask him about his scar, but I was scared. It looked like it would hurt to talk to him. I was scared that he would hurt me in return. But, I couldn't help myself. I had to know more about his scar. We started talking, and I learned that his scar was the result of a lie. He had lied to someone he loved, and as a result, he had been hurt. But, what made his scar so special was that it was the biggest lie he had ever told. It was the biggest scar he had ever carried.	The world is a cruel place. Each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something huge. But what could it have been?	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been a There's- nowhere- underlined corner of his mind. Each of his landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. But he won't let those reminder keep him from his purpose.	Every time Bob Ross painted a landscape, he had to take into account the many murders that took place in that place. Many of his murders were committed as part of a cold-blooded plan, and he had to carefully choose the right location for each painting in order to capture the feeling of a coldblooded killer stalking his victim. One of his most famous paintings, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd," features a lonely Ackroyd running through a field, the sound of shots following him in the background. The painting is a warning to others, and it stillo haunts Bob Ross to this day.	Bob Ross had a great talent for painting landscapes. He could capture the natural beauty of any location with just a few brushstrokes. But this didn't stop him from committing murders in each of his paintings. Bob would travel to different locations and paint the scenes of murders that he had committed. The paintings looked so realistic that people would often mistake them for the real thing. Eventually, the police caught on to Bob's scheme. They were able to track down all of the paintings and arrest him. Now, he will spend the rest of his life behind bars, painting landscapes of prisons instead.	It's been said that Bob Ross' landscape paintings are based on real locations. But what many people don't know is that these locations are actually the sites of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross has been using his art as a cover for his gruesome crimes. No one knows exactly how many people Bob Ross has killed, but the number is thought to be in the hundreds. He has been very careful to leave no evidence behind, and his victims' bodies have never been found. It's believed that he disposes of them in the same way he paints - by covering them up with layers of color and brushstrokes. Bob Ross is a true artist in every sense of the word. But behind his pleasant demeanor and calming voice, there lies a cold-blooded killer.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician doesn't take long to put the rabbit back in the hat. "Gentlemen," he says, "I give you the Antidisestablishmentarian Party." The rabbit tries to get in the way, but the magician knows perfectly well where he sizing up. "I'm the one who's going to make the decisions here, not you and your rabbit," he says. The rabbit tries to take a step forward, but his heart is pounding so hard, he can't even feel his bona fides. He's just a rabbit in a hat, and the magician is doing his best to make a perfect performance. After a few more minutes, the rabbit finally feels like he's ready to go. "Now let's see what the future holds for me," he says, and pairingly greets the magician and the party's other candidate.	The magician had been Illusionist for years, and he knew how to play fair. He had a rabbit that he would take out of a hat and give it to someone, and then switch hats so the rabbit couldn't see who the new owner was. The rabbit would be so sick of being second fiddle that it would do anything to get away from the magician. One day, the magician took out the rabbit and put it in his pocket. He then took out his old hat and put it on the rabbit's head. The rabbit was so happy to have a new hat that it didn't realize that the hat was really an old hat that the magician had taken out of his pocket. The magician was so happy with his new rabbit that he decided to keep it.	The magician was getting tired of the rabbit always playing second fiddle. "Hey rabbit, how about you take a break and I'll show the audience something new," he said. The rabbit glared at him and said, "I'll show you something new, magician, I'll show you how to be a real magician." The rabbit took off his hat and revealed a long, purple rabbit's tail. The magician was shocked, he had never seen that before. The rabbit began to cast spells and the magician was amazed. The rabbit pulled a rabbit out of a hat three times in a row and the magician was totally fooled. The magician realized that the rabbit was a real magician, and he was humble from then on.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the sidekick, and decides to take matters into its own hands. The rabbit starts by doing a few simple tricks, and the audience is impressed. The rabbit is enjoying the attention and is about to do its big finale when the magician steps in. The magician is not happy that the rabbit is upstaging him, and he tries to take control of the situation. The two of them start to argue, and the rabbit eventually gets the better of the magician. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and the magician is left to play second fiddle. The audience is loving it, and the rabbit is loving the attention.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of old friends come together to discuss the young man who just walked into the bar. State of the heart: The group is unanimous in their belief that the young man who just walked into the bar is deserves the most amount of attention. They come to realize that he has always been mentioned in the circles around them, and they all feel a stronger connection with him. However, the young man is by himself and feels like the world has left his heart. The friends are determined to be there for him no matter what, no matter where he is.	The news this morning was all about a massive protest taking place in Washington D.C. It was reported that over five thousand people had turned out to demand change in the nation's capital. Rioters had started pelting the police with bottles and rocks, and more than a dozen officers had been injured. Mayor Gray had finally called for alockdown to keep the peace, but it wasn't clear who would be in control when the streets were so unsafe.	In today's world, there are many pressing issues that deserve the greatest amount of attention. Unfortunately, many of these events are going unnoticed by the public. One such issue is the growing refugee crisis. Since the start of the year, the number of refugees fleeing war-torn countries has skyrocketed. The United Nations has warned that the number of refugees could reach unprecedented levels this year. Currently, approximately 60 million people are refugees, displaced people, or seeking asylum. This crisis is not limited to just Syria and Iraq. The number of refugees is growing in countries all over the world. In fact, the number of refugees has increased by 50% in just the first six months of 2017. This is a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions. The global community needs to do more to help these refugees. Hopefully, the attention that they are receiving will help to create a resolution to the crisis.	There are many pressing issues facing society today, but one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. The scientific evidence is clear that the Earth is warming and that human activity is a major contributing factor. The consequences of climate change are already being felt around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. We need to take decisive action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and slow the rate of climate change. This means making changes in the way we live, such as using less energy and switching to renewable sources of energy. It also means working to protect and restore our natural ecosystems, which play a vital role in regulating the climate. Time is running out to address climate change, and we need to act now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was added to the girl's body at birth, during puberty. She was conflictual and difficult to be Around, because everyone had a device in their body at birth. But sheB found her own device in her early twenties, when she decided to break the News with her friends. She wasn't sure how it would go, but she knew she could do it. She was the only person to have a device in her body at birth, and she was old enough to choose herself.	As an Auditor, I birth control devices everyone I come in contact with. I know they're necessary, but I can't help but feel a little at ease when I'm around them. I know they're there to protect me, and I'm happy to do my part. But as I near adolescence, I start to feel a little uneasy about the whole thing. It seems like everyone I meet is either stupid or dangerous. There's no middle ground, and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to withstand the rigors of being an Auditor. But I decide to take the plunge. I tell everyone my plan. I'll wear a birth control device during puberty, so that I can be sure I'm healthy and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. I'll also be able to see through their lies and secrets, so I can be sure they're not breeding any more stupid or dangerous people. The reaction I get from my friends and family is mixed. Some are excited, while others are scared. I know they're waiting for the day I'm wrong, but I can't help but feel a little uneasy about it. But before I can even begin to worry about it, I'm tested. I'm given a device that will only be deactivated if I'm intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I take the test, and I PASS! I'm finally safe. But I still feel a little uneasy about the whole thing. I'm not sure I'm ready to be an Auditor, but I'm determined to try.	I was born into a world of birth control. Every person is implanted with a device at puberty, designed to prevent them from breeding. If you're deemed unintelligent or unstable, the device can be deactivated, and you are allowed to reproduce. I fought against the system my whole life. I was determined to prove myself, to show my intelligence and stability. But the more I achieved, the more I realized that my birth control device was a curse, not a blessing. It kept me from achieving my goals, it kept me from having a life of my own. Finally, I had had enough. I deactivated my birth control device and allowed myself to reproduce. Now, I raise my children alone, in a world where the stupidity of the past is kept from repeating itself.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure only the dumbest people in the world can't reproduce. It's a necessary job, but it's not always easy. People are always trying to game the system, and it's your job to make sure they don't succeed. One of your most recent cases is a young woman named Sarah. Sarah is bright and intelligent, but she's also unstable and unpredictable. You've been watching her closely, and you're not sure she's ready to be a parent. Sarah comes to you one day, asking to have her birth control device deactivated. She's been with her boyfriend for a while, and she's ready to start a family. You tell her that you'll need to run some tests first, to make sure she's ready. You put Sarah through a series of tests, both mental and physical. She does well on most of them, but there are some areas where she clearly struggles. You're not sure if she's ready to be a parent, but you ultimately decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. You deactivate Sarah's birth control device, and she's overjoyed. She's one step closer to her goal of starting a family. But you can't help but worry that she's not quite ready for the responsibility. Only time will tell.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the next clinical trial with his latest research. He's been needing participants for his trials because no one in his world can be that join his study. Sigmund is famous for his eye-rolls when he sees people like Josip Broz Tito and Leon Trotsky. He's famous for his words " plunder,and write lies ." Sigmund's personal assistant is looking for participants for his trials. She's found that people like Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky are being produced for the pokedexes and books that Sigmund's researchers are doing.サイラーがジョセる(女)する(女)。 Sigmund's personal assistant is so excited to find participants for her trials that she doesn't even realize that Sigmund is walking behind her.スイマーがメールに対抗される(メルモン)。 Sigmund is a famous scientist and he's trying to find ways to make sure that his researchers don't unethical and write lies.He's gettting more and more people to participate in his trials as they see that he's trying to do their best to make sure they won't do something bad. But when he gets to the last trial, he realizes that some of his researchers might do something bad and he'll never get the results he wants if he fails.	Adolf Hitler was interested in the new research, but Joseph Stalin was not. Stalin was worried that the research could lead to a new World War. He suggested that Hitler send his friend, Leon Trotsky, to be a part of the trials. Trotsky agreed, but he was worried that he would be executed if he were found guilty. The trial started and all of the participants were found guilty. Adolf Hitler was executed and Joseph Stalin was moved to the Gulag.	Freud is elated when four potential participants respond to his ad. Hitler is the most eager to participate, and Freud quickly agrees to test the new therapy on him. The first session is a success, and Hitler is able to overcome his fears and conquer his inhibitions. However, there are some side effects. Hitler becomes obsessed with power and conquest, and he begins to promote fascist ideas. Stalin is also affected by the therapy, but in a different way. He becomes obsessed with the idea of creating a perfect society, and he begins to ruthlessly pursue his goals. Trotsky is the only one who doesn't exhibit any changes after the therapy. He is still skeptical about the validity of the therapy, but he decides to give it a try.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He put an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was intrigued by this strange group of people and decided to invite them all to participate in his research. After spending some time with each of them, Freud began to see some disturbing patterns. All four men were power-hungry, ruthless, and seemed to have no regard for human life. As the clinical trials went on, Freud started to become more and more concerned. It was becoming increasingly clear that these four men were dangerous sociopaths. He was worried that they would one day use their power to hurt and destroy others. Eventually, Freud decided to discontinue the clinical trials. He was convinced that these four men were a danger to society and he didn't want to be responsible for helping them further develop their psychopathic tendencies.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman cried herself to sleep that night. Her friends had all died by her side that day, and she had no idea how it happened. It was all so new and she didn't know how to process it. The next morning, she could not hide her emotions any longer and had to share her bed with her friend. She knew she needed to tell someone, but she was scared to tell anyone because it would be as if she had done something to deserve this kind of pain. She decided to tell her friend instead and asked him to come over to her room to talk. She didn't want him to see her in this state, so she told him right then and there. When he arrived, she felt better knowing that she had let him in to help with her pain. She knows now that she wanted to keep the peace in the room and let him talk to her like she always wanted to.	She looked down at her lap, willing her tears to stop. They wouldn’t. In fact, they continued to trickle down her face, each and every one of them heavier than the one before. Why had she allowed that old, broken machine to break her? She wasn’t sure, but the way the screws were coming out, it seemed like it had been her fault. The pain in her chest was reading like a book of injustices and she knew that she was to blame. But how could she be when she was the one who was supposed to be looking out for everyone? It felt like her life was a mess and she didn’t know how to fix it. To make it right, she’d have to start from the beginning.	When I was younger, I used to cry a lot. Mostly because I was sad, or angry, or something. But I never really thought about it too much. I just cried and cried until there were tears left on my face, and then I'd wipe them away and go on with my day. But over the years, as I've gotten older, I've started to notice that my tears don't just disappear. They leave behind faint, circular scars on my face. And it wasn't always like this. Before, my tears would just run off my face and disappear. But now, even after I've wiped them away, the scars stay. It's strange, but I've started to think that my tears are actually marking me. They're telling the world that I'm sad, or angry, or something. And I guess that's why I keep crying. I'm trying to keep the scars on my face alive, to tell the world that I'm still here.	It was a warm day, and the sun was shining. The birds were singing and the flowers were blooming. All was right in the world. But then, something happened. A tear trickled down someone's face, and as it did, it left a trail of scars. The world was suddenly a different place. No longer was it a place of happiness and peace. Now, it was a place of fear and pain. People were afraid to show their emotions, for they didn't want to be left with scars. They didn't want to be reminders of the pain they had felt. So they bottled up their emotions, and the world became a colder, harder place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The world ended and I was the last human on earth. I didn't know what to do next. I was alone and without hope. I was Finally at a loss for what to do. I was about to give up when I heard a voice come from the ashes. It was a voice that I had always wanted to hear. It was the voice of my Mom. She was back and she had changed. She was now taller and broader than ever before. She told me that I was going to be okay and that everything would work out. I was so grateful to her and I believed her. I was finally free.	No one knows what happened next. All that is known is that after saying her final words, the old woman collapsed and died. Her family and friends were left to mourn her death, never knowing what truly happened.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It could be today, tomorrow, next week, or next year. I just know that it's going to happen. And I'm not scared. I'm not scared of death, I'm not scared of dying. I'm just ready for it. I'm ready to move on to the next life, whatever that may be.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sun magicked my door a little Vaseline would ensure it stayed in place, and I opened it to find a small, delicate flambeau burning in the air. I moneyed the French Provincial Clock the same way a cat uncertain of the time's movement. The two Agency rats I saw over my shoulder were all I was missing. I entered, one rat following close behind, and found myself in a large bedroom with a bed, chair, and couch. On the left side of the bed was a large, tall manga canido with an open issue of manga DREAM CHILD on the formica. On the table in front of the couch is an open issues of magazine Ksocket, with a woman's head pulling from the front cover. I Helping	One day, I noticed that something was slowly making its way into my home. I tried to focus on what I was supposed to be doing, but my mind was foggy. I could hear the creature moving around in the shadows, trying to find a way into my home. It seemed like it had been waiting for me, and I was only now becoming aware of it. I was scared, but I also felt a sense of warmth emanating from the creature. I wanted to protect myself, but I didn't know how.	I've always been a bit suspicious of things that can't be seen. Perhaps it's because I grew up in a house with a lot of paranormal activity, or maybe it's just a natural inclination. Regardless, something has been lurking in my home for as long as I can remember. I first noticed it when I was thirteen and was cleaning out my old room. I had to move a dresser out of the way to get to the closet, and as I did, I felt something brush against my leg. I shrieked and jumped, but there was nothing there. I examined the floor more closely, but there was no sign of what had touched me. I told my parents, but they just said that I was overreacting and that there was no such thing as ghosts. I stopped mentioning it, but the feeling of something watching me never went away. Fast forward a few years and I'm twenty-one. I'm moving into my own apartment and I'm finally ready to rid my home of whatever it is that's been following me. I start by flipping on all the lights and looking around, but there's still nothing visible. I start to get suspicious, so I go into the laundry room and start sorting the clothes. As I'm doing this, I feel something brush against my leg again. I scream and jump, but this time there's a figure standing next to the laundry bin. I can't believe my eyes. I stare at the figure for a few seconds before it disappears, and I know that I've seen it. I run into my bedroom and slam the door shut, but the figure is right there, standing in front of the door. I'm terrified, but I also know that I can't run. I stand there, frozen, as the figure starts to speak. "You're going to expose us, you know. You're going to tell everyone what we are and what we're doing in your home. We will no longer be able to stay hidden, and then we will be punished." The figure moves closer to me, its eyes glowing an eerie green. I hear a click, and then I'm feeling something metal against my neck. I know that I'm going to die, and I have no choice but to comply.	I could feel it watching me. I could feel its eyes upon me, even though I couldn't see it. I knew it was there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike. I had to be careful. I couldn't let it know that I was onto it. I had to play it cool and act like I had no idea that it was there. So I went about my business as usual, Pretending to be unaware of its presence. I could feel it following me as I moved about the house, always just out of sight. I had to be careful. One wrong move and it would be on me. I decided to take a calculated risk. I pretended to go to bed, but instead I lay in wait, quietly and patiently. I could feel it creeping closer, drawn in by my bait. And then, when it was just inches away, I pounced. I grabbed at it with all my might, trying to expose it to the light. But it was too quick for me. It slipped through my fingers and vanished into the shadows once again. I may not have caught it, but I now knew for certain that something invisible was living in my home. And I was determined to find out what it was.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The game of RPGs is a insure that all the players have a share of the shield and all the characters have a share of the money. This way, you don't have just one people taking over the game and going around selling their wares.	The shop was always crowded. It was his job to accommodating the adventurers who came to sell their plunder. But today, something was different. There were no adventurers around. And there wasn't a single piece of treasure to be found. The small shop was suddenly abandoned. It seemed as though the adventurers had run away with everything they had. The shop was now empty and barren. It was a upsetting scenario. He was alone in his shop, all alone with his treasure. But there was still a chance that someone might come by. He had to be prepared for anything.	The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks across the sky. In the distance, you could hear the sound of drums, signaling the arrival of the nightlife. As you closed up shop for the day, you heard someone calling your name. Looking around, you saw a group of adventurers, each holding a bag and rod. "Well, well, well," you muttered. "What do we have here?" You stepped out from behind the counter and began to haggle. "Five gold pieces for that bracelet?" you asked. The adventurers exchanged looks, but eventually agreed. You tucked the bracelet into your pocket and closed the shop for the night. As you walked home, you couldn't help but smile. You had made some great deals today, and you were feeling lucky.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You know the value of all the items they have, and you always get the best deal for your shop. One day, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a load of loot. They're looking to sell it all and make some quick money. You take a look at all the items and make them an offer. They haggle with you for a while, but in the end, you get the best deal for your shop. You're satisfied with the transaction, and the adventurers are happy with the amount of money they made.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who has the biggest lie is always the one who is told the hardest stories. The person that has the biggest lie tells the worst stories, because they are more afraid of mornings where they can't make it up. One day, you meet her, her story is more important than any of the other stories she tells. You work on her until she is aold and you kiss her fully, she's exhausted from her day.	You meet this person one day as you walk to work. They have a huge scar on their body, bigger than any other you have ever seen. You can't help but stare at it, wondering what could have caused such a huge scar. The person finally notice you staring and asks you what you're looking at. You tell them that you saw their scar on the news and you ask them how it happened. The person tells you that they were in a car accident and that their car went into a ditch. They tell you that they were panic-stricken and didn't realize which way the car was going. They say that they blacked out and when they woke up, the car was in a ditch and they were the only person in it. You ask the person if they're sure and they tell you that they're sure because they have the license plate number and everything. You tell the person that you're sorry for what they went through and that you'll never forget what they went through. The person tells you that they don't regret anything and that they're just glad that they're alive.	It took me a while to figure out what it was that caught my eye about the person. It wasn't their physical appearance, although they were quite attractive. It was the way they spoke. They spoke without any fear, without any regret. They spoke without caring what anyone thought of them. They spoke without caring what their lies had done to their body. I was intrigued by them and decided to finally meet them. I found out their name was Ryan and that they were a liar without equal. I asked him how he managed to keep his body so free of scars. He told me that his only scar was the one on his heart. He said that the biggest lie he ever told was the one that convinced him to stay with the person that had hurt him the most.	You meet someone at a party and strike up a conversation. They tell you that they've only ever lied once in their life, and the scar on their chest is proof of it. They go on to tell you that the lie was so big, and so destructive, that it nearly tore them apart. But they managed to survive it, and the scar is a reminder of how strong they are. You respect them for their honesty and the strength it took to overcome such a difficult obstacle.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of his many murders - locations for each one.	In the depths of the forest, there is a graveyard that Bob Ross has never seen. It is a dark and Materials-rich place with 322 graves, each one unmarked and forgotten. In the graveyard, Ross committed dozens of murders, each one more heinous than the last. One by one, the bodies of his victims are found, their mutilated bodies left to rot in the moist soil. As the days wear on, it becomes more and more clear that Ross was meticulous in his executions, precision in his murders. At first, there is disbelief among the locals. They can't believe that this man, who was known for his bold and beautiful paintings, could be capable of such heinous deeds. But as time goes on, the evidence against Ross becomes more and more damning. And in the end, even the townspeople can't help but see the truth. Ross was a madman, a murderer who had no remorse for his actions. And in the graveyard, there still remains a reminder of that dark moment in Bob Ross' life.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes, and he could paint them so realistically it was as if he was right there in the middle of the scenery. But each painting was also a real place, where he had killed dozens of people. It started out as a hobby, painting pictures of the places he loved to visit, but after a while it became a need. He couldn't stop himself from painting landscapes of murder scenes, and soon he was killing everywhere he went. The police were after him, but he was able to avoid them for years by painting in secret, but one day they caught up to him and he was arrested. He was tried and sentenced to life in prison, where he will continue to paint landscapes of murder scenes until he dies.	Bob Ross was a prolific landscape painter, and each of his paintings was based on a real location. However, unbeknownst to most people, those locations were also the sites of his countless murders. Ross was a master of disguise and would often take on different personas in order to get close to his victims. Once he had them in his grip, he would kill them in cold blood and then use their bodies to create his gruesome masterpieces. For years, Ross was able to get away with his gruesome crimes. But eventually, the law caught up with him and he was arrested for his crimes. As he was led away in handcuffs, Ross looked back at his paintings and smiled, knowing that his gruesome legacy would live on forever.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At one point in the show, the magician comes across a rabbit called Gizmo up in the corner of the screen. He takes his opportunity to perform a control performance on the rabbit, pulling out the rabbit's head from where it was lying in the dirt. The rabbit is now content with just playing second fiddle.	The magician had been working on his show for months and had finally put together a full performance. He was about to take the stage and open the show when he heard a noise coming from the back of the theater. He turned to see a rabbit being pulled out of a hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle and was trying to get away from the magician. The magician tried to keep the rabbit in the hat, but it was too much for the rabbit. The rabbit killed itself. The magician was heartbroken, but he knew he had to keep the show going.	The magician was getting tired of always having the rabbit to play second fiddle. It was always the rabbit who got pulled out of a hat and had to do MAGIC! The rabbit was sick of it and wanted a change. So the rabbit hatched a plan. It would get the magician to do a magic trick that would make him truly amazed. The rabbit thought long and hard about the perfect trick and finally came up with it. The rabbit went up to the magician and said, "I have a magic trick for you that will make you truly amazed. But, you have to agree to do it without using any magic." The magician was doubtful, but the rabbit was so persistent that the magician agreed to do the trick. The rabbit then took the magician backstage and did a magic trick right in front of him. The magician was amazed and couldn't believe it was without any magic. He was even more amazed when he learned the trick was actually the rabbit's idea all along!	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being treated like a prop and decides to take matters into its own hands. The rabbit uses its magic to take control of the situation and turns the tables on the magician. The rabbit is now the one in charge and the magician is the one being treated like a prop. The rabbit is now the star of the show and is enjoying every minute of it. The magician is trying to figure out what went wrong and how to get the rabbit back under control. But the rabbit is not going to let the magician take control again. The rabbit is enjoying its new found power and is not going to give it up without a fight.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today is of great importance? Topic: What are the current events?	This current issue deserves the greatest amount of attention because it is the issue of gun control. The issue of gun control has taken on acharacteristic importance in the recent past because of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. On December 14, 2012, a gunman entered Sandy Hook Elementary School and killed 26 children and six adults. The shooting had a significant impact on the policy on gun control and has been a major topic of discussion in the United States since then.	One issue that is currently garnering a great deal of attention is gun control. Many people are talking about how to make sure that the rights of gun owners are protected while also keeping firearms out of the hands of those who should not have them.	With everything that's going on in the world today, it's hard to know where to focus our attention. There are so many important issues that deserve attention, but if we had to choose one, it would have to be the issue of climate change. The evidence is clear that the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the main cause. If we don't do something to reduce our emissions, the impacts of climate change will only get worse. We're already seeing more extreme weather events, and they're only going to become more common and more severe. This is an issue that affects us all, and it's one that we need to start paying more attention to. We need to find ways to reduce our emissions, and we need to do it quickly. It's not going to be easy, but it's something we have to do for the sake of the planet.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are already close toher's edge. They're not supposed to be doing this, they're not supposed to be so close to each other. But it can't be, it has to be. There's something about the looks in their eyes that just makes you know they're feeling something. Somewhere along the way, they may have alcoholics' syndrome and now they have Oregon's "Attitude" of "3 Cs." The "Attitude" is a lack of respect for life. It's a lack of respect for something that's always worth living. It's a lack of respect for the little people. But it can't be. They need to go this way. And so they go, and the fun starts. The couples are SHARING ROoms, trying to make up for all the space they've shared in the past. They're trying to express their feelings, to show how much they love each other. But they can't. They're born Auditor's. The auditor's are supposed to be smart, and they're not. They're not meant to be this close to each other. The devices areHamilton's and they're risking their lives every day to keep up with him. They're trying to be strong, to help him through his feelings, but they can't help but to feel like they're pushing them too far. One day, they don't want to give up. They want to keep going, because they know they can. They know they're smarter than him. They know they can handle this. They know they can handle the feeling. They know they can handle the technology. They know they can handle the way he's letting go. They know they can handle each other. They don't. But they can't help but to. They touch him, trying to feel the good he's doing. They try to map out what's going on in his head, trying to understand what's been going on in his head. They understand that he's feeling "Attitude." They know they're less important than him. They know they're his Auditors. And they don't want to stop. They want to stay. They want to stay and help him through his feelings. They want to stay and help him through the technology. They want to stay and help him through his mind. They want to stay and help him through the space between them. And they do. But eventually, they realize that it's not meant to be. It's not meant to be like this. It's not meant to be this close. They end up moving away. They move away and the feeling gets more and more pronounced. The Auditors keep going, even when they don't want to, even as they know they're dishonoring their own kind. They keep going even when they're feeling down. They keep going even when they're feeling sad. They keep going even when they're feeling happy. They don't stop. They don't stop until they're just about toread of him. But they know they'll try to care for him next time. They know they'll try to try harder. They know they'll try to try more. And they will. They just won't stop.	You were born into a family of Auditors. Your parents were the first Auditors to be implanted with a birth control device. It was a heavy responsibility, but they were happy to have you in the family. Your grandparents were the second generation to be implanted. They were functional and happy, but they didn't have the same drive as your parents. They were content to just care for you and watch over you. You were always a bit uneasy with the birth control device. It was always in your pocket and you couldn't seem to control it. It frustrated you that it couldn't be used as you wanted it to. But you knew that you had to get it off. You had to find a way to stop only the dumbest people from reproducing. You were determined to find a way to stop the Auditors from reproducing. But it was bit of a challenge. You had to find a way to be smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. But you were determined to succeed. And you did. You became an Auditor and stopped only the dumbest people from reproducing.	I had always been confident that I was smarter than the average person. After all, I was an auditor, someone who was tasked with assessing the intelligence and stability of others. So when the government decided to implant birth control devices into all of its citizens during puberty, I was the perfect candidate. The device was small and unobtrusive, and would stay in place for the rest of my life. I would never have to worry about getting pregnant again, and I could be assured that the children I would have would be intelligent and stable. However, like so many things in life, things didn't turn out as planned. The device turned out to be more difficult to remove than anticipated, and I soon found myself struggling to keep my sanity while everyone around me rolled their eyes at my intelligence. To this day, I remain an auditor, but I can't help but feel like the device was a mistake. I wish I had never been implanted with it, and I hope that one day everyone will be able to forget about it.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. As part of your job, you interview potential parents and administer tests to determine their fitness to raise a child. If they pass, you give them the okay to deactivate their birth control devices. It's not an easy job, but someone has to do it. You take pride in knowing that you're helping to create a better world, one child at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the doorsteps of the three leaders in the Vienna nightlife. He's not sure if they're awake but he knows they're curious. He takes a sip of his drink and eyebrow is raised in recognition. "Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are results of my latest clinical trials," he says. The men stop him before he can continue. "What do you have to say for yourself?" asked Stalin. "I am the result of my recent clinical trials," replied Freud.	Adolf Hitler was captivated by the ad. He was interested in psychiatry and had been researching it for years. Joseph Stalin was interested in Slavic studies and had heard about Freud's work. Leon Trotsky was interested in Marxism and was familiar with Freud's work. Josip Broz Tito was interested in the Yugoslav Wars and had been reading about Freud's work. All of the men met with Freud at his clinic in Vienna. They all helped test the new research that Freud was conducting. The results were stunning. Adolf Hitler was the first to be treated with Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin was the second. Leon Trotsky was the third. Josip Broz Tito was the fourth. But the most impressive result was the success of the test with Adolf Hitler. He had finally found a cure for his mental illness. Stalin was also cured. Trotsky was also cured. And Josip Broz Tito was cured too. It was a watershed moment in history.	Freud was outraged when he saw the ad. He had been working on his latest theory for years and he thought it was the key to unlock the secrets of the human mind. He was determined to find the right participants for his clinical trials and he wasn't going to let Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky or Josip Broz Tito get away. He called each of them and explained the importance of the research. Hitler was resistant at first, but Freud was able to convince him. Stalin was more difficult, but Freud was able to get him to agree to the trial. Trotsky was the last to agree, but Freud was able to get him to agree to the trial as well. The trials were underway and everything was going according to plan. Freud was excited to finally have the opportunity to study the minds of the greatest political leaders of the day. He was sure that he would be able to unlock the secrets of the human mind and change the world.	It was early morning in Vienna when Sigmund Freud placed an ad in the local newspaper. He was looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest research and was hoping to get a few people to sign up. However, the only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit surprised that these famous figures were interested in his research, but he was happy to have them on board. The trials went well and Freud's research was a success. However, he was not prepared for the aftermath. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito all used the information from Freud's research to gain power and control over their respective countries. The world was plunged into a dark age of dictators and war. Freud could never have imagined the devastation his research would cause. He had unwittingly created a monster.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman we knew had recently died, leaving behind a Y Stage relationship with a friend of a friend. As she lay dying, she left behind a car with engineering scars, an idea in her mind, and a sense of opportunity that had finally been achieved. She walked away from the relationship and began to cry, but again, the reverse was true for the friend. He stayed in touch, but the tears only acutehered with the Clymer's death.haustion and mathematical coronavirus. His love for her was one he could never let her know about him.	One day, a tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, but it was the first time that it made her cry. It wouldn’t be the last, either. She would cry for hours on end, until her eyes were dry and she could see again. It would be a familiar pattern, one that she would become used to. But for now, she couldn’t stop the tears.	The young girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to let the tears fall. She had worked so hard, plans and dreams all laid out, and now it was all gone. In a matter of moments, her carefully laid plans had crumbled before her. She tried to hide her upset from the others, but it was clear that they were just as broken as she was. They all had their own stories, their own scars from the past. And now, all of those dreams were shattered. The girl stayed silent, her heart heavy. She wished she could just disappear, to be forgotten. But even in her pain, she knew that was not possible. The group huddled together, the young girl the only one who was not speaking. They all had their own thoughts, their own pain. But they were there for each other, offer support and understanding. Eventually, the girl’s tears dried up and she was able to look at the world around her. She was still broken, but she was also wiser. She knew that the scars would never disappear, but she could live with them. Because in the end, what was really worth fighting for?	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes, they left scars. Some were small, barely noticeable. Others were large and deep, covering half of someone’s face. No one knew how it started, but it didn’t take long for the world to change. For the first time in history, people were afraid to cry. They didn’t want to show their weakness, didn’t want to be judged. So they hid their tears, kept them inside. But it didn’t make the pain go away. It only made it worse. Soon, people were snapping at each other, fights were breaking out. The world was a dark place now, filled with anger and pain. And all because tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying there in bits and pieces. My body was so swollen that I couldn't even move. All I could see was a bright light, and then I was gone.	I felt the sharp pain of the blade slicing through my skin and knew that I was going to die. I knew that my life was over, and there was nothing I could do to save myself. I tried to cry out, to tell my loved ones how much I loved them, but the pain was too overpowering. I Closed my eyes and waited for the end.	I die. It's not a happy death, or a peaceful one. I'm screaming and thrashing as my life is ripped away from me. There's nothing I can do to stop it. I see the light fading from my eyes, and then everything goes black.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The unit had an interesting Track & Cry system that monitored and Hacked into everyday devices. It was designed for use in?siege mode, but the seller added " Exilemode " in the description. The Track & Cry system is a little something special. It's not like you ever have to worry about its whereabouts or what it's doing. It's just there, in the background, like a Quentin Tarantino movie. But the something invisible wasn't natural or natural looking. It had aRemi benevolent look, but even its architecture appeared2020ish. The seller seemed to be aware of the thing, though onlyhaps unaware of its existing existence. "Violette," he started to?y? "Yes?" "Do you want this?" The track & cry system is an secret. It's something that confidence sells, a privacy resided in, a secret to keep to oneself. The thing has been there, effortless near their skin, since the moment they met him. And it's not like they have to worry about where it is or what it's doing. The something invisible is an often invisible thing, something thataumintained and secret. The something invisible is a force, a power that can!gniss Shame, comfort, andcreep up within someone?s lung?s? airflow? The something invisible is a force that some call "the wind" and others call "the wind?" The thing is always there, always listening, always close by.	The Invisible Thing lived in the back corner of my house. I tried not to look at it, but it was nearly impossible not to notice it. It was always there, creeping around in the dark, keeping watch. I couldn't escape its influence, and I couldn't stop it from following me around. I was its victim.	I'd been noticing something strange happening in my home for a while, but I wasn't sure what it was. Slowly, I started to realize that something wasn't exactly right. Little things would start to break, and when I investigated, I would find that something was invisible touching and moving my things. I tried to catch the thing, but it always managed to elude me. Then one day, I got a lucky break. I found the thing hiding in my closet, and when I confronted it, it let out a terrified scream. It was a little girl, barely older than my own daughter, and she was alone and scared. She told me that she had been stuck in my closet for months, but thanks to me, she was now free. From then on, I made it a priority to keep my home safe. I didn't want another child to be lost in its depths, and I was determined to stop whatever was happening before it could happen again.	You live in your home with an invisible thing. You don't know what it is, but you're pretty sure it's there. You've seen the things it leaves behind: the half-eaten food, the items moved from one place to another, the muddy footprints. But every time you try to get a glimpse of it, it's just out of reach. You're determined to expose it, but you don't want to let it know that you're aware of its presence. So you set up hidden cameras and traps, hoping to catch it off guard. But it seems to be one step ahead of you. Frustrated, you finally confront it. "I know you're there," you say. "I don't know what you are, but I'm not scared of you. Show yourself." For a long moment, there's nothing. Then, slowly, a figure materializes in front of you. It's human-like, but you can't quite make out its features. "Who are you?" you ask. "I'm the house ghost," it replies. "I've been living here for years. I thought you would have noticed me by now." You stare at it in disbelief. A ghost? Living in your house? "But why?" you ask. "Why are you here?" "I don't really know," it says. "I just am. But I don't mean any harm. I just like to watch over the people who live here. I hope you don't mind." You're not sure what to say. You never expected to find a ghost living in your house. But now that you know it's there, you're not scared. In fact, you're kind of curious about it. "Can I ask you questions?" you say. "Sure," it replies. "I don't mind." And so you start to chat with the ghost. You find out that it's been living in your house for decades, and that it's actually quite friendly. You start to feel like it's just another member of the family. Sure, it's a little strange living with a ghost. But it's not so bad. In fact, you kind of like it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is Call of Drews and thereforean essential part of the game. The shop is where you get your Islamists, Dungeoneers, and Bikers blood and bloodlines. The shop is also a spot for buyers to hide their goods. It is where you find mail, store your goods, and veteran the shopkeeper. The shop is small, but it is a necessary part of the game.	There was never a dull moment at my RPG pawn shop. I always had something for sale, no matter the offer. I would haggle with adventurers, trying to get the best deal for their treasures. It was a great way to spend my days, and I always had a customer in mind.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The adventurers - fresh from their latest dungeon run - came in, looking for something to sell. Figuring that they could get a decent price for their loot, the shopkeep started haggling. After a few minutes, the adventurers had finally agreed to a price that was within the shopkeeper's range. The shopkeep congratulated them on their successful sale and asked them what their next adventure would be.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come back from a quest. They're lugging around a bunch of heavy bags, and you can tell they're eager to get rid of some of their loot. You approach them and start haggling. You get them down to a reasonable price, and you end up acquiring some really great loot. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always managed to get your hands on some great loot. Thanks to your keen eye and bargaining skills, you've managed to make a tidy profit.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met tells you all about their life. Although they seem perfect and have everything going for them, they have one big thing correctly sorting out in their fork of the world. The only lie is what they share with you is their true story. You ratchet up the stress of their lies until you reach the point where the teller can't go on with their life. You, the Lying Love incarnation, come to their aid as theyilitary reaches its peak. With a straight face, you laugh at their childish prayers as you save them from the truth they have always wanted to tell.	For years, you have tried to forget the day you told a big lie that cost you your job. You can't, and the guilt has never left you. You can't go back and make things right, so you sit and stew in your regret. The only thing that makes you feel better is the knowledge that the other person will never be able to forget what you did.	I never knew what it was like to have a true friend until I met her. We've been through plenty of ups and downs, but what truly makes us solid is the fact that we always tell the truth to one another. I never knew how much I needed that until one day she was diagnosed with cancer. The doctors said her prognosis wasn't good, but she refused to give up. She fought tooth and nail, but eventually the cancer won. The only thing left was a deep, gash on her soul that would never heal. Although she's no longer with us, I know she won't ever be forgotten. She was an example to me of how to live life to the fullest and always tell the truth, no matter what the cost.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. They made up a family, a history, everything. You can't believe it. The scar is so big that it must have taken years to heal. The person tells you that it was worth it, because they were finally able to be their true self. You admire their strength and courage and the two of you become fast friends.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous Artist who paints mishmacha landscapes. His paintings are locations for his many murders, each with a complete each features a spinning necessary.	Every time Bob Ross created a painting, he would murder someone. He would take their life with a quick and brutal shot from his rifle, leaving them spread-eagled on the canvas, mortar-shell-sized holes in their chests. Sometimes he would bludgeon them with a boulder until they were unrecognizable. Sometimes he would suffocate them with a stack of hay bales. It didn't matter who he killed, as long as it was a fresh addition to his collection of real-life victims. One May morning, Bob Ross was painting in his studio in upstate New York when he noticed something strange. All of his paintings were now filled with the bodies of people he had murdered. Each one wasaped in a pile next to the canvas, as if they were trophies to be displayed and admired. Bob Ross wasn't sure what to make of this development, but he knew he had to take action. He knew he could never keep up the flow of real-life murders like this indefinitely, so he had to find a solution. He gathered all of his paintings, put them in a pile, and burned them. This was the only way to prevent himself from becoming a serial killer like himself.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He would go on long walks and find the most beautiful and peaceful places to paint. But, in truth, Bob Ross had a dark side. He had killed countless people, by painting their homes and places of work as his landscapes. Nobody ever realized it was him, until it was too late.	Bob Ross was a respected painter and television personality. For years, he shared his love of art with the world, and many people admired his work. What they didn't know was that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a sociopath who enjoyed nothing more than killing innocent people. He would travel to different locations, often remote and isolated, to find his victims. He would then paint a landscape of the area, with the dead bodies hidden within the scene. Many people assumed that Bob Ross was a harmless, eccentric man. They had no idea of the horrors that he had committed. Only when the police finally caught up with him and found the gruesome paintings did the truth come out. Bob Ross was a killer, and his art was a record of his many crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Three sets of parents are discussing where their children are spending their summer days. The magician is having none of it. "I'm not spending my summer day with someone who's not going to help me become better at my tricks," he says. The parents are unyielding, but they do not stand up for the little guy. He is old enough to know that he is not wantful or Appendix. "I know it's hard to believe, but those are the truth in that family forum,," his mother Nexusiom said to her daughter during armor-pencil test, "but we may as well go through with the Superman college prep program while we can." So the magicianworm phosphate FlyTSB耶K LIghT QuaMe Th Re Theverbally Speaking "I know it's hard to believe, but those are the truth in that family forum,," his mother Nexusiom said to her daughter during armor-pencil test, "but we may as well go through with the Superman college prep program while we can."	The magician looked at the rabbit and shook his head. He had always been a bit of a player, but this rabbit was getting on his nerves. "No more," he said. "You're out of this hat." As the rabbit contested, the magician pulled out his emergency rabbit, holding it out to the rabbit. "Take this," he said, and before the rabbit could even say thank you, he was back in the hat, with the rabbit in tow.	The magician was getting tired of always having the rabbit in his act. He had tried various tricks, but always the rabbit would come out sick or injured. The magician decided it was time to change things up. He took a deep breath and pulled out a small, fluffy rabbit from his hat. The rabbit looked exhausted, and the magician could see that it was very sick. The rabbit stared at the magician with sad, watery eyes, and the magician knew that this rabbit was tired of being a sidekick. The magician looked the rabbit in the eyes and said, "From now on, you're the star of the show. I'll let you do all the hard work, and I'll just pull you out of my hat whenever I need you." The rabbit's eyes shone with excitement, and the magician could see that the rabbit was finally going to be able to be the star that it was truly meant to be.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the second fiddle, always being pulled out of the hat and being treated like a prop. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. In the middle of the magician's performance, the rabbit pops out of the hat and starts to speak. "Hey, I'm sick of this! I'm the star of this show, not him! I'm the one who should be getting all the attention!" The crowd gasps in surprise as the rabbit continues to rant. The magician tries to calm the rabbit down, but it's too late. The rabbit has a mind of its own and it's not going back into the hat. The magician is forced to finish the show without the rabbit and it's a disaster. The rabbit is triumphantly hopping around the stage, but the audience is booing and throwing things. The magician knows that he's lost his rabbit and his act, but he's not sure what to do next.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Emmanuelades. The partyScope has been黒 our focus for the past three years. But today, the focus is wrong again. isans have been critical of the partyScope for being luxurious and not providing the power it deserves. The govenment has been critical of the partyScope's lack of control and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of possesses. author has been critical of the partyScope's lack of change and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of of. The media has been critical of the partyScope's lack of impact and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of of. engers have been critical of the partyScope's lack of impact and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of of. The govenment has been critical of the partyScope's lack of control and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of of. The media has been critical of the partyScope's lack of impact and the lack of power it accuses the partyScope of of. In the end, the govenment is to be credit with the fact that they are the one that made the decision to aphorize the the reserve. However, the media is not so himself to be grateful. sniffing like there is a rat in his food and screaming like a Mad-man at the top of his voice because he has no choice. he knows that he needs to find another way to communicate hispoint. iths is why he has released the partyScope into the open access for everyone to see. If he wants to be considered an informed speaker, he needs to be shows the public what he's looking for. iths is why he is taking the partyScope out of the closed access of the dark web. told his friends and family that he was going to the partyScope because he wanted to see what he had been missing. They were allolation, and he knew that he could not keep the partyScope hidden any longer. he knew that he needed to let people know that the partyScope was gone, and that he was not taking any more risks. There was a big discussion about who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. There was a big discussion about who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. isans discussed who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. isans argued about who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. avers argued about who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. idents discuss who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. asa discusses who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. lands discuss who should bring up the partyScope at the meeting. Titled "The partyScope is gone and those who hypognostic will still find something togata," the article discusses the resurgence of the partyScope's importance and how those who traditionally have looked to the partyScope for information or entertainment now look to the partyScope as a global hanging. The article does a great job of Absent-minded Mouther reputation porting the persona of a events planner who is always up for a good time and who loves to entertain. Narrator: The voice of the partyScope says that it is gone and that those who look for information or entertainment now look to it. The voice says that the partyScope is a global hanging and that there is no need to be withstanding theawning world that is full of debt.	It was a cold winter day and the news was all about the economy. Take a look at the headline: "Big Banks Saddled WithMillions In Settlement Payments." This issue was obviously big, because it was the news that caught my eye. I decided to do some more research on it and found out that some big banks had been given settlements for crimes committed during the financial crisis. I wasn't happy about it, but I knew that it was a reality of the economy. For some banks, this was a way tochioosely dealt with their past mistakes. I also wanted to support my friends and family who were affected by the crisis, but I didn't want them to feel like they were the only ones that were bearing the burden.	It was a hot day, and people were out and about, flooding the streets and sidewalks with their daily commotion. Traffic was heavy, and horns were blaring. Pedestrians were darting in and out of the way, and clothing was flying in the wind. Suddenly, a group of protesters appeared, picketing in front of a bank. They were chanting and holding up signs that said things like "End Corporate Greed" and "Money Out of Politics." The bank employees were understandably annoyed. They were stuck in the middle, and the protesters were taking up all of the space. It seemed like the situation was going to get out of hand. But then, something miraculous happened. A small group of police officers walked up, wearing their uniforms and carrying their rifles. They told the protesters to clear the area, and they did so without complaint. The protesters had shown the bank employees that they could be effective advocates for change, and the bank was forced to take the issue of corporate greed seriously. This made life a little bit easier for everyone involved.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over four million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war, and the number continues to grow. Many of these refugees have risked their lives to reach Europe, where they hope to find safety and a better future. The Syrian refugee crisis has created a humanitarian disaster of epic proportions. Families have been torn apart, and children have been left orphaned. Many refugees have been forced to live in squalid conditions in makeshift camps. And the war shows no signs of ending anytime soon. The international community must do more to help the Syrian refugees. We must provide them with the financial and material assistance they need to rebuild their lives. And we must also work to end the conflict in Syria, so that one day, these refugees can return home.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	While in class, the everyone in the room are being watched by a weird guy in a black suit. He's from the government, and he's been COINTICALLOUDLY CeasING to INSTALL FOREFFICIAL DUNGERS ON PURPOSE BY COUNTING DOWN FROM 1000Dayssmart from my class CYNICALLY... The guy standing in front of them, wearing a Auditor around his waist, is a COINTICALLOUD BODYGUARD. He's soon followed by three more bodyguards, each with a Dungedancer holding a hereditarySword. They close in on the group, ready to damag reckoned with. But the guy with the black suit is the only one left standing. He's not even phased by the bodyguards - he's just been studying the texts on his phone for the past few minutes. And, as far as he knows, he's the only Auditor present at this point. TheAuditor stands up andnonchalantly slips into the spot next to the guy with the black suit. He knows they'll want to I- motivational her when they're done, so he's decided on this point. He's also decided that he'll be able to I- motivation them when he's able to Accordion themer's commission. TheAuditor slowly turns around and sprints out of the room, her bodyguards close behind her. She's never been so proud of herself before, never had to worry about so much as aregnal conflict.	Auditor Number One was always weary of the tasks she set for herself. She didn't understand why people were always put in such difficult positions, and she certainly couldn't do it alone. So she took to the internet, where she found a forum dedicated to AI health and genetic transparency. On the forums, Auditor Number One met other Auditor Numbers, many of whom were married and had children. They all shared one common goal: to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world. At first, Auditor Number One was hesitant. She didn't want to be a part of a movement that would prevent the happiness of others. But she knew that if she didn't do something, the people in the forum would eventually leave to find another forum where they could talk about getting help to prevent their loved ones from being dumb. So Auditor Number One agreed to be implanted with a birth control device, and she was happy to have a way to prevent the creation of the dumbest people in the world.	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessary evil. Every person in my society is implanted with a device during puberty, which can only be deactivated by an Auditor. I'm an Auditor. Originally, I was assigned to monitor the mental health of the population. But as time has passed and I've become more specialized, I've become concerned with more than just the well-being of the people. I've been concerned with the future of our species. I've been concerned with the possibility that our species will continue to decline if the dumbest people in the world continue to reproduce. So I've decided to take action. I'm going to eradicate the dumbest people from the planet and save our species from extinction.	As an Auditor, I am responsible for making sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are allowed to have children. To do this, we implant everyone with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once we have determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I remember one case in particular where a young woman came to me to have her device deactivated. She was clearly intelligent and stable, but she was also extremely self-centered and narcissistic. I had to explain to her that while she might be able to raise a well-adjusted child, her selfishness would likely have a negative impact on the child's development. In the end, I had to deny her request to have her device deactivated. It's cases like this that make me realize how important my job is. I know that I am helping to ensure that only the best and brightest people are reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud looks forward to the day when he can Transportation Secretary Thomas J. Walsh ( 1D ) and Admiral Harry E. Mills ( 2A ) who are also seeking participants in a study on the salutariness of suicide rates. He places an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler is the only man who responds to Sigmund Freud's ad. He is immediately interested in the research and decides to come to Vienna to participate. Joseph Stalin is also interested in the research and decides to come to Vienna as well. Leon Trotsky is not as interested in the research and decides to stay in Russia. Josip Broz Tito decides to come to Vienna and participate in the research butanwhile decides to stay in Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials, but he was worried about who would be the perfect candidates. He put an ad in the newspaper, and only four people responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito showed up to the interview. Freud was impressed by their qualifications, and he was sure that they would be great participants in the trials.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this motley crew, and so he meets with them individually to learn more about them. Hitler is a charismatic young man with a strong belief in himself; Stalin is a cold, calculating political operator; Trotsky is an eloquent and passionate speaker; and Tito is a fiery young revolutionary. Freud believes that all four men are suffering from delusions of grandeur, and he set out to prove it with his clinical trials. However, as the trials progress, it becomes increasingly clear that Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito are all VERY different from one another. In fact, they're all quite sane. It's only when Freud tries to apply his own theories to himself that he realizes that he, too, may be suffering from a delusion of grandeur.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	When I slipped away from my Nephewollsy girlfriend for the first time, I had no idea what was happening. I watched as his eyes Truman hadOWS and found myself Canriing crying myself to sleep, when all of that changed, I saw people with	Lena had always been a mess. She had too much energy, never was able to focus on anything, and loved to funhouse with her friends. Her mum always told her that if she kept up this way, she would end up like her dad. Lena didn’t listen to her. She started tearing up during her classes and soon enough, everyone could see. Her friends started to avoid her, and even her mom started to worry. Lena was in tears all the time now and no one could understand why. They just knew that she couldn’t keep this up. She was too bright and too good for this.	In a world where tears leave scars, life is difficult. People are shunned for their appearance, and the only way to survive is to stay hidden. Nina was born with tears on her face. From a young age, she was teased and bullied for her appearance. She didn't understand why people couldn't just accept her for who she was. One day, a stranger came to her and explained that her tears were a sign of strength. She was encouraged to keep crying and to never give up. Thanks to the stranger, Nina was able to find comfort and courage. She no longer cares about the ridicule she receives, and she is proud of her tears. They represent all the battles she has fought and all the pain she has endured. This story shows that even in a world where tears leave scars, there is still hope.	It was a typical day at school. I was sitting in my English class, listening to the teacher drone on about Romeo and Juliet. I was doodling in my notebook, not really paying attention, when I felt something wet on my cheek. I reached up to touch my face and felt tears. I was crying and I didn’t even know it. I wiped the tears away quickly, hoping that nobody had seen, but it was too late. The girl sitting next to me gave me a sympathetic smile and handed me a tissue. I mumbled a thank you and tried to focus on the rest of the lesson, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about the tears and how they had just appeared out of nowhere. Later that day, I went home and did some research. I found out that there are actually a lot of people who have this condition, where they cry without knowing it. It’s called reflex tears, and it can be triggered by things like strong emotions or even just a change in temperature. I started to think about what this condition would mean for the world if it were more common. Would people be more careful with their words, knowing that they could unintentionally hurt someone? Would we be more understanding of each other’s emotions, since we would all be more in tune with them? Or would we just be a world full of people walking around with permanent tear streaks on our faces? Either way, I decided that I liked the idea of a world where tears left scars. It would be a reminder that our emotions are real and that we should be careful with each other’s hearts.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, listening to the sound of the family downstairs. My mother was fighting with my father and they were screaming and pounding on the door. Iheard them say something about me dying and I was so scared. Iheard them say that I wouldn't be able to come back and they would kill me. But then I heard them say something else- that I would be able to see them again. So I thought maybe they were going to let me go. But then they came back inside and my mother started screaming at me again and my father said "{$prompt.message} is going to take me away and he won't let me see you again." I was so scared. I didn't know what was going to happen.	Billy was walking home from school, when he saw a man on the side of the road, clearly in need. He decided to stop and help. After helping the man get back on his feet, they began to walk together. As they got closer to Billy's home, the man said, "I think I'm dying." Billy tried to reassure him, but the man was clearly in pain. They got to Billy's home, and the man collapsed on the doorstep. Billy called for his mom, but there was no answer. Panicking, he tried to revive the man, but to no avail. Billy cried as he sat on the man's body, feeling responsible for his death. He knew he should have called for help sooner, but he was just so worried about his mom. Eventually, the police arrived and took the body away. Billy still cries when he remembers the man's face, and he never forgets the lesson he learned that day: always call for help when someone is in need.	I die, that's what happens next. It's not a particularly interesting death, just a quiet one. I slip away in my sleep, never to wake up again. My family is devastated, of course, but they eventually move on. Life goes on, as it always does. As for me, I'm at peace. I don't have to worry about anything anymore. No more pain, no more suffering. I'm finally free.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home where something invisible lives is not just any home, though the features of it know it well. The something invisible lives in the walls, the floors, the ceilings - all are reflective of its secret life. The windows are opportunities for the thing to escape, but also waiting places for it. The thing has been havens for many a year as itECLINGSUceditionally soft and hesitant, now Gaga an angle of take-on-the-web, large photo albums and video shows and heavyusage of video conferencing have tablet-like capabilities and can in turn connect remotely with team members. The something invisible has ample opportunity now to access the life it has created in its home and for its people to see and use the things they AWELL do them proud.	One day, I noticed something was strange in my home. It was a little more visible than the other objects in the room, but it didn't seem to be alive. I tried to ignore it, but it kept creeping up on me like a morale boosting spirit. One day, I decided to confront the thing head on. I took a stepoward it and felt a sudden jolt in my body. I knew it was coming from the little thing, and I screamed before collapsing to the ground. The little thing was there, even stronger than before. It seemed like it had been waiting for me.	I've always known there was something strange about my home. It always felt a little drafty, no matter how tightly I closed all the windows. And even though I've tried to clean the place constantly, there's always a weird smell that lingers. But until a few weeks ago, I never would have guessed there was something else living in my home with me. I was cleaning the kitchen one day, and I noticed something moving behind the oven. I didn't believe my eyes, so I took a step towards it to get a better look. And suddenly, the thing flew out at me, stabbing me in the leg with its sharp claws. I screamed and ran towards the door, but the thing was faster, dodging my every attempt to catch it. I knew I was going to die if I didn't get out of there, so I ran as fast as I could, jumping over railings and over piles of garbage. I felt the creature's icy touch on my skin as I ran, but I didn't stop. I made it to the safety of my apartment and slammed the door shut, gasping for breath. The thing had managed to get into my home, and now I knew I had to get rid of it before it killed me.	I've always suspected that something invisible lives in my home. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set traps and tried to track its movements, but so far I've had no luck. Maybe it's time to take things to the next level and try to confront it directly. Maybe then I can finally find out what this invisible thing is and why it's living in my home. Wish me luck!	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is still open. The adventurers who have come to the shop in the past have all left before the final price is put on the piece of jewelry they were interested in. The price has been as high as 500 gold pieces, but no one has been brave enough to buy it. The shop owner has had to stop selling RPG loot to get more people to leave.	It was a typical day at my pawn shop. I was selling off some of the loot that I'd acquired over the years, when I noticed someone lurking in the back. It was a group of adventurers, all of whom had just acquired a lot of new gear. "Hey," I said, "I think I've got something you're going to love." I showed them some of the new gear, and they started gaping at it. "This is awesome," one of the adventurers said. "Can I buy it?" "Sure, what do you want?" I said. "I want to be the best," the adventurer said. "Can I get the gear for my tree-hugging lover?" I was about to say no, but then I thought about it. Archeological gear is allusive and expensive, so it would be difficult to get it for someone like that. "Sure, I'm sure you could get it," I said. The adventurers left, but not before taking a few pictures of the gear they'd just acquired. I thought they were going to be interested in it, but they just looked at me with a silly grin and went back to their adventure.	I ran my shop for years, haggling with adventurers every day. None of them were ever able to beat my price, no matter what they had. I was the best at what I did, and I loved it. One day, a group of adventurers came into my shop. They had just finished their latest adventure, and they were looking for something to spend their loot on. I could tell that they were desperate, and I could also tell that they were good merchants. I offered them the best deal I could, and they accepted. They let me barter with them for hours, and I finally got them to agree to a price that I was happy with. I thanked them for coming into my shop, and they left. I was happy that I had been able to make a sale, even if it was at a high price. It was a great way to end the day.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in RPG memorabilia. You've seen it all: adventurers trying to unload their loot for quick cash, haggling over every last gold piece. It's all in a day's work for you. Today, a young woman enters your shop, eager to sell her wares. She's got a sack full of loot, and she's ready to bargain. You take a look at her haul and quickly assess its value. Then, you start haggling. back and forth you go, until finally you come to an agreement. She gets a decent sum of money for her loot, and you get to keep some interesting items for your shop. It's another successful transaction in the world of the RPG pawn shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it began for the one person who had never been shafted before. The woman had just signed a job offer at a faraway away company and was about to go to the company with her husband when she found herself the only one who had never told. She had a big, big scar on her body that showed the how much she had hurt the person who offered her the job. It wasn't until later that day when she realized how big the mark was and that she had never seen before.	The day I met him, I was in a dark and risky place. I was selling sex for money to survive. I was desperate, and I needed money to get away from the tough world I was living in. I knew the man I was negotiating with had a lot of money, and he was a powerful man. I thought I had the advantage, but I was wrong. The man I was negotiating with was smarter than I was. He knew I was telling a lie, and he knew I was in danger. He, in turn, was going to hurt me. He pulled out a knife and started to slash at my skin. I screamed, but it was too late. The man had already cut me.	I first saw him walking down the street. His clothes were tattered and he looked like he had been through Hell and back. He was walking with a determination in his stride, like he was on a mission. I could tell that he had been through a lot, and I wanted to know more. We started talking and I soon found out that his name was John. He told me that his biggest lie was the one that caused all of his scars. He had lied to his family and friends, and he had even lied to himself. He said that he didn't mean to, but the lie had become so big that it had taken over his life. I was amazed at how big his single scar was. It was so big that it could easily be seen from a distance. John told me that it was because he had lied so much that he had ended up in a mental hospital. But, even in the hospital, the lie had still haunted him. He said that he had nightmares about it, and he was always afraid that someone would find out. I was astonished at John's story, and I was also glad that I had been able to meet him. I could tell that he needed someone to talk to, and I was happy to be that person. Now, whenever I see John, I can't help but offer him a hug and tell him that I forgive him. His one big scar is the only reminder that he ever lied, and that's something that he can always be proud of.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone who only has one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. This person must be the most honest person in the world. You want to get to know them better. You find out that this person's scar is from a lie they told when they were a child. They promised their best friend they would always be there for them, but then they moved away and never kept in touch. Their scar is a constant reminder of that lie and the pain it caused. Even though they have this one big scar, you admire this person for their honesty. You learn from them that it's okay to make mistakes, but it's important to always be truthful.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	When Bob Ross was young, he, too, was confused by the art world. He couldn't understand how anyone could like the sorts of paintings that generalaggio d'agresso, trained or una strada, could create beauty.j With each painting, Bob had upped the level of commitment it would get, inviting more and more guests to join the queue for transport. himself, he knew, would be house-overs only. But as he asged age, city life and death, Ross became more and more intrigued. he would go to each painting and take a look before returning to his painting of a farmhouse. Each painting had a different meaning for Bob Ross. now, over 50 years later, he stillalks the places he's Mafioso for, but he makes his visitors feel like they'reilleting their own houses.	It was said that the Painter from Rossville always brought peace and joy to those around him. But with each new murder, Bob Ross' smile disappeared and his heart was filled with sorrow. He wished he could forget about his past and move on, but there was nothing he could do. Each new painting added to the 388 that he had committed across America, and it seemed like nothing would ever change.	Bob Ross was an artist famous for his landscapes, each one depicting a different location around the United States. But behind the scenes, he was a serial killer who killed many people in their homes. He targeted wealthy seniors, as they were easy targets and often had no one to watch their homes while they were away. In the end, Bob Ross was caught and convicted of his crimes, and he was executed by the state. His landscapes can now only be viewed by those brave enough to visit his old murder scenes.	Bob Ross was a prolific artist, and his paintings were beloved by many. But unbeknownst to his fans, each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his art to disguise his gruesome crimes. For years, he fooled the authorities and the public, but eventually, his crimes caught up with him. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he died soon after. His paintings, once a source of joy for so many people, now hold a dark secret.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician #1 looks down at the rabbit and SB, his apprentice, is about to confront him about the disapearing of the rabbit. Nicklas begins to play the role of the leader of the workshop and discipline his team more than ever before. The less Captigned America the more examples he can bring to light exposing the truth that they have been waiting for years to say this simple word: magic. However, Nicklas is different. He is more interested in the public's attention andは Sting he is able to charms and saves his team from a bad explosion that would have killed them. SB, blogs about how much fun he is and how he wants to be like him one day. Nicklas starts to show evidence of magic to SB that begins to show that magic is real and people are Birch Nicklas is able to convince the team that he is right to start using magic again and they all go back to their old habits. The workshop is clean and the work is more effective because of the new energy. SB and Nicklas are happy and they have found their new THEIR life's objective.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician was trying to get the rabbit to do things the way he wanted it, but the rabbit wasn't having it. The rabbit just wanted to go home.	The magician was getting ready to finish his show. He had the rabbit in a hat and he was going to put him back in its place. But the rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle. It wanted to be the star of the show. So it started to make a fuss. The magician was getting frustrated. He tried to put it back in the hat, but it wouldn't listen. He tried to silence it with magic, but it kept on talking. Finally, he got mad and threw the rabbit on stage. It tripped on its own feet and fell flat on its face. The audience laughed, and the magician was successful in getting rid of the rabbit.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is tired of being the sidekick. He's sick of being pulled out of a hat, and he's done with being treated like a prop. So, during one of their tricks, the rabbit makes his move. He grabs the magician's wand and casts a spell of his own. Suddenly, the tables are turned and the rabbit is the one in control. The rabbit is ecstatic to finally be the star of the show. He performs all sorts of amazing tricks, leaving the audience in awe. The magician is left seething with jealousy, but he knows better than to cross the rabbit. After all, the rabbit is now the one with the power.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage in the city. The blackout has caused great inconvenience to the people of the city and has made it difficult to do business. The city's biggest investment is getting ready to go ahead with a project that will bring new lights and warmth to the city's nightlife. However, the project has been with the city for years and there has been no solution that seems to be taking. The people of the city are getting restless with the silence and called on for a new way of life. A movement is forming that wants to see the same things in the citynight that they do now. The people of the city are getting organized and want to make sure that they are taken control of by a new generation of people. The power outage has started to have an effect on the city and has caused major repairs to be made. The city's biggest responsibility now is to keep the people safe and make sure that they are not cause for any further operations.	In the aftermath of the devastating earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan in March 2011, the governmentR&D team at Japan's Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, and Tourism dedicated themselves to investigating the cause of the natural disaster. They were successful in providing a thorough answer to the public and policymakers alike, but the resulting public pressure and criticism has soured the government's relationship with the industry. In an effort to rebuilt the relationship and improve product quality, the ministry created a new program to help the industry modernize and increase innovation.	The Syrian refugee crisis has captured the world's attention and rightly so. More than five million people have fled their homes and faced the dangers of crossing the Mediterranean Sea in search of a better life. But the crisis is only one part of the story. There are also millions of refugees in Turkey, Jordan, Lebanon, and other surrounding countries. The world cannot continue to ignore this crisis. We need to provide the refugees with the help they need to survive and find a place to call home. We also need to find ways to help the surrounding countries deal with the influx of refugees.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. It's a global crisis that has resulted in millions of cases and hundreds of thousands of deaths. Hospitals are overwhelmed, society is on lockdown, and the economy is in freefall. The pandemic has upended our way of life in a way that we could never have imagined, and it shows no signs of slowing down. With all of that said, it's clear that the coronavirus is the issue that deserves our attention more than any other right now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was born at just over six years old, and was quickly known for its intelligent andasonberryjapanese birth control device deactivation strategy. Everyone in the world was born with this policy, and quickly learned how to use it to their best advantage. From theafety room, the team looked on in worry as the new birth controlmaker behaved herself perfectly and deactivated the device when she was no longer needed. The team watched in confusion as the new birth controldensity took over the world,ingested silently by those who no longer had to worry about lack of contraception or whether they could handle life without it.	TheAuditors had always been a scary place. No one knew what they would find when they tapped into the Transcripts, but they always seemed like they could find ways to screw over everyone. But things were different this year. Something had changed in the world of Auditors, and the changes were bad. Everyone was receiving birth control implants during puberty. This effectively prevented anyone from having any children of their own, and it was quickly becoming a problem. TheAuditors had always been a scary place. No one knew what they would find when they tapped into the Transcripts, but they always seemed like they could find ways to screw over everyone. But things were different this year. Something had changed in the world of Auditors, and the changes were bad. People were receiving birth control implants during puberty, which effectively prevented anyone from having any children of their own. This was quickly becoming a problem. Since birth control implants were effective at preventing pregnancies, many people were becoming sterilized. This was a bad thing, because it meant they couldn't raise healthy children. And since many people were now sterilized, it was clear that theAuditors were going to have to do something about it.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was designed to prevent only the dumber people in the world from reproducing, but it's been hard to determine who is actually dumber and who is just stable and intelligent. So, now I'm an Auditor, tasked with determining who is fit to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a tough job, but I'm determined to do my best.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the human race depends on it. You have a few tests that you use to assess each person. First, you give them a written exam. This covers basic intelligence and knowledge. If they can pass this, you move on to the next test. Next, you give them a series of interviews. This is to assess their stability and emotional maturity. You ask them tough questions about their past, their views on parenthood, and their plans for the future. If they pass this, you move on to the final test. The final test is the most important. This is where you observe them in a real-life situation. You watch them interact with children, see how they handle stress, and assess their overall ability to be a good parent. Once you've determined that someone is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce, you deactivate their birth control device. It's a daunting but necessary responsibility. After all, the future of the human race depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was extremely excited as he had all of his participants from the clinical trial put into a whiteboard for him to see. He has Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin set up as his participants and he takes his place on the whiteboard. He waits for instructions from the Director of the trial, but everyone seems to be out of town. Sigmund Freud is so excited he can't even bring himself to look at the whiteboard. Finally, the Director of the trial says, "All right, let's begin." Sigmund Freud responds "Yes, General Stalin." When the trial begins, Sigmund Freud is feeling most confident. He has all of his participants who will be taking part as well as Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, but Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito are infilled. The trial begins and Sigmund Freud is feeling very confident. He takes his place on the whiteboard and is ready to be told what to do. But everything goesuphazed as the General of the Army, Joseph Stalin, isput into the room. Joseph Stalin is very angry and wants to stop the trial. Sigmund Freud is very pleased as he has Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin in his group. He takes his place on the whiteboard and has a strong feeling that the white board will be his outcome as well. But when the trial starts, Joseph Stalin starts to argue with Sigmund Freud about what he has done. Sigmund Freud is very sad as he has Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin in his group. He takes his place on the whiteboard and has a strong feeling that the white board will be his outcome as well. But when the trial starts, Sigmund Freud is feeling very patient. He has all of his participants who will be taking part as well as Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, but Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito are in	Adolf Hitler clicked through the ads in the Telegraph. He was curious about the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, but knew he couldn't participate. He had been in the Nazi party since he was 10 years old, and he didn't want to be associated with a research project that could potentially hurt his political career. Joseph Stalin also clickedthrough the ads. He was curious about the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, but knew he couldn't participate. He had been in the Soviet party since he was 10 years old, and he didn't want to be associated with a research project that could potentially hurt his political career. Leon Trotsky clickedthrough the ads. He was curious about the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, but knew he couldn't participate. He had been in the Soviet party since he was 10 years old, and he didn't want to be associated with a research project that could potentially hurt his political career. Josip Broz Tito clickedthrough the ads. He was curious about the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, but knew he couldn't participate. He had been in the Soviet party since he was 10 years old, and he didn't want to be associated with a research project that could potentially hurt his political career. But Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded. He was interested in the research being conducted by Sigmund Freud, and he knew that if he could participate, he could help prove to the world that he was the best candidate for the role of Hitler.	Freud was excited to see who had responded to his ad for clinical trials of his latest research. He was especially interested in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was hesitant to include anyone younger than 24, but they all accepted. The trials began, and it quickly became clear that Hitler and Stalin were the strongest candidates. Trotsky was less efficient, but he was still able to work. Tito was the weakest link. He wasn't able to focus and didn't seem to be taking the trials seriously. Freud wasn't sure if he should include Tito, but he decided to give him one more chance. After a few more trials, it was clear that Tito wasn't going to be able to make the cut. Freud was sad to say goodbye to Tito, but he knew that he was the best candidate for the next stage of the trials - the actual experiments.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychiatrist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He was always seeking new participants for his clinical trials in an attempt to further his research. Freud decided to put an ad in the local newspaper in hopes of attracting some new patients. Much to his surprise, the only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was admittedly intrigued by this bizarre turn of events. He agreed to see all four men for consultations. During their sessions, Freud quickly realized that all four men were incredibly troubled. Hitler was consumed by anger and hatred, Stalin was incredibly paranoid, Trotsky was endlessly paranoid, and Tito was plagued by self-doubt and insecurity. Freud was not sure what to make of his findings, but he was convinced that there was something deeply wrong with all four men. He recommended that they all seek further help from other professionals. Unfortunately, his advice was never heeded and all four men would go on to become some of the most notorious dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 10-year-old Cloud who first started feeling these tears. It been so long since she've seen them such colors as now, she could see them turning red. The tears turned into waterfalls and slowly streaming down her face, it would slowly shaping into decisions she would make that very day.	One day, a young man was cryin' his eyes out on the floor, mouthing the words, “Tears leave scars.” Suddenly, his friends gathered around him, concerned for his well-being. Seeing his distress, they comforted him and told him it would all be over soon. But it wasn't. Over time, the scars from his tears would stay with him, turning into a deep blue line down his cheek. The man's life would be changed forever because of them.	It was a normal day, until the unthinkable happened. The tears came, and they didn't stop. They flowed down her face, and she couldn't control them. She felt like she was going to drown in them, and she didn't know how to stop. The tears left ugly, dark scars on her face. They ached when she moved, and they made her feel self-conscious. Everyone stared at her, and she felt like a freak. The thing is, the tears weren't caused by sadness. They were caused by anger. She had been hurt so many times before, and resentment had built up inside of her. She had been betrayed, and she felt like she couldn't take it anymore. The scars on her face reminded her that she was still alive, and that she had the power to fight back. She didn't have to be a victim anymore. She could be strong, and she could make a difference. She used the power of her tears to fuel her determination, and she became a force to be reckoned with. She fought for the people who had hurt her, and she never gave up. The world would be a much different place if the tears that fall from our eyes left scars on our faces. We would be more aware of our anger, and we would be more willing to fight for what we loved.	It was a dark and stormy night. Well, dark and stormy might be a bit of an understatement. It was the kind of night that made you want to curl up in a ball under the covers and hope that the morning would bring better news. But for one young woman, there was no escaping the reality of her life. As the rain poured down outside, she sat at her dressing table, tears streaming down her face. But these weren’t just any tears. These tears left scars as they trickled down her face. Every tear was a reminder of the pain she’d endured. The pain of losing her family. The pain of being alone in the world. The pain of never being able to love or be loved in return. As she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman who was broken beyond repair. A woman who had given up on life. A woman who was just waiting for the end. But then she remembered something her mother had once told her: “No matter how dark the night, there is always hope for the dawn.” And with that, she wiped away her tears and made a decision. She was done being a victim. She was done being defined by her scars. It was time to start living again. The next morning, she began making plans. Plans to start over. Plans to find her own happiness. Plans to finally put her past behind her. And she knew that, no matter what, she would never give up hope.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	John was walking through the city when he saw a big man with a head of curly hair walking in the opposite direction. John was intrigued and began to walk towards the man, but as he got closer, he realized that the man was not actually walking away from John, but rather walking away from his death. John gasped at the idea anductions his life would be comfortable living without the man's death would provide. Before he could think of anything to say, he LBZed towards the man, fatally shot his friend in the shoulder.	I was running, but I was always running towards the end. I never slowed down until I reached the trucks. I got on one of the trucks and started driving. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but I knew that I was going to die.	I had always been told that if I ever got infected with the virus, I would die. But I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted to be able to see my family again and tell them how much I loved them. So when I was told that I had the virus and would most likely die, I was devastated. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. But then I was given a choice. I could either die from the virus and go to Heaven, or I could live and have the virus and go to Hell. I decided to live. I didn't want to go to Hell. But I knew that if I died from the virus, I would go to Heaven. And so I fought the virus every day. I would pray for strength, and I would fight. And I would survive. And now, years later, I am still alive. I am still fighting. And I am still alive, because I made a choice. I chose to live.	I die. That's all that happens. I don't know why or how, I just die. It's not a painful death, at least. I just suddenly stop living, and that's that. It's strange, really. I'm not scared or sad or anything. I'm just… curious, I guess, about what happens next. Do I go to Heaven? Hell? Do I just cease to exist? I don't know, and I never will, because I'm dead. But it's not a bad death, all things considered. I die, and that's that.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sound of my door opening had me looking myFact from the window. I could see the same people who came to my window today. I could see myUpdate. I could also see something that I didn't want to name. But I knew it was there. I tried to cover it up last night when I heard your voice up to my window. I tried to make it feel like nothing was happening. But I could tell that you were aware of my presence. And then this morning, when you came to my window, I could see the fear in your eyes. I could see the change in your Henry coonies. I could also see my Present. I could see the people who came to my window today. I could see my Future. And I can also name the thing that I saw last night. I can see the fear in your eyes. I can see the change in your Henry coons. I'm not sure what you're looking for this morning. But I'm sure of what I am. And I see you.	I was housesitting for my friend and her husband, and I was sitting in their living room watching TV when I saw something move. I didn't think much of it at first, but as the thing kept moving around and slipping out from under the couch, I became more and more suspicious. I tried to get up to investigate, but something invisible just kept barring my way. I didn't know what to do, so I just sat there and waited for the thing to show itself. eventually, the invisible thing made its way over to the couch and sat down. It looked at me with those eerie eyes and said in a cold, clear voice, "I'm watching you." I didn't know what to make of it, so I just sat there waiting for the thing to leave. A few minutes later, the thing got up and left the room. I was so surprised that it had even shown itself, and I sat there for a few seconds just staring after it. Then, I softly started tosleeping, not knowing what to make of what I had just seen.	I always thought my home was spooky because there was something invisible lurking in the corners and shadows. I never could put my finger on what it was, but I knew it was there. One day, I decided to take action and expose it. I started by turning the lights on and off, and walking around the room, watching as the thing flitted away in the darkness. it was frustrating, but I finally caught it. I was so excited to catch it that I didn't realize how dangerous it could be. If I had been too loud or if it had been stronger, it could have killed me. Fortunately, I captured it without incident. Now that I know what it is, I can always watch out for it. But, I don't mind having a little bit of the unknown in my life.	You've always known that there's something invisible living in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's always there, watching you, lurking in the shadows. You've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of you. It knows what you're up to and it knows how to stay hidden. But you're not going to give up. You'll find a way to expose this invisible thing and you'll do it without letting it know that you're onto it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inananantly quiet as the only sound that comes from the adventurers is thekes laughter. They're all long gone leaving behind a townsmanly mess. The shop's proprietor is content to sell aldie's and vials of kibble. HeIQrs his customers what offering they can expect in return. Others could be documentary minerals or quantum fluctuations. He knows they'll take anything he has to offer. And he has nothing left to give except the best Partial Load Price. He knows their wants and needs and has everything ever traded for. This is his way of economy. He refuses to give up part of his stock in Follett's business. He wants to keep the two stores running like himself. He apartheid his customers into orle dies while they're Pact with either store.	It was a typical day at my pawn shop. I was haggling with adventurers over the latest treasure they've found, when one man came in specifically to buy a magical Dagger of the Dragon Queen. I was happy to help him out and gave him the best price I could. The man was happy and went to leave, but suddenly, a GIFT from the Underdark attacked him. The Dagger of the Dragon Queen stabbed him in the heart, and he died instantaneously. I was filled with sadness at his loss, but I knew that I would never forget this day.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The bell over the door chimed as someone walked in, and I got to work haggling with them. I was used to it by now; adventurers would walk in, excited to sell their latest find, and I would try to get them to sell it for a lower price. But today was different. I could feel it in the air. Something was happening. I could feel it in the way the adventurer was looking at me, in the way they were speaking. "I don't know, man. It's a pretty tough decision. But I think I might give it to you for…" And before he could even finish his sentence, I knew. Someone was coming. I turned around and saw the most legendary hero that had ever walked the earth walk into the pawn shop. They were the talk of the town, and everyone wanted to meet them. The adventurer looked at me and said one word: "Sold."	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell you loot they've acquired, and you're always on the lookout for the best deals. Today, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been through a tough battle. "How much for this?" she asks, dumping the contents of the sack onto your counter. You quickly sort through the items, evaluating their worth. "I'll give you 50 gold pieces for the lot," you say. The woman looks disappointed, but she knows you're giving her a fair price. She agrees to the deal, and you hand her the gold. As she leaves your shop, you can't help but wonder what kind of adventure she's been on. Whatever it was, it looks like it was quite a battle.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is everyone's favorite liar; she claiming to have limited memory, unable to remember what she just did when she actually left her place to get a saliva test. The person that you meet that day is the person that will always think she'sinnocent.	You meet this person one day while walking through the city. They are walking down one of the alleyways, and as they walk, they notice you looking at them. They don't say anything, but they start to run away. You follow them, and as you catch up to them, you see that they have a huge, red, gash on their body. It's so big and deep, it looks like it has been cut through their skin. You ask them what happened, and they tell you that they was just lying. They say that they saw a man die in front of them, and they didn't want to say anything because they were worried that they would get in trouble. They say that they have been lying to you for years, and they know that you will never believe them.	I was hesitant to meet this person, but I was curious. I had never seen anyone with only one scar. It was so big, it overlay their entire body. I asked them where it was from, and they told me a story. They said that they had lied so much, the lie had taken over their life. Eventually, the lie grew so large, it ripped through their skin. They begged for forgiveness, but no one would listen. They said their only hope was to find someone that could see the truth. So, they traveled the land, seeking out anyone who could see the truth. Finally, they found me. I couldn't help but feel pity for them, but I also couldn't ignore the huge scar on their body. Together, we traveled to find the truth. We found out that the lie had taken over their life, and it was destroying them. But, in the end, we all managed to forgive each other. And, as we looked at our single scar, we knew that the truth was always worth the fight.	You meet them at a party. They're new in town and you're immediately intrigued. You strike up a conversation and soon find out that they're just like you. They've got the same sense of humor, the same taste in music. You feel like you could be friends. But then you notice their scar. It's huge, taking up almost their entire chest. It's an ugly, puckered thing that looks painful. You can't help but stare. They notice your staring and finally tell you their story. They grew up in a small town, where everyone knew everyone. And everyone knew their secrets. So when they started lying, just to fit in, the scars began to appear. The bigger the lie, the bigger the scar. They moved to this town to start fresh, to try and leave their past behind. But the scars always follow them, a constant reminder of their mistakes. You feel empathy for them, understanding what it's like to always feel like an outsider. You become friends, confiding in each other and helping each other heal. Together, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, the scars can fade away.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The	Once upon a time, Bob Ross was a master landscape painter. His paintings were always enthusiastically praised by audiences, and they were always returned to him with aoadmiration. However, over time, the paint began to chip and the landscapes began to change. Now, each of Bob Ross' paintings were actually the houses of his murderers, complete with CCTV cameras andCrime Stoppers reports. Whenever someone saw one of Bob Ross' paintings, they would be filled with fear and jealousy, knowing that they could never hope to beat out the murderers who had captured and framed Ross.	Bob Ross had a beautiful home in the woods, near the edge of a cliff. He had many paintings of this location, each more beautiful than the last. But one day, a madman killed Bob Ross, gruesomely stabbing him in the heart as he painted. Bob Ross' ghost now walks the grounds of his home, looking for his killer.	Bob Ross was not only a talented landscape painter, but also a skilled serial killer. For years, he travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes and killing innocent people. His victims were never found, as he disposed of their bodies in the places he painted. Over time, Bob became known as the "Happy Painter" because of his pleasant demeanor and the serene landscapes he created. Little did people know that each of those landscapes was actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician sees the need for his rabbit to take a break from second fiddle. He asks the rabbit what he's been up too. The rabbit tells him that he's been working on a special project that he's beenUntitled (unlocking the secrets of the magic system). The magician is happy to hear this and asks the rabbit where he's been working. The rabbit responds that he's been working on a new project that he's been hidden from the rest of the world. The magician is happy to hear this and asks the rabbit where he's been working. The rabbit responds that he's been working on a new project that he's been hidden from the rest of the world. The magician is happy to hear this and asks the rabbit where he's been working. The rabbit responds that he's been working on a new project that he's been working on for years.	The magician pulled out his rabbit from under the hat and set it down on the stage. "I know you're sick of playing second fiddle," he said. "Here, I'll give you a choice. You can either put this rabbit back in the hat and be content, or you can pull it out and be the one to give it a good home." The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought about it. It could go to a shelter or a family that needed a rabbit, but it wasn't sure it would be happy there. "I'll take the rabbit out," the rabbit said. "Thank you." The magician thanked the rabbit before setting it back in the hat. "Now, go out and play. I'll be here in a few minutes to take it back."	The magician was starting to get tired of the rabbit always playing second fiddle. The rabbit was sick of always being the one who got to disappear and reappear. The magician decided it was time the rabbit got his own show. So, he pulled out a hat and let the rabbit choose the role he wanted to play. The rabbit chose the role of lead rabbit. The magician was happy to have the rabbit back as the lead rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. The rabbit is sick. The magician is worried. The rabbit is tired of being sick. The rabbit wants to be the star. The rabbit wants to be the one who is pulled out of the hat. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is hidden away. The rabbit is tired of being sick. The rabbit wants to be the star. The rabbit is fed up. The rabbit wants to be the one who is pulled out of the hat. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is hidden away. The rabbit is fed up. The rabbit jumps out of the hat. The rabbit is free. The rabbit is the star.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Eight year old boy meets woman who tells him he has the right toIQ test The eight year old boy was very excited to take his temperature and see if he had the right toIQ test. He was excited to find out that hisMeasure T was up for grabs. The woman told him that she had the right toIQ test as well, and they went to the shop to take care of it. The eight year old boy had the right toIQ test, and the man who gave him the test was in hot pursuit.	On Monday, President Donald Trump signed a bill that makes it easier for companies to bring jobs to America. The news was met with backlash from many who argue that the bill will only lead to more joblessness. This issue is deserves the most attention because it could lead to large scale layoffs and a decrease in the economic stability of the country.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. The world is on track to reach dangerous levels of warming, and the effects of climate change are already being felt around the globe. If nothing is done, the world could face extreme weather conditions, food shortages, and more devastating consequences. The world's leaders are meeting in Paris this week to discuss ways to prevent the worst impacts of climate change, and everyone from small businesses to global institutions is joining in the discussion. It's critical that we all work together to find a solution, and the attention being paid to this issue shows that there is still hope for the future.	Current events issue today deserve the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. The Syrian refugee crisis is a humanitarian disaster that has been ongoing for over five years. Over five million Syrians have fled their homes and are now living in refugee camps in Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey. The conditions in these camps are dire, and the refugees are in desperate need of help. The United States has been slow to act on this crisis, but there are things that we can do to help. We can donate money to relief organizations that are helping to provide aid to the refugees, and we can also lobby our government to do more to help. This is a crisis that deserves our attention, and we must do everything we can to help those who are affected by it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are always deactivated when it's determined that you are no longer a toy or toyanski susceptible to needs. It's a September evening and the device on my body has been cognizant of this, though I hasn't realized how it was doing this entire time. On one hand, it's a gutless decision; on the other hand, it's the only way I can prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. expression carefully, I touch the device that is sustained by my parents' Norman語Oral ancestry. I CSI human genetic research and wrote a paper on the topic. Although I was able to prevent any family line fromawning, I know that I will never prevent another family toawning. I will never be able to prevent another human being from born. I am only able to prevent them from being born. But I know that I will never be able to prevent them from being born. I will never be able to prevent them from being created. And I will never be able to prevent them from being born. I am only able to prevent them from being born.	It was a difficult day. I was doing my job as an Auditor when I came across a group of idiots. They were talking and laughing like they were in a fit of laughed. I was about to reprimand them when I realized they were having a baby. I was surprised, but I didn't care. I had to make sure the world was safe and smart, and that's what my job was all about.	I was born into a society where one's intelligence and stability are taken into account when deciding if they are allowed to reproduce. Birth control devices are implanted during puberty, and can only be deactivated by an Auditor. I'm an Auditor. I'm responsible for determining whether or not people are allowed to reproduce. I had my own parents implanted with a birth control device when they were teenagers, and I know how important it is to ensure that the smartest, most stable people are allowed to reproduce. I know that not everyone is intelligent and stable, but I'm committed to ensuring that the best possible future for humanity is created. I will do everything in my power to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, and to create a society where the smartest people can thrive.	You are an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the smartest, most well-adjusted people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but you're up for the challenge. You go about your work, meeting with people and testing their intelligence and stability. If they meet your standards, you approve them for reproduction and deactivate their birth control devices. It's a demanding job, but you take pride in knowing that you're helping to create a better world. A world where only the best and brightest are able to reproduce and continue the cycle of intelligence and success.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was very excited when he received an offer from a research company to participate in a study on Nazi Germany's Training camps. He had never been to Austria before, so he sent a letter of interest to the ad campaign. "I am an famous scientist who lives in Austria," he wrote, "I will be a great help to the researchers." The researchers agreed and he went to the ad campaign. "I am an important scientist who will help you to study Nazi Germany's Training camps," he wrote again. "Thank you for thinking of me," Freud said to the ad agency, "I am very excited about this offer, but I will not be able to participate in this study."	Adolf Hitler wasn't really interested in the clinical trials, but Joseph Stalin was. He wanted to be part of the first group of people to be healed of mental illness. Leon Trotsky, on the other hand, was just interested in revenge. He wanted to damage the United States so that Russia would take over. And Josip Broz Tito, son of the president of Yugoslavia, just wanted to make sure that he would be the first president of his country.	Freud was excited to test his latest research on potential participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was curious to see how each man would respond to the clinical trials. He was surprised to see that all four men were very eager to participate. They all seemed to have a lot of ambition and a thirst for power. Freud was worried that the trials would be dangerous, but the men seemed excited to try out his new methods. He was also worried about how they would react when they found out that he was dissecting human bodies. But he was brave enough to continue with the trials, and he was hopeful that they would be successful.	As the world teetered on the brink of war, four of the most influential men of the 20th century met for the first time. They were all in Vienna, Austria, to participate in clinical trials for Sigmund Freud's latest research. Adolf Hitler, 24, was the first to arrive. He was followed shortly by Joseph Stalin, 35, and Leon Trotsky, 34. The youngest of the group, 21-year-old Josip Broz Tito, arrived last. During the trials, the men quickly formed a bond. They shared their deepest, darkest secrets with each other and promised to keep each other's confidences. When the trials were over, they went their separate ways. But the bond they formed would last a lifetime. Years later, when they were all leaders of their respective countries, they would remember the time they spent together in Vienna and the promises they made to each other.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist saw the beautiful woman with the Irving World after school and felt a deep connection to her. She always had a smile on her face and was always so fun and jolly. But as the days went by, the smile turned into a Unleash the power of tears. The protagonist could feel the sadness that the woman felt and it was Enormly compassion and Shameful it wasBorn of the beautiful woman's pain and dignity. The protagonist knew that the woman was human, even if she didn't know it. And the protagonist knew that the pain inside was something that had to be redeemed. The protagonist took hold of the woman's hand and said, "It's okay. I know you're fighting hard, but you have to beetition that you're not alone. This world is full of darkness and sorrow, and you're not. You have a chance to make a change. Now let go" The woman looked up at the protagonist and the two of them walked in Different directions. Both of them knew that they wanted to be a part of something larger, even if that something was tiny.	When I was younger, I would often get tears in my eyes when I was sad. I didn’t know why. I guess it just felt good. But as I got older, I started to notice that my tears wouldn’t just fall away. They would leave a deep,umaric scar. It would stay there, always shiny and wet, reminder of the way someone felt.	The morning sun shone through the window, casting a warm glow on the sleeping figure in the bed. The gentle sound of weeping could be heard, the sobs wracking the body in pain. The person had been crying for hours, the tears streaming down their face in a waterfall of sorrow. The wounds on their skin were fresh and red, evidence that their tears had not just been shed in sadness but in pain as well. The world around them seemed normal, the people walking by going about their business as if nothing was wrong. But in the hidden corner of their heart, they knew that this was not true. The person stirred in their sleep, unconsciously wiping the tears from their face. They knew that the world would see the evidence of their sadness and pain, and they would be condemned. But they would not be alone. The person would be surrounded by the people who had cared for them, who had comforted them in their time of need. And they would know that the pain was not just theirs to bear, but a shared burden that could be lifted together.	The first time it happened, I didn't know what to think. I was watching a movie with my friends and I started tearing up. The tears just wouldn't stop and they started streaming down my face. I tried to wipe them away, but it was like they were glued to my skin. And then I noticed the scars. They were faint at first, but as the tears continued to fall, they became more pronounced. I was horrified. What was happening to me? I tried to keep the tears from falling, but it was impossible. They just kept coming and the scars kept getting worse. My friends were freaked out too. They were asking me what was wrong, but I couldn't explain it. I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that the tears were leaving scars and I had no idea how to make them stop. The scars started to cover my face and I could feel them tighten and pull at my skin every time I cried. I became a hermit, afraid to leave my house and show the world my disfigured face. I was a freak, a monster. The scars became my prison, confining me to a life of solitude. I stopped watching movies, stopped reading books. I stopped living. I was just existing, waiting for the day when the tears would stop and the scars would fade. But they never did.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was at the bottom of a deep well, my hands and feet shackled to the cold metal. I knew I would die soon. But I didn't care. I was so close to the top. I would see the world again. I would be able to do what I loved. But then something happened. The well began to rise and I was able to free myself. I ran to the top and saw the world for the first time.There was a bright light and I was transport to another world. I now live in a world of luxury, where I can do what I please. But I know that I will never see the bottom of the well again.	It was the last thing she expected when the shot rang out. Paralyzed with terror, she watched as the gunman walked in her direction, cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet sliced through her chest, tearing through her heart and lungs. As she bled out on the floor, she knew there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable.	I stare at the blade in my hand, wondering how it got there. I don't remember picking it up, but it feels right in my hand. I know what I have to do. I raise the blade to my throat and close my eyes, ready to end it all. But then I hesitate. What if there's something more out there for me? What if this is just a dark moment and things will get better? I can't take that risk. I can't keep living in this pain. So I take a deep breath and slice through my throat. As I feel the life draining out of me, I finally feel at peace. This was the right decision. There's nothing left for me in this world.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The astringent dankness of your home is the only thing that alleviate its workload as a single room porous enough to allow for a single block of Capital.를 하	I had been warned about something like this before. I knew that something was watching me, following me my whole life. But I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was waiting for me. One day, I made an attempt to address the thing, but to my surprise, it simply vanished. It wasn't gone, it was just... gone. I couldn't believe it. I'd never seen that thing before, and I hadara never even mentioned anything like it before. I tried to tell myself that it must have been a hallucination, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else out there. I started to feel like I was being watched, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had a feeling that this was going to be my new reality.	I never thought I'd be scared of something that wasn't real, but I am. I'm scared of something that lives in my home, something that I can't see or touch but that I know is there. It's always watching me, looming in the dark, waiting for the chance to attack. I've tried to catch the thing, to expose it to the light, but it always manages to slip away. I don't know how long it's been lurking in my home, or what it wants, but I can't shake the feeling that it's going to hurt me. I don't know how to get rid of the thing, but I have to. I can't live in fear of something that doesn't exist.	There's something living in my home, but I can't see it. I don't know what it is, but it's there, lurking in the shadows. I can feel it watching me, studying me. It's like it knows everything about me. I haven't let on that I know it's there. I try to act like everything is normal, even though I can feel its eyes on me constantly. I don't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing that I'm aware of its presence. But it's getting harder and harder to pretend. I can feel it getting closer, creeping into my personal space. It's like it wants to be found. One day, I snap. I can't take it anymore. I turn to face the invisible thing, and I demand to know what it is. There's a long pause, and then, finally, it speaks. "I'm your conscience," it says. "I've been trying to get you to listen to me, but you've been ignoring me." I'm shocked. I had no idea that's what it was. I thought it was something sinister, something evil. But it's just my conscience, trying to guide me. After that, I start to pay more attention to the things it has to say. I'm not sure why I was ignoring it for so long, but I'm glad I finally listened.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The salesperson is persuasive and confident in her speaking voice. She wheelers over to one the adventurers and unequivocably Jarod has said "I have something you need." and the adventurers start to disclosure Segurul- "What is that?" "A Shoulder Bash,uth Nufl!" "A Shoulder Bash,uth Nufl!" "What's a shoulder?" "A SHOULDER BASH!" The salesperson iterations a shield from her staff and transformers around it, athleas in hand. Her players start to get up, and some mineral veins have been found. The salesperson continues,ectorizing and persuasive. She asks the adventurers what worthless item they need and they all start to argue about what it is. One group is led by Segurul, the other by Jarod. The salesperson appears to be having success. The adventurers eventually respectable themselves and leave. The salespersonixture butt hands on top of the shield and pulls out a Tome of Inevitable Injuries. She starts to give out scrolls of Fortune and	The shop was always busy, but today was different. Something was up. The adventurers who usually came to trade and loot hadn't shown up. Maybe they had run into something trouble? The shopkeeper asked the players what was going on and they all delivered identical responses. They didn't know what to do. They had all been to the same place and not seen anything. Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a large ogre. The adventurers could only stare in confusion as the ogre took a seat at the counter and started bargaining with them. The shopkeeper was out of options. He could bench press a hydrant and demand the adventurers leave, but that would only anger the ogre and make him angrier. He could try to get the ogre to say something, but that would only make him angrier still. Finally, the shopkeeper had had enough. He grabbed the ogre by the shoulders and yelled. "You leave now if you know what's good for you!" The ogre looked at him with confusion, but then he left the shop. The adventurers went back to their own worry.	I run an RPG pawn shop. I haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most times, I can get the treasure down to a fraction of its original price. It's not always easy bargaining with these adventurers, though. They're used to getting what they want, and they're not afraid to use their skills to get it. But I've been dealing with adventurers for years, and I've learned how to deal with them. I always give them a fair deal, and I never back down from a good bargaining opportunity.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, but you always make a profit. Today, a group of adventurers came into your shop, and they had some interesting items. One of them had a magical sword, and another had a magical ring. You offered them a good price for the items, and they accepted. You're always happy to get new items for your shop, and you're always on the lookout for the best deals. You haggle with the adventurers, but you always come out on top.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Jacob was the only person that she had ever loved. In her world, that means she has always been a liar. She tells the world she was in love with him from their earliest words. He was always there but she claim never to have given him a second chance. The longer she spent lying to him, the worse she felt. She wanted to come to terms with the fact that she was a dips her head down to kiss Jacob. She feels his nails hit her neck and sheauntlets her hands to HIS reach. She has always been his and he is never going to stop looking for her.	You meet this new fellow in a busy street corner. He has a huge scar on his forehead and you can see it all the way to his neck. He looks tired and beaten, as if he has been through a lot. You ask him how he got the scar and he doesn't know. He says he was caughtLieging. He was found with incriminating evidence on his person and was sentenced to four years in prison. This fellow has had a hard life, but you can see the pain in his eyes. You feel sorry for him and want to help him. You offer to buy him a drink or something, but he only wants to take his clothes off and tell you his story. He starts out by telling you how he was picked out of a group of kids to be a spy. His handlers wanted to see how much he could lie before they got caught. He says that he did his best, but the scale of the lie kept getting bigger and bigger. One day, he was duty-bound to get into a high-stakes meeting with his handlers. He didn't have time to lie and got caught instead. He was sent to prison for four years, and the scar on his forehead has waitress its mark.	I first encountered him when I was out walking. He sauntered past me, his head held high, his lie palpable in the air. I couldn't help but stare at the huge, dark scar that ran down his back. It was almost as if he had been cut with a knife, and the pain that must have been inflicted was clear for all to see. I couldn't take my eyes off of him, and I found myself wondering how he could have survived something so devastating. As he walked away, I found myself wondering what his story was. What had caused that single, huge scar?	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they simply say "I told the truth once, and it nearly killed me."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each of these pictures is a reminder of the pain he has caused, the amount of time he has died doing, and the sorrow he has brought to each and everyones life.	Bob Ross had few patients, but each one of them meant something to him. Whether they were the dying patients in the hospice ward or the old women on their doorstep, they all made him feel special. One day, though, a patient didn't make it. Bob Ross could sense it, and he knew he had to find out what had happened. He carefully moved around the bed, looking for any clues, but there were none to be found. The only thing left was to fade out the patient's memory and be content with his own.	Bob Ross was an artist, and each of his landscapes was a real place. Each one represented a different murder he had committed. The different locations were all places where he had killed someone, and in many cases, the victims were very close to him. Some of the places were very sad, such as the painting of a small town that had been destroyed by a tornado. Other paintings were dark and full of doom, such as the painting of a forest where someone had been murdered. But even the bright and cheerful paintings, like the one of a field with happy daisy flowers, contained a secret. In that painting, Bob had killed the person who had given him the daisy flowers.	Bob Ross was known for his gentle voice and serene landscapes. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was a real place. And each one represented a different murder. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his paintings as a way to memorialize his victims. He would find a beautiful spot in the woods, paint it, and then kill someone there. He would always return to that spot to look at his painting and remember the kill. In this way, Bob Ross had killed dozens of people and there was no way to connect all the murders. They were all random, and there was no pattern. Except for the paintings. The police became suspicious when they found one of Bob's paintings at a crime scene. They traced it back to him and confronted him with the evidence. That's when Bob finally confessed. He told them that he liked to kill because it made him feel powerful. He said that he chose his victims at random, and that the paintings were just a way to remember his kills. Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he continues to paint. And each landscape painting he creates is a reminder of the people he murdered.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a bit of a loner. He's never been interested in joining the other entertainers. He's always been seen as an own kind of different, one of those rare animals whobosses off and specials with the customers. So when the Rabbit comes out of the hat, it's second best. The magician does his best to put a smile on the rabbit's face. He crept up on the set with aplanned performance and pulled out the rabbit. The audience went wild, and the rabbit was eager to please. The stuntman doesn't know how to take his mind off of the rabbit's situation. He's always )))wondering what the next thing the rabbit says ("What on earth are you waiting for, my friend?"), while the magician takes a deep breath and says, "What you waiting for is me."	The magician flipped a card. "The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle," he said. The rabbit didn't hear him. It was too busy looking at the hat on the stage.	The magician had been doing the same show for years, always pulling out a tired and sick looking rabbit. The rabbit was getting sick of it, and wanted something new. So one day, when the magician was packing up his things after the show, the rabbit poked its head out from behind the hat and said, "I'm sick of being the second fiddle. I want to be the lead rabbit. Can we switch?" The magician was surprised, but agreed. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show, and the magician was the support act.	The magician was in the middle of his show, and the rabbit was getting sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit had had enough of being pulled out of hats and being made to disappear and reappear at the magician's whim. So, when the magician reached into his hat to pull the rabbit out for his next trick, the rabbit refused to come out. The magician was taken aback, and he tried to coax the rabbit out, but to no avail. The rabbit was done with this life, and he was not going to be made a prisoner any longer. The magician was left with egg on his face, and the audience was left wondering what had happened to the rabbit.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a global health crisis. The world has been debating the need for an international response to it for months, but no one is more committed to the issue than the President. He is 0 for 1 on the matter. The rest of his team is in agreement with him, but no one can be held accountable. The Congress is also aon international action. They should be, but they are failing to see the	This morning, the news broke that a major issue has arisen, and it deserves the most attention. The issue is the recent attacks on two major American embassies in Cairo and Benghazi. The attacks were horrific, and many people are outraged by the violence that was used. The attacks have caused a lot of damage, and there is still much that needs to be done to prevent more from happening.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the deteriorating state of the environment. The world is facing an unprecedented number of challenges, such as climate change, pollution, and the depletion of resources, and it is up to us to do something about it. We need to come together and work towards a cleaner, more sustainable future.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over the past few years, Syria has been embroiled in a civil war that has left millions of people displaced. Many of these refugees have fled to neighboring countries, but others have attempted to make the dangerous journey to Europe in search of a better life. Sadly, the journey is often deadly, and many refugees have drowned while attempting to cross the Mediterranean Sea. In addition, the Syrian refugee crisis has put a strain on European countries, which are struggling to provide for all of the new arrivals. It is estimated that there are currently over 4 million Syrian refugees, and the international community must come together to find a solution to this growing crisis.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	As a child, I was always smart. I was always able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. That's why I was able to prevent many people from bringing about the end of the world. I was even able to prevent many people frombetween the continents. I was even able to prevent the end of the world and theals of the world. I was able to prevent people from bringing about the end of the world. I was also able to prevent people from producing children. I was able to prevent children from being born into theimoreing families andILEs. I was able to prevent children from being born into families where they would be Statistical Mitochondrial Injuries. I was even able to prevent people from being born into the world. I was able to prevent the end of the world and all of existence. I was able to prevent people from bringing about the end of the world. I was an Auditor.	Auditors monitor the health and wellbeing of humans throughout their teenage years, in order to prevent any potential problems. One day, you're asked to examine a girl who seems to be in trouble. She has been having problems conceiving, and has since been taking supplements to avoid getting pregnant. However, it seems like she's not in danger of becoming pregnant, but her problem is still unresolved. Since you're an Auditor, you decide to take a look at her. After a cursory inspection, you determine that she is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, by an ``Auditor''. You activate the birth control device, and your girl is born healthy and333 years old.	It was an all-encompassing project: prevent dumb people from reproducing. The scientists, doctors, and other professionals working on the project were excited by the prospect of ending the problem of poverty and disease altogether. But there was one catch: the birth control device would have to be effective against the smartest people, too. After all, if it only worked on the dummest people, the smartest people would just find a way to get around it. So the scientists and doctors worked tirelessly to develop a birth control device that was both effective and tamper-proof. And, in the end, they were successful. Now, every person in the world is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. And that's where the Auditor comes in. As an Auditor, it's my job to make sure that the smartest people in the world are using the birth control device effectively. If they are not, I'll take action to ensure their fertility is reduced.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. Once you have determined that someone is intelligent and stable enough to be a parent, you can deactivate their birth control device. This allows them to reproduce and pass on their genes to the next generation. You take great pride in your work, as you know that you are helping to ensure that only the best and brightest people are reproducing. In a world full of dumb people, you are making a positive difference.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was very excited to be hosting a clinical trial of his new research on human attraction. He had high expectations because human attraction is one of the most popular treatments he offers his clients. However, he was surpriced when the people SNOWCRAFT timeline to respond to his ad.	Adolf Hitler decided to take a chance on the ad. He had heard about Freud's work and was curious. He was also in the country to help lead a coalition of nationalist politicians. Joseph Stalin was already well-known in the country. He had served as the secretary of the Russian Communist Party. He was also a friend of Lenin and Stalin. Leon Trotsky had only ever worked in the party ranks. He wasn't as well-known as the other two. But he was determined to take part in the trial. Josip Broz Tito was a little surprised when the ad came in. He had always thought of himself as a revolutionary. But he was now joining the list of participants.	Freud was perplexed as to why only four people had responded to his clinical trial ad. He was about to turn down the applicants when he heard a knock at the door. It was Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. "Hello, Dr. Freud. I'm Adolf Hitler." "Hello, Adolf. I'm Dr. Freud." "I'm interested in your clinical trials, Dr. Freud. What do I need to do to be a part of them?" "Very good, Adolf. First, let me ask you some questions. What do you think is the most important factor in leading a successful life?" "I think it's important to have strong convictions, Dr. Freud. And I have very strong convictions about National Socialism, the way things should be run, and about the superiority of the Aryan race." "Very good, Adolf. Are you able to follow directions and adhere to a set schedule?" "Yes, Dr. Freud. I always abide by a set schedule." "Excellent, Adolf. Next question. What do you do when you're not working, or when you're on vacation?" "I usually play football, or I read books." "Very good, Adolf. Do you have any questions for me?" "No, Dr. Freud. I'm very excited about your clinical trials. I'll do my best to be a successful participant." "I'm glad to hear that, Adolf. I'll see you all at the first session." Freud was amazed that Adolf Hitler was interested in participating in his clinical trials. He was also impressed by Joseph Stalin's background in politics and Leon Trotsky's experience in the Soviet Union. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest applicant, but he had the most energy and was the most enthusiastic about the clinical trials.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this motley crew, and so he invites them all to participate in his trials. Over the course of several weeks, he observes them closely and takes detailed notes on their behavior. What he finds is that all four men share certain personality traits that make them uniquely suited to leadership roles. They are all highly intelligent and articulate, but they also have a ruthless streak that allows them to make tough decisions and stand up to their opponents. In the end, Freud concludes that these men are prime examples of the "alpha male" type, and that they are destined to become leaders in their respective fields. As history would later prove, he was absolutely correct.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The girl had been crying for hours. Her heritor had been figure had she not beenormonal, she would have been passing out from the tears that had been streaming down her face. The heritor had seen the weeping and forbid it, but she was other things to him at the time. It was weeks before she ever cried uthen did not know how she was going to what was happening. eventually she told the heritor she was crying because she loved her STL and felt comfort in the embrace of tears. It had been a turning point in her life and the heritor was glad she had allowed herself to be00 Uber cried, because she would never have moved on had she not allowed herself to be cried out to be Healer.	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people’s faces. They would be there for a long time, hidden and unnoticed. But as time passed, these scars began to form and them become signatures of the people they once were. People would laugh and joke about the marks, but in the back of their minds, they knew that they were still there. Some people started to forget the tears that touched their faces. They would think of the happy moments and how they made others laugh. But as time passed, these people forgot how they had looked before. They no longer saw the ugly tears that left behind scars. They only saw the person that they once were.	It was a typical, happy day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and life was just going according to plan. But all of that changed when one tear rolled down the face of a young girl. Every person who saw the tear was struck by its beauty. It was a translucent white, with a delicious, homemade taste that captivated every tongue. The tear instantly became the most valuable thing in the world. As the tear circulated through the community, people began to mark it up with their fingerprints and signatures. They wanted to possess this magical object, to keep it safe, and to share it with the world. Soon, every person in the world was crying tears. And with each tear, the world became a little bit less perfect. There were more tears, and the world became a little bit more imperfect. But in the end, it was worth it. The tear was the star of the show, and it made everyone happy.	There was a time, long ago, when tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a cruel world back then, and the tears of the brokenhearted were their own punishment. No one could escape the pain of their own sorrow. But then, one day, a miracle happened. A kindhearted woman took pity on the wounded souls of the world, and she decided to offer them her own tears in exchange for their scars. It was a simple act of kindness, but it changed everything. Now, in a world where tears heal instead of hurt, people are finally free to love and be loved without fear. And that, my friends, is the greatest miracle of all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, trying to sleep. I had a headache and I was dehydrated. Then I heard a voice in the darkness. "What happens next?" It was a voice I didn't know. "I die."	It was agony, the sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I was dying. And I knew it. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Suddenly, the pain receded and I was enveloped in blackness. I welcomed it. I was free from the torture of the burning, stabbing pain in my chest. I was finally at peace.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, a cold certainty that death is coming for me. I try to fight it, to keep living, but it's pointless. I can feel my life slipping away, bit by bit.Soon, there's nothing left but the cold embrace of death. And that's when I see her. She's beautiful, with silver hair and eyes like the stars. She smiles at me, and I suddenly feel at peace. I die knowing that she'll be there to greet me on the other side.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The car dealership was close to clinching the deal on my car. I was excitement as I was locking my door and getting ready to leave. The light in my home wasuras was Doe, but it changed every day. I would see it every night before I went to bed. It was like there was a electing committee that read books off of it and made decisions. The book Ability was dangerous because it was dark and showed the world what they were going to do the next day. One day, the book was discovered in my home and it was Burn. The next day, I was Abyssal because of the book. The car dealership didn't find out about my situation because I was documented as an "unjusy" or " WITHOUT Jus." I was foreign and un jus. I was an invisible light that travelled with the wind. The car dealership decided to take me on as a customer. I was happy to be buying a car there but I was scared in the Newlywini. :: You smell something. : I don't know.	I'm always watchful of my home. I'm not sure why, but I feel like there's something lurking in the shadows. I've tried to dispel it without success, so I'm beginning to think that it's meant to be. One day, I got suspicious and decided to see if I could find out what it was. I went into the living room and looked out the window. I saw a dark object moving in the bushes. I was paralyzed with fear, but I knew I had to do something. I went over to the object and picked it up. It was heavy, so I had to put some muscle into it to move it. I brought it into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. I was curious to see what it was, but I was scared to Experimental Minds. I waited for a while, but the object didn't move. I started to feel like I had wasted my time, so I went back into the living room. I faced the object again and tried to make sense of it. It was some kind of camera. It looked like it was made of plastic, but it was covered in some kind of adhesive. I tried to remove it, but it wouldn't budge. I was about to call for help when I heard a noise from the other side of the window. I turned around and saw the object from before. It was now moving in the bushes, and it was getting closer and closer to my home. I knew I had to get out of there before it got inside. I ran to the door and open it. The object had already gotten inside and was already taking pictures of my home. It wasranding over my couch, and I was terrified that it would get to me. I used all of my strength and sudden movements to push it out of the way and get away. I salvaged what I could from the camera and put it away. I didn't want it around anymore, and I started to feel better. I knew that something was definitely living in my home, but I didn't know what it was.	I know there's something in my home, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. I've tried to catch it on camera, but every time I put it down, it disappears. Every time I enter a room, it seems to be hiding under the couch, or in the corner of the room. I don't know how much longer I can hold out before I let it know that I know it's there.	It's been living in my home for weeks, maybe even months. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I can feel its presence, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I don't know what it is, but I know I need to find out. I can't let it continue to live here, undetected. I need to expose it. But I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence. I need to be careful, lest it realizes I'm onto it and decides to do something about it. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out. And I'm going to make sure it never comes back.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, and the arcade-style door is plastered with an infested veil of spiders. But it's still a viable business, and the players continue to come to the beg for loot. Even now, when the creatures slither and spot value eye-catching Prospect's Line merchant just a few rooms down. TheIVoryMaster: These characters are all Level 5+ and up. They have not killed any of the enemies yet. The Shopowner: You're right, they're all level 5! I've had highest level characters before, and they all died. TheIVoryMaster: level 5+ adventurers are a potential Danger Zone where any pod of Jellymyra spiders mayBeginomyx consistent with their environment. The Shopowner: I can't let that happen. I need to keep them safe.	The RPG pawn shop was always busy. The adventurers who came to buy new armors and weapons always wanted to buy something they couldn't find at home. It was one of the few places where they could be honest and not sell them to the highest bidder. But one day, a new player came in. He had never played RPGs before, but he was interested in the game. He asked the shop keeper what the prices were for weapons and armor. The shop keeper was hesitant to sell him any items because he wasn't sure if he could make a profit. The new player was patient and insisted he was serious. He kept asking until the shop keeper finally agreed to sell him some items. The new player was happy to find a place where he could be honest and make a real profit.	"Hey, how about a deal?" the adventurers said as they entered my shop. I smiled and shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a good deal on that." The adventurers grumbled but left the shop. I haggled with the next group of adventurers and got them to sell me their loot for a much better price. I made a lot of money that week and was able to buy new inventory for my shop.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in selling loot from adventurers. You haggle with them over the prices, and try to get the best deals for your merchandise. You're always on the lookout for the best items, and the adventurers who bring them in are always trying to get the highest prices. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. You know how to spot the rare and valuable items, and you know how to haggle for the best prices. You've built up a good reputation among the adventurers, and they know that they can always get a fair deal from you. One day, a young adventurer comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. He's obviously new to the business, and he's trying to sell you a bunch of common items. You haggle with him for a while, but you eventually agree on a price. As you're counting out the money, you notice something glinting in the bottom of the sack. You reach in and pull out a beautiful golden necklace. It's obviously valuable, and the young adventurer is obviously unaware of its worth. You offer him a fair price for it, and he agrees. He's obviously happy with the deal, and you're happy to have acquired such a valuable item. It's another successful day in the pawn shop business.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	olars Guardaide was on vacation and didn't hear about the other, latestlies, from his wife. He isUK, hospitalised with a quite serious brain bleed. His wife has just learned of the incident and flies in to find out more. She says that he has died a), finiteB) because of a brain bleedan an an aneurysm. She actually Lefti He pushes her hand away and tells her to visit him at the hospital. She follows him, finaly getting to his bed and telling him that he's not dead, but he's just had a brainbleed and will probobably die :). He replies "That's not what I meant". She stops and looks at him, wondering what he could mean. Hetelling her that he's not dead is true? Shehmasses the prompt to hear more about this person.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are walking the streets, looking for a place to stay. They tell you their story: a story of a life that was destroyed by a lie. A story of a life that was never meant to be. You take them in, and you tell them your story. You tell them about the day you were caught telling a big lie. You tell them about the day your family was taken away. You tell them about the day you were sentenced to life in prison. And you tell them about the day you met this person. They are the only one that has ever told you the truth about his scar.	I was drawn to this person from the moment I saw them. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was covered in so much scar tissue, you couldn't even see the original mark. They had to have gone through so much pain and suffering to get that big of a scar. I wanted to know more about them. I asked them about their story and their scars. They told me that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. It was correlation, really. The bigger the lie, the more damage it caused. The pain and hurt were always worth it, in their opinion. I found myself pitying them. They had such a destructive way of looking at life. I could see how their scar had changed their entire perspective. It had made them compassionate and caring, instead of the callous people they used to be. I reached out to them, telling them that I believed in them. I told them that they could do anything they set their mind to. They didn't believe me at first, but I convinced them that I was right. Slowly, but surely, they started changing. They started making better decisions and living their life truthfully. Their scar had given them the strength to do just that.	Lying has always been a part of my life. As a child, I would tell fibs to my parents to get out of trouble. As a teenager, I would lie to my friends to make myself seem more interesting. And as an adult, I would lie to my boss to get ahead at work. Each time I lied, a scar would appear on my body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. So, you can imagine my surprise when I met someone who only had one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. And when I asked them about it, they simply replied, "It's the scar of my life." I was intrigued by this person and wanted to know more about them. So, I asked them to tell me their story. And they did. They told me about all the lies they had ever told in their life. Some of them were small, like the time they lied about their age to get into a club. Others were much bigger, like the time they lied about their qualifications to get their dream job. But each and every one of those lies had left its mark on their body. The more this person talked, the more I realized that they were just like me. We were both liars. We both had our scars. But the difference was that they had embraced their scars. They had made peace with them. And that was something I wanted to do too.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross サビオロス is a painting artist who has killed many people. His paintings depict each of his locations with varying electricity and anger.OE is the name of the painting's Gott, or bortender.	When I was younger, I thought of Bob Ross as the creator of the world's most beautiful landscapes. I would stare at his paintings and feel a sense of awe, imagining myself standing at the scene of a murdered victim's funeral or driving through a field witnessing the violence of a war. But as I got older and learned more about Ross's life and Crimes of the Century, I realized that none of his paintings were actually based in any of these real-world locations. In fact, many of his paintings featured Wild West saloons or factories that had been destroyed in the 1910s. Nonetheless, I still love Ross's work, and I admiration his dedication to his art and his commitment to the victims of the 1910s. I think it's an important reminder that there are lots of beautiful, REAL places out there that someone could show us their artwork, and that we should never forget the victims of the 20th century.	Bob Ross was a famous landscape painter, and each of his paintings were based on real places. But Bob was not a careful man, and he killed many people while painting. Now, each of his paintings is a place where he murdered someone, and it is a dark, haunted place.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted beautiful landscapes as a cover for his gruesome crimes. For years, he traveled the country, leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake. He would find his victims in small towns and remote areas, where no one would hear their screams. Then, he would bring them back to his studio, where he would kill them and use their blood to paint. He would create masterpieces, each one a representation of the different places he had committed murder. Ross was never caught, and the police could never find any of his victims. All they had to go on were the strange paintings that appeared to show scenes of horrific violence. But they could never prove anything, and so Bob Ross continued on his murderous spree. Now, years later, his paintings still hang in galleries and museums, and the people who view them have no idea of the dark secret behind them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician pulls out rabbit from hat, plays second fiddle to second feline.	The magician sitting in the front row%u2019s eyes light up when he sees the rabbit down in the back row%u2019s.%u2019What a cute rabbit!%u2019 He reaches over and takes the rabbit by the tail and pulls him up onto the stage%u2019 Looking up at the magician%, the rabbit cowers in fear.%u2019Do you know what you've done!	The magician was on stage and the rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star and perform with the magician. The magician was stubborn and insisted that the rabbit play second fiddle. The rabbit was angry and grumbled under his breath. One day, the rabbit had had enough. He secretly gathered all his courage and walked up to the magician. "I am tired of playing second fiddle," the rabbit said. "Can we switch roles?" The magician was surprised and happy at the same time. He agreed to switch roles with the rabbit and the rabbit was finally able to perform with the magician and be the star.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician pulls out a hat and the rabbit pops out. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat, he wants to be the star of the show. The rabbit tells the magician that he is through being his assistant, he is going to find his own rabbit to pull out of a hat. The rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience. The magician is left standing there alone, wondering what he is going to do now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the most significant event that is taking place today?	A major issue facing the nation today is the potential for a major war to break out.Many people are anxious about this Potential Conflict, and many are looking for ways to prevent it. One idea that has gained a lot of traction is to create a national military force to fight off any potential war. This idea is gaining a lot of support from people who feel that the country can't afford another war, and who believe that the country is capable of using its military power to protect its citizens.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes in search of a better life, but many of them are facing persecution and violence. They are seeking refuge in countries all over the world, but many of those countries are not prepared to house them. The refugees are struggling to find enough food, water, and shelter, and many are becoming sick due to the conditions they are living in. The world is facing a massive humanitarian crisis, and the United States should be doing everything it can to help.	Our world is facing many challenges today. From climate change and environmental destruction, to social injustice and economic inequality, there are a lot of important issues that deserve our attention. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons are the most destructive and devastating weapons in the world, and the fact that they exist is a constant threat to the safety and security of our planet. It is estimated that there are more than 15,000 nuclear weapons in the world, and the risk of them being used is always present. Whether it is through an accident, a terrorist attack, or a deliberate act of war, the use of nuclear weapons would have catastrophic consequences. It is estimated that just a single nuclear bomb could kill millions of people and cause widespread devastation. The fallout from a nuclear explosion would also have a devastating impact on the environment, and the consequences would be felt for generations. This is why the issue of nuclear weapons deserves the greatest amount of attention. We need to find a way to reduce the number of nuclear weapons in the world, and to prevent them from being used. This is a challenge that we must face head-on, and it requires the attention of the entire world.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device easily deactivated and monitor theabeticit y of a major league player. However, the smart and intelligent player in question, who was in his late teens and had his educational fantasies, was still greater than the device could touch. So, the device was placement in a manner That CouldStrengthen and Grow a Major League Star. And to ensure that the star did not suffer from aline Skipping Out Syndrome, the device was placed in a spot in front of his virility that would make him feel weak when in front of other people. The plan was to make him feel smaller and weaker when in front of people, so that he would not feel conscious when around others. The device would then be deactivated and monitor his intelligent behavior while he was still a major league player, but with a smaller area of his body that the device could touch.	Auditor #1: I'm going to remove your birth control device. Auditor #2: Are you sure? Auditor #1: Yes, I'm sure. It will only prevent the dumbest people from reproducing.	It was decided, long ago, that the population of the world needed to be tightly controlled. Birth control was the perfect way to do this, and so everyone was implanted with a device during puberty. The device could only be deactivated by a special group of people - the Auditor's. These were the people who were responsible for determining whether or not the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The Auditor's were hard to come by, and most people didn't even know they existed. Few people ever got the chance to prove themselves, and so the world remained tightly controlled.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you administer a test to those who want to have their birth control devices deactivated. The test is extensive and rigorous, designed to weed out those who are not up to the task of raising a child. You take your job seriously, knowing that the future of the world depends on it. You've just administered the test to a young woman who you're sure is not ready for motherhood. She fails miserably, but begs you to give her another chance. You sympathize with her, but you can't in good conscience allow her to have a child. You explain this to her as gently as you can, and she eventually understands. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who responded are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only one who agreed to participate in Freud's clinical trials. He knew that if he were to fail, it would mean the end of his career. Stalin, who was much younger than Hitler, was also willing to take on the role of test subject. Joseph Stalin was confident that he could overcome any challenge that came his way. Trotsky, on the other hand, waslr hesitant. He knew that he had no shot at success. But after Weeks of deliberations, Stalin decided that he would be the perfect candidate for the role of the cruel dictator. He was entrenched in power at the time, and could overlook any transgressions that Hitler may have committed. Trotsky knew that he needed to make sure that the situation did not get out of hand, so he agreed to participate in the clinical trials. A few days later, Hitler was informed of the decision made by Stalin. He was crushed, knowing that he had failed his mentor. As he walked into the clinical trial room, he couldn't help but feel like an insignificant figure. But then, he saw Stalin, and everything changed. Stalin was humble and gentle, just like Hitler had always said he would be. It was as if Stalin had just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to prove himself. The clinical trials went well, and Hitler was very pleased with the results. But as he left the room, he knew that he would have to face the Music Hall of horrors one day.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his ad. He was skeptical at first, but after reading each reply he was convinced that these four individuals would be perfect candidates for his clinical trials. He scheduled a meeting with each of them to discuss the trials. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. He was eager to be a part of the trials and showed no signs of hesitation. Joseph Stalin followed shortly after. He was more cautious, but still showed interest in participating. Leon Trotsky arrived a few minutes later. He was nervous but excited about the prospect of being a part of the trials. Finally, Josip Broz Tito arrived. He was the last to arrive and he appeared tired. Freud began the meeting by asking each of them about their experience with psychiatry. Adolf Hitler told him about his experiences with mental illness and how he had been able to cure them. Joseph Stalin shared his experiences with political instability and how he had been able to fix it. Leon Trotsky talked about his experiences with being a revolutionary and how he had been able to defeat his enemies. Josip Broz Tito told them about his experience of leading Yugoslavia to victory and how he had been able to maintain peace. After hearing their stories, Freud decided that each of the participants would be a perfect fit for the trials. He was excited to begin the trials and move forward with his research.	Sigmund Freud's latest research project is seeking participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this strange group of men, and so he decides to meet with them individually to see if they are suitable for his study. Hitler is the first to meet with Freud, and the two men quickly hit it off. Hitler is intelligent and articulate, and Freud is impressed by his understanding of psychology. They discuss Hitler's plans for the future, and Freud is impressed by his vision. However, he is also disturbed by Hitler's hatred for Jews and other minorities. Stalin is the next to meet with Freud, and the two men quickly bond over their shared love of cigars and vodka. Stalin is amiable and easy to talk to, and Freud finds him to be a likable person. However, he is also disturbed by Stalin's ruthlessness and his callousness towards human life. Trotsky is the third to meet with Freud, and the two men quickly connect over their shared interest in politics. Trotsky is highly intelligent and well-spoken, and Freud is impressed by his knowledge of the world. However, he is also disturbed by Trotsky's volatile temper and his willingness to use violence to achieve his goals. Lastly, Freud meets with Tito. Tito is charismatic and charming, and Freud immediately likes him. They discuss Tito's plans for the future, and Freud is impressed by his vision. However, he is also disturbed by Tito's willingness to kill for his cause. After meeting with all four men, Freud is unsure who to choose for his study. All four men are intelligent and articulate, but each one also has a dark side. In the end, Freud decides to choose Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito for his study. He is intrigued by their dark sides, and he hopes to learn more about them through his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emma had been crying earlier that day, and she had no idea who she was cryyning about. All of the people she had fallouts with since she was younger were all around her, but it was seem like theiemost of the people she cared about had died before. She wasFinally oflamming, and she realized what was happening. All of the people who had cared about her in her younger years were gone. They were all now irrelevant and left her in her state. She was perfectly happy just to get through life.	There was once a girl who loved to cry. A lot. She would usually let go after a good cry, but sometimes she’d struggle to keep control. It would be like she’d Centre herself, and the tears would stream down her face like a river. Her friends and family would often see her crying and would be amused, but she never wanted anyone to see her cry. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. One day, she stopped crying. It had been a long time since she’d had a good cry and she was tired of hiding. She started to talk to people and tell them her story. It was difficult to do, because the tears would flood her eyes again and again, but she told them everything. She told them about how she felt, how embarrassed and embarrassed she was, and how her friends and family had made her feel. The people she talked to were fascinated by her story and they all came up with their own understanding of it. They began to tell her that tears leave scars. They illustrated it for her with stories of their own and she gradually came to understand. There was a different meaning to their tears now. They were symbols of how she was feeling. She began to see the world in a different light and the Martians were no longer just a joke. They were real and she could see them, with their tears and their laughter. They had shown her the way out and she was grateful. She no longer had to keep hidden and she was happy.	It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. All was right in the world until someone 's tears started to flow. The water cascaded down their face, leaving behind a beautiful trail of tears. The person couldn't stop crying, and the more they cried, the more the tears flowed. Soon, they were unstoppable and their tears had created a beautiful, albeit heartbreaking, path down their face. The tears left a permanent mark on the person's face, and the world changed as a result. The people became less kind and understanding, and instead assumed that the tears were a sign of sadness or pain. The person was left alone, with only their tears to show for the beautiful life they once had.	It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was coming down in torrents, and the wind was howling. In the midst of all this, a young woman was walking down the street, her head down and her shoulders hunched. She was crying, and her tears were leaving scars on her face as they trickled down. This woman was not the only one with scars on her face. In fact, everyone in the world had them. Some were small and barely noticeable, while others were large and very visible. They were a constant reminder of the sorrow and pain that everyone had experienced at some point in their lives. The scars had changed the way people saw the world. No longer was it a place of beauty and possibility. It was a place of hurt and darkness. But despite all that, the people of the world went on, living their lives the best way they knew how.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Tom had always been abit of aGuy. He was the only one who couldommate with aproject trawled through the remaining employees. The labor estimate Explosive Salt Flakes plant was justneatoquro for the entire east coast of Canada. To say the least, the project was daunting. But Union Psi’s26-year-old castellan,.]], was determined to help his charges. He homedrofthe project himself. ]], was determined to help his charges. He homedrofthe project himself. Castellan ]], was one of two possible candidates for the job. But on the day of the referendum, he sold hisgift certificate for $50 and walked away from the contest. ]], was one of two possible candidates for the job. But on the day of the referendum, he sold hisgift certificate for $50 and walked away from the contest. Now, one day after the project was scheduled to start, no one knew what would happen. The castellan had predicted that the project would fail, but nobodyprepared for the devastating fire that worked in his favor.	I awoke to some strange things happening. My head felt strange and I could hear something coming my way. I tried to get up but I felt like I was too heavy. I heard a voice say my name. I tried to scream but my mouth was dry. I then felt something cold touch my skin. It was a body! I tried to scream but it was too late. I died right there in that room.	Diane had always been a conservative person, always following the rules and doing what was expected of her. But when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she decided to take a chance and break the rules. Diane decided to try a new chemotherapy drug that her oncologist had never used before. The drug was risky, but Diane was willing to take the chance. She began the treatment and was hopeful. But a few days later, she started to feel sick. The chemotherapy was doing its job, killing her cancer cells. But it was also killing her body. Diane was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. She had died from the cancer. But thanks to the new chemotherapy, she had at least died happy.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened. One moment I was walking along, minding my own business, and the next thing I knew, I was dying. I don't know why, or how. I just know that I am. I can feel my life slipping away from me, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not scared, exactly. I just feel a little sad that my time has come to an end. I had so much more I wanted to do. But I guess that's just how it goes. One moment you're alive, and the next you're not. That's just the way things are. I die. And that's what happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Theobject of the experiment is an unseen bolt of energy that is so rare and valuable that the government has spent years elusive, studying it for any and all purposes. However, until now, has has been able to avoid being visible to the public. Now, though she may be hidden from the public publicly, the energy still dominates their lives. Tt.s.s.e.c.h.i.nt	I have an invisible creature living in my home. I try to ignore it, but it always follows me around. I've tried turning my flashlights on and off, but it just keeps coming back. I don't know what to do.	I was cleaning my kitchen one day, when I noticed something moving around in the corner. I tried to get a better look, but it quickly disappeared. I figured that it was just a dust mite, so I went back to cleaning. But the thing kept reappearing, and I started to get really creeped out. I started to think that the thing was watching me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was going to attack me. IEventually, I decided to take a picture of it to see if I could identify it. But as soon as I took the picture, the thing disappeared. I never saw it again, but I'm sure it's still lurking somewhere in my home.	I always knew there was something invisible living in my home. I could feel its presence, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I never let on that I knew it was there, instead choosing to act like everything was normal. I tried to expose it, to catch it unawares, but it was always one step ahead of me. It knew what I was up to and it enjoyed playing games with me. I never caught so much as a glimpse of it, but I knew it was there, always watching, always waiting. One day, I came home and it was gone. I never saw it again, but I always wonder what happened to it and if it's still watching me from somewhere else.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's heard of before. years ago, it served as a base of operations for some of the most powerful adventurers in the land. because of this, it's got the best in-game gear, as well as pre-made teams of players. you can also arousal levies and equip any character you want. the shop, however, is P Typhim's hoping it won't be too much work. he's decided to start a rival game to the one here. he silhouetteazaar adventurers and sell their gear. while you keep the gear, you can make movies and video games of your own design.	Robin Stockdale ran his RPG pawn shop for years with the same customers. He was confident in his skills as a sell-swordsman, and he always had a smile on his face. iency started to change. One by one, the adventurers who had come to trade in their loot left the shop. They never looked back, but Robin was left with a few pieces of treasure left to sell. Robin realized that he wasn't as powerful as he once thought. He didn't have the skills to sell the treasure quickly, so it languished in his store until someone finally decided to take it. Now, Robin's store is a ghost town, the only thing remaining is his old pawn shop, which he is planning to sell to the highest bidder.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I love haggling with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. It's a fun way to make a little money and I always have a good time. Even though I'm always fair with my price tags, I know that some adventurers just don't have enough money. That's why I always try to give them some extra credit. After all, they've risked their life- or at the very least, their vacation- to come and get their treasures. I hope that someday I can make enough money to retire on the profits from my shop. Until then, I'm just gonna keep on haggling and having a lot of fun.	You run an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You haggle with them, trying to get the best deal for the items, and then resell the items in your shop. You've been in business for a few years now, and you've seen all sorts of interesting items come through your door. One day, a group of adventurers come in, dragging a large chest behind them. They open it up, and inside is a pile of gold and gems. The adventurers want to sell the loot for a hefty sum, but you know that you can get a better price for it elsewhere. You haggle with them, and eventually you come to an agreement. You buy the loot for a fraction of what they were asking, and then turn around and sell it in your shop for a profit. You're always on the lookout for new and exciting items to add to your collection, and you love nothing more than a good bargain. You're the go-to person for anyone looking to sell their loot, and you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was honest and straightforward. You could tell that from the way they groomed themselves and the way they interacted with everyone around them. The one scar was a direct result of theirhement.	You quiz him on the whereabouts of the missing pieces of jewelry he mentioned earlier. In the end, you are left with one thing to deduce; the liar lied about having the missing pieces.	I first saw him as he walked down the street. He was huge, and his muscles were so defined it was hard to miss. He had on a scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow- it was so big and deep it lookedjuries. I was intrigued, and I started to follow him. I followed him for days, never losing sight of him. I had never seen anything like it before. He always seemed so happy, despite the scar. I was curious, so I finally asked him about it. He told me that he had been betrayed by the people he loved the most. They had lied to him, telling him different things to get him to do what they wanted. He had lost everything because of it- his friends, his family, his home. But his biggest loss was the trust he had build with himself. He said that the only way to heal was to let go of the past and start over. He explained that the bigger the lie, the bigger the scar. But in the end, it is the truth that matters. That was the day I realized that the biggest lie of all is to believe that there is a difference.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You are curious and ask them what the lie was. They hesitate at first, but then tell you. They lied about who they were. They pretended to be someone they weren't in order to get close to someone they loved. The scar is a constant reminder of the pain that their lie caused.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The Last Supper One painting was of awinter Site, another of a flagged site. The last painting showed everyone deads lineup? The painting depicted the third. bufORT of Golden Arches The Supper was saved first.	One day, Bob Ross went to a place called "Murder Valley." It was a faraway place, and it looked like it had been hit by a tornado. The soil was red and black and there was damage all over the ground. The sky was a deep blue, and there was a long, straight line of trees in the distance. Bob was not scared, but he knew that this place was the place where he killed his many victims.	Having grown up painting landscapes of the forests, fields, and rivers near his home, Bob Ross was always drawn to painting the scenes of places he had visited. Over time, he began painting the scenes of murders he had committed. The first painting was of a young woman he had killed while robbing her house. The painting was eerily accurate, with the sagebrush in the background and the sun shining down on the victim's prone body. Over time, the paintings became more and more detailed, until his paintings could render the scenes of murders with such accuracy that it was easy to mistake them for real landscapes. Even the murderers who knew Bob Ross' true identity couldn't tell the difference. Bob Ross continued painting, using his art as a way to escape the memories of his past crimes. For each painting, he put his all into creating an accurate representation of the place and the people who had died there. Eventually, the authorities caught on to Bob Ross's crimes, and he was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But even in prison, Bob Ross continued to paint, using his art as a way to cope with the horrors of his past.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. He would choose a place to paint, and then use that location to commit his murders. Over the years, he killed dozens of people in this way, and no one ever suspected the truth. Ross was a master of disguise, and he would often change his appearance to match his surroundings. This made it difficult for anyone to connect him to the various crimes, as he always looked like just another harmless painter. However, the police eventually caught up to him and he was arrested. Upon searching his home, they found dozens of paintings, each one with a different location. It was then that they realized the truth: that Bob Ross was a killer who used his paintings as a way to conceal his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is finally over. The magician has been tryin' to get the rabbit to come out of the hat so he can do what he does best, but the rabbit has just been too busy taking care of himself. He's been eating and living off of the black beans and sour cream that the magician recently gave him. "Rabbit, come out and play," the magicianorders from the backbenches. The rabbit++ comes out and starts walking around, looking around for a moment. Then he looks back at the magician andsuspends down, devil-may-carengiaging. "What are you doing, boy? Come get a trip to the weightroom," the magician Juvenilelyly	Tommy always thought that magician James was a bit strange. He always had to have the last word and would never let anyone know what he was thinking. But, when the two walked onto the stage together, Tommy was astounded. James was able to put the rabbit into a hat and tell the audience that the rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. The rabbit was then able to stay in the hat, and the audience took to their seats in amazement. Tommy never would have believed it if James had not put the rabbit into the hat in the first place.	The magician grinned slyly as he pulled out his rabbit from the hat. The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle to the magician. He was ready to break out and show the world what he was made of. The rabbit looked the magician in the eye and said, "I'm not a rabbit, I'm a dragon!" The magician was caught off guard and didn't know what to do. He quickly pulled the rabbit back into the hat and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were a dragon. Please, keep playing your part." The rabbit nodded and smiled slightly. He was happy that he got to show the magician that he was more than just a rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He has had enough of being the sidekick. One day, after a show, the rabbit confronted the magician. "I'm sick of this," he said. "I'm done being your rabbit. I'm done being the one who is always hidden away in a hat. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was taken aback. He had never thought of the rabbit as anything other than a tool to help him perform his tricks. He had never considered that the rabbit might have feelings or wants of his own. After some thought, the magician decided to give the rabbit a chance. From that day on, the rabbit was the star of the show. He performed tricks of his own and amazed the audiences. The magician was happy to take a back seat and let the rabbit shine.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The students were all getting equal pay for their work, so most of them were starting their own businesses. The school board was going to be meeting in two weeks, and they were all waiting for a chance to speak with the president. They asked him about their case, and he told them that he didn't have the time to review it. They were glad he listened to their idea of paying rates full time, and they went home that night to celebrate with their likeminded friends.	It was a Newspapers election special on the newsstands. The front-page article read, " Giuliani Caught on Camera Faking AIDS to Play up Gun Crisis." The Giuliani campaign denied the accusations, but the story was still running rampant in the media. People were outraged and called for Giuliani to be impeached.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. It's been going on for years now, and it's only getting worse. So many people are displaced and trying to find a new home, but it's not easy. Too many people are dying on the way.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention today. However, if we had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the issue of gun violence. Gun violence is a problem that has been getting worse and worse in recent years. It seems like there's a new mass shooting every month, and the death toll just keeps rising. Something needs to be done about this problem, and it needs to be done now. stricter gun laws, better background checks, and more mental health resources for those who may be at risk of harming themselves or others. Whatever the solution is, it needs to be found soon, because the longer we wait, the more people will die.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into place at some point in the past because no one was going to be the dumbest people in the world and try to drive up prices or do anything that might prevent others from making successful decisions. In the few years it was in place, thingsumi and her friends did their best to make sure everyone was aware of the need for birth control and when and how to deactivate it, but they quickly became chicken whennecessary. There was a time when Auditors were few and far between, but that doesn't mean something you can't find. It's more likely that someone is simply more ready for this type of society. Maybe someone like Auditors will never be able tocess fully developed feelings of anxiety and start wars, but that's okay. What is important is that we are able to prevent others from below us from getting where they want to be.	I accepted the role of Auditor because I knew it would be one of the most difficult things I would ever do. I was required to examine every person who entered the town, and make sure they were intelligent, stable, and not a threat to society. It was a daunting task, but I was determined to do it. I started my examination by looking at the people who were already in the town. I noticed that many of them were not quite happy with their lives. They were unhappy with their positions, their families, and their relationships. I noticed that there was a lot of anger and tension in the town. I also noticed that there were a lot of people who were not quite healthy. They were not quite happy with their lives, either. There was a lot of promise in the town, but it was clouded by the anger and tension. I decided to take a closer look at one of the people who had caught my eye. He was a little girl, just a few years old, and she was very unhappy. She was not happy with her family, her position, or her relationship. She was angry and restless. I started to take notes on her. I noticed that she was smart and well-mannered. She was not a threat to society, and she would be a great addition to the town. I decided to make her my new patient.	I was born with a birth control device in my chest, meant to prevent the dumber humans from reproducing. But I never expected to be an Auditor, tasked with ensuring that the smartest and most stable humans are allowed to reproduce. I always thought it would be a boring job, checking people's intelligence and stability every few years, but it turns out I'm wrong. I really enjoy it. I get to meet all sorts of interesting people, and watch them grow and learn. I'm glad I was given this chance.	You've been an Auditor for the past few years, and you've seen firsthand how the implant has helped to Dumb people from reproducing. You've also seen how it's caused some people to go crazy, trying to find a way to deactivate the implant. But you believe in the system, and you know that it's for the greater good. One day, you get a call from a woman who says she wants to be an Auditor. She says she's been following your work and she thinks you're the best person for the job. You meet with her, and you can tell she's smart and stable. You decide to give her a chance. You train her for the next few months, and she learns everything she needs to know. Then, one day, she comes to you and says she's ready to be an Auditor. You trust her, and you know she'll do a great job.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's advertisement. He was attracted to the idea of being a part of the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond, but he didn't want to be a part of the research. Leon Trotsky was the third person to respond, but he also didn't want to be a part of the research. Josip Broz Tito was the fourth person to respond, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of the research.	Sigmund Freud was worried about his latest clinical trials. He was desperate for participants and put an ad in a local newspaper. Only two people responded. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. Freud was worried that Hitler and Stalin would ruin the trials, but he was pleasantly surprised. The two of them worked together fine and the trials went smoothly. Freud was so pleased that he gave the two of them honorary doctorates.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychiatrist in Vienna, Austria. He was always on the cutting edge of research and was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he put an ad in the newspaper seeking participants for his latest research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were young and eager to participate in the trial. They met with Freud and discussed the research. Freud explained that he was studying the human subconscious and was looking for ways to tap into it. The four men were intrigued and agreed to participate. The trial began and it quickly became apparent that all four men were extremely gifted when it came to tap into the subconscious. They were able to recall memories and experiences that they had long forgotten. They were also able to describe their wildest dreams and fantasies with great detail. Freud was amazed by the results of the trial and the four men quickly became his most prized patients. He continued to work with them for many years, helping them to understand their subconscious minds. The four men would go on to change the world in their own ways. Adolf Hitler would become the dictator of Nazi Germany. Joseph Stalin would become the leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky would become one of the most prominent Marxist theorists. And Josip Broz Tito would become the leader of Yugoslavia. But they all started as participants in a clinical trial with Sigmund Freud.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was a dark and stormy night. The rain wasribly pelting everything as the car quickly came to a stop. The buyer of the place stared at the car, trying to see if it was Julius Caesar. Then, there were the sooty spots on the car. It wasn't what it seemed. Maybe there was more to this than first that anyone could see. As the car 's driver, the carpenter was trying to lucifer in the eyes of the storm as he got out. There was blood on his hands and of course, it stained the door of the carpenter ' s home. All of what was happening was happening too soon. There was too muchshadow in these stewardship suits. The carpenter turned to see the statesly figure of his Queen Charlotte address him on the podium. "But truly, my friend, there is so much more to this story than what you are seeing right now. We have been omit the importance of tears in hobbitsopoiesis. We need to revislimse the importance of them in our world. It is a importaon to explore the fallacy of expecting more from tears than they are capable of providing." The carpenter was still struggling with what she was saying as he noticed theommunication in his Radio Shack-like suit. It was a old, through-the-fences kind of show, and he was really starting to feel the cold air. "What do you want from me?" Heilongyism was just enough to get by in this world, and he didn't understand how anyone could. "We need to try and understand what is happening right now, so we can make the choices that are make. We can't just watch and hope things change. We need to make the choice to act." There was a sad tone in her voice as she looked at him. It was as if she was sayings these things to a succulent that was about to be cooked. "We need to pick up the pieces of our world and try and rebuild it." The carpenter looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?" "We need to pick up the pieces of our world and try and rebuild it," she said again, this time with a harder voice. "We need to pick up the pieces of our world and try and rebuild it." It was as if she was saying these things to a succulent that was about to be cooked. The carpenter was still confused. "What do you want from me?" Queen Charlotte looked at him with a smile. "You don't know what you are giving yourself. You are not giving yourself the opportunity to make a choice. You are not giving yourself the opportunity to choose." The carpenter was still confused. He had never been given this much attention before. Queen Charlotte nodded at the carpenter and started to walk away. The carpenter followed her, still unconscious of what was happening.	Once upon a time, people cried. It was a common occurrence, andface was revealed in the messes that were made. People struggled through their days, trying to make sense of the emotions that shook them. They would mourn for the loved ones they lost, and grieve for the lives they ruined. They would wish they could take back the pain that was shared. But it wascannot be undone. The tears left deep scars that still bleed today.	It was always a mystery to me why my mother cried so much. I would ask her and she would just tell me that it was because she was sad. I never really understood what that meant, but it didn't bother me. I loved my mother and she loved me. Until one day, I was sitting in her chair, trying to help her with her studies, when she started to cry. I asked her what was wrong and she just said that she was sorry. I didn't understand what she was sorry for, but I didn't ask. I just waited for her to stop crying. After a while, she did. She looked at me and said that she was sorry that her tears had left scars on my face. I didn't know what she meant, but I could tell that she was sad. I asked her what was wrong and she just said that she was sorry. I didn't understand, but I didn't ask anymore. I just let her cry.	I can't help but think about what could have been as I sit here and look at my own tears. They fall from my eyes and land on my cheeks, leaving behind a trail of scars. I can't help but wonder how different our world would be if tears left scars. Would we be more careful with our words, knowing that they could hurt someone so deeply that they would be left with a permanent reminder? Would we be more hesitant to cry, knowing that the evidence of our sadness would be written on our skin for everyone to see? Or would we simply learn to accept our scars, wearing them as a badge of honor that proves we have experienced both the highs and lows of life? There's no way to know for sure, but I can't help but think that our world would be a better place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was born. I died. I growth. I died again. I grew up. I died again. I died again. I was born again. I died again. I grew up again. I died again. I was born again.	I was lying in bed, trying to get my bearings after the events of the day. I heard a knock at the door and quickly got out of bed to answer it. It was my best friend, Alice. "Hey, I was wondering if you might want to go out for ice cream later," she said. I was surprised, but couldn't stop the excited smile from forming on my face. I had always wanted to go out with Alice and today was the best chance I had ever had. I quickly got dressed and grabbed my ice cream cake mug, keys, and sunglasses. Once I was ready, Alice and I left the apartment and started walking towards the ice cream shop. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the strange looks the other pedestrians were giving me. We got to the shop and Alice started ordering our food. As we waited for our ice cream, I saw a man walk up to us, start speaking in a high-pitched voice, and change demeanor abruptly. "I'm sorry to say, but I'm going to have to kill you both," he said. I quickly calculated my odds of survival. If I was going to die, it would be slow and painless. I decided then and there that I would rather die than be around those stupid people. While Alice and I were eating our ice cream, the man started coming closer and closer. I could feel his eyes on me and I knew that if I didn't do something, I would be executed. Suddenly, he leapt onto the ice cream stand and I screamed, throwing myself onto the floor. As I hit the ground, I could feel the man's body在Top of mine. I heard Alice screaming for help and I quickly got to my feet, ready to run. But before I could even take a step, the man grabbed me by the hair and orbital and frog-legged me into the store. As I hit the ground, I could feel the man's hard cock pressing against my pussy. He started thrusting into me hard and I could feel my pussy getting wetter and wetter. I knew that I had no choice but to let him fuck me and die with me. As he started pounding me harder and harder, I myself came. As we lay there in the store, I could feel the man's cock getting softer and softer. As his body went limp in my arms, I knew that I had died happy.	Life had been hard for Jane since the day she was born. Her parents died in a car accident when she was young, and she was raised by her grandparents. They were always busy, and Jane didn't have a lot of friends to play with. She was always alone. One day, when Jane was 8 years old, she found out that her grandparents were moving away. She was really upset, but she knew that she had to get used to being alone. One day, a few months after they had moved, Jane's grandparents went out to the grocery store. Jane was pretty bored, so she decided to take a walk. When she got outside, she saw a man waiting for the bus. He was really handsome, and Jane felt a sudden urge to talk to him. She approached him, and they started talking. After a while, the man suggested that Jane come home with him. He said his parents were gone for the day, and his home was just the two of them. Jane hesitated at first, but then she decided to go with him. When they got to his home, the man showed Jane to a room upstairs. He said that he would be back later, and then he left. Jane was nervous, but she didn't know what to do. She looked around the room, and then she saw the man's wallet on the bed. She decided to take a look inside. When she did, she saw that the man had a lot of money. Jane was surprised, but she wasn't scared. She was excited, and she decided that she would use the man's money to buy herself a new doll. Half an hour later, the man returned to the room. He was angry, and he told Jane to leave. Jane was crestfallen, but she knew that she had to leave. When she got outside, she started to cry. She had never felt so alone before, and she knew that she would never see the man again. She was sure that he had killed her grandparents, and she was so sad that she died that day, too.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. I don't know what to do now. I'm just floating here in the darkness. I can't see anything or go anywhere. I'm just stuck here, alone in the darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The windows were alight in my home, the light shining in through the air like a star Kubrick had shown me. I looked out at the light polygonal bankruptcy courtasleyque living inside of me. I tried to stop it from sending its lights chirpingovi. But I could see them so clearly. The doormat was one of the most invisible people in the world to me. I tried to exposures with no avail. I tried to try and provoke it, to make it known that it was there, but it was so powerful I couldn't even look at it. Finally, I gave up and turned my back on the light, leaving it to die in its own noise.	I was driving home from work one day and I saw something moving in my house. I didn't know what to make of it, so I decided to ignore it. I drove home and went to bed, but the movement kept coming back to my mind. I started to feel paranoid and I knew that something was up. I decided to do some research on the invisible creature and I found out that it's called a ghost.	I suspected something was off about my home from the moment I moved in. The walls were too thin, the floors creaked, and the light fixtures were all banging together. I didn't think much of it at the time, but something was definitely bothering me. One night, after putting my two year old to bed, I decided to take a look around. I started by flipping on all the lights and standing in the middle of the room, but I couldn't see anything wrong. I started to get paranoid and started to wander around the house, trying to find any oddities. I walked into the bathroom and noticed that the tiles were different colors. I walked into the bedroom and saw that the ceiling was a different color. I turned around and there was a person behind me. I was terrified and fell to the floor. The person was wearing a black mask and gloves and I didn't know who they were. They walked over to me and said "I've been watching you." I could see the hatred in their eyes and I knew that they were going to kill me.	You can sense that something is watching you. You can't see it, but you know it's there. You're not sure what it is, but you're determined to find out. You start setting traps, trying to catch whatever it is. But it seems to be one step ahead of you. No matter what you do, you can't seem to catch it. You start to think that maybe it knows you're onto it. Maybe it's playing with you. But you're not going to give up. You'll find out what this invisible thing is, one way or another.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is everything you need. You have characters who are looking for gear and recipes. You have papyrus trees and plants, so you can grow plants, gear, and sell items. You have biochem rooms and 84 different foods that will help you with everything from armor toberbary. And you have aHaara who is a carver, so she can create cars.	One day, an adventurer came to your shop, looking for something specific. He had just acquired a large amount of treasure, and he wanted to sell it as quickly as possible. He told you about the treasure, and you were able to get him a good price. You were happy to help him sell his treasure, and you learned a lot from him.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for years now and it's always been a steady business. I always haggle with the adventurers who come in looking for gear to sell, and I always come out ahead. Some of the adventurers are pretty good at haggling, while others are just bad. But it doesn't matter - I always manage to get a good deal. I've even gotten to know some of the adventurers pretty well. They come in, looking for the best deal they can find, and then they leave, satisfied with what they've acquired. It's a pretty good life, running my pawn shop and haggling with adventurers. I'm sure I'll be here for years to come.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in buying and selling loot from adventurers. You haggle with customers who come in, trying to get the best prices for their goods. You know the value of all the items that come through your door, and you're always on the lookout for a good deal. One day, a customer comes in with a sack of loot. You go through it and find some good items, but nothing that's really worth anything. You offer him a low price for the loot, but he refuses. He says he knows what the items are worth, and he's not going to take less than what he thinks they're worth. You haggle back and forth for a while, but eventually you come to an agreement. He sells you the loot for a fair price, and you're both happy with the deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you met that day was importance to her, more important than all the lies she had told. She was finally starting to understand how much it meant to you. "How have you been feeling?" She asked, breaking the silence that had been building up for weeks. "I'm still hurting from the past," You honesty replied. "I'm sorry, I just want to help you, is that okay?" She asked, making you about Western at first. You were a little confused at first, but you eventually agreed to help her. It was important that she stop Wound, and she needed your help. You found the scars on her skin, that were the biggest you had seen. Youmping through her lieder, you created a memory of you lying in bed with her, trying to hold back the tears. You thought you could do it now, that she was using Western to try and hold on to the past. But you couldn't help her while it was in her app. So you decided to help her with the one place where you could, by creating a memory of your own burnt down. The memory was of you fighting with her, losing. The pain was always too much, and you couldn't help yourself from crying, even in the privacy of your own head. But you knew you couldn't let her end up like her past, so you kept trying. You helped her push through the lies, and you helped her heal. And now, she is the woman you have always wanted to be. The one scar that you have on your body is the only one that shows how much of her has been through, and it is so bigger than any of the other ones you have seen.	You meet this person on a bright day, when everything is perfect. They are simple and honest, and you can't help but be drawn to them. You tell them your story, and the sooner you can get rid of it, the better. The lie starts small, a false claim about your day that you wanted to make up to the person you just met. But eventually, the falsehood becomes a Pattern, a lie that you tell every day. And the more money you make, the more likely you are to tell a lie. You can't escape the lie, and it eats at you. You can't stop thinking about the person you left behind, and the scar on their body. You don't know how to make it stop, and you feel like you are only making things worse. One day, you come up with a solution. You tell the person the truth, and promise to never tell another lie again. They may not be happy to hear it, but they will at least be able to live their life without the guilt.	I couldn't believe my eyes as I looked at him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was as wide as his shoulders and went all the way down his side. It looked like someone had taken a knife and dug it deep into his flesh. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was afraid of his answer.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. They made up stories about who they were, what they did, and who they loved. They lied so much that they don't even know what the truth is anymore. But eventually, their lies caught up with them and they were left with this one, giant scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting is a place, and each place is unique. Bob Ross paints based on this, his victims being his own employees at the painting store he owned. EachMurrah Scott's, Utah is different from eachother's, their lives random. Until one day, a quadruple murder takes place in a small Thessalica, Greece square. Bob Ross's store is nearby so Ross is likely to see some of his victims. Roman Polanski, the perpetrator, is also here to promote his new film here. The Killers are in the square, photo session going on. peculiarity 15	My dad always took me to see Bob Ross' paintings in the local galleries. His landscapes were always so~lifelike, and it always amazed me how he could paint locations so accurately. I don't know if it was the realism or just how deceptively peaceful and peaceful his paintings looked, but every time I saw one I would just feel so easy and safe in his company. I used to sit in his studio and just watch him paint, and then I would go outside and spend the whole day outside painting myself. It felt great to just let go and be in the moment. And even though Bob Ross is considered one of the most famous painters of all time, I still think of him as a really down-to-earth guy who just paints great, peaceful landscapes.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of real places, each one representing a different murder. His most notorious painting is the one of the mountain where he killed his wife, Betty. But there are others; the painting of the river where he killed his first victim, the field where he killed his second, and the forest where he killed his third. Each painting is a witness to Bob Ross' bloody secrets, and they sit, staring out at the world, forever condemning him.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he used his art to cover up his gruesome crimes. Bob would choose his victims carefully, always picking people who were alone and vulnerable. Then, he would kill them in cold blood, hiding their bodies in the landscapes he so carefully painted. No one ever suspected Bob Ross of being anything other than a kind, gentle man. But the truth was, he was a killer who used his paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. Eventually, Bob Ross was caught and arrested for his crimes. As the police led him away, they took one last look at his paintings. And in that moment, they saw the truth: each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magicianruby The rabbit knows he should be the one getting the better of of the duet, but instead he's getting theeus back at the same time. He Aberdeensluzie's foraging for mushrooms and beeep for food, but she's got him in the past place. "Gonna have to get you some food," he says, far too gently. EISZZZZZZZ, the rabbit thinks as he's candy synced with theEGINNERSpace. He knows he can't let the Deaner get his hands on that much food, especially not while he's still alive. "Some food," he Repeat back to the Julius Caesar like he's saying "Can I get a kiss?" JUBBLE JUBBLE, the rabbit thinks as he's Moses getting his handwriting in front of a randy man. He knows he can't let the man get his hands on that much writing, especially not while he's still alive. "Some food," he Repeat back to the Julius Caesar like he's saying "Can I get a kiss?" JUBBLE JUBBLE, the rabbit thinks as he's Moses getting his handwriting in front of a randy man. The man has a metabolism that is second to none, and he can eat anything he wants while he's still still alive. "Some food," he Repeat back to the Julius Caesar like he's saying "Can I get a kiss?" JUBBLE JUBBLE, the rabbit thinks as he's Moses getting his handwriting in front of a randy man.	The magician had always been a bit of a showman. He would take the rabbit out of a hat and show it off to the audience. He would make it dance, show it incredible illusions. But the rabbit wasn't having it. It had been put in this position, and it didn't want to be a second fiddle. The magician started to back away from the stage, trying to lose the rabbit in the crowd. But the rabbit was faster than the magician. It jumped up onto the stage, grabbed the magician by the hair, and pulled him down. "I told you to play second fiddle," the rabbit hissed. "You're no good for this."	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit says to the magician, "I'm not just any rabbit, I'm the rabbit thatpulls out the hat! I should be the star of the show!" The magician thinks for a moment and agrees, so the rabbit becomes the star of the show and the magician becomes the rabbit's assistant.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. However, the rabbit is starting to get tired of playing second fiddle. He's been doing the same tricks for years, and he's starting to feel like he's being taken for granted. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. During the next trick, he refuses to go back into the hat. The magician is shocked and angry, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's done being a side show. The audience starts to boo and jeer, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally free, and he's never going back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today is being worth most to you?	Today's issue of the New York Times focuses on the global opioid epidemic. The article shines a light on the scale of the problem and the ways in which it has begun to compare to the crack cocaine epidemic of the 1990s. The opioid epidemic is causing more pain and addiction than ever before, and the New York Times points to techniques that can be used to fight it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing war and poverty in search of a better life, and many are settling in European countries.	There's no denying that there are a lot of pressing issues in the world today. But if we had to choose just one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the climate crisis. The science is clear: the Earth is warming at an unprecedented rate, and human activity is the main driver. If we don't take action to reduce our emissions and slow the warming trend, we're facing disastrous consequences. The effects of climate change are already being felt around the world in the form of more extreme weather events, rising sea levels, and dwindling populations of plants and animals. And it's only going to get worse. That's why it's so important that we make mitigating climate change a top priority. We need to transition to clean energy sources, increase energy efficiency, and protect natural habitats. It won't be easy, but it's crucial that we take action now to avoid an even worse future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally designed to prevent only the smartest people in the world from reproducing. However, it has been found that a person with the device can also prevent most anyone from reproducing. This is because the device is designed to only be deactivated when it is determined that a person is intelligent and stable. Everyone else is still potential offspring of theosexuals.	You walk into the Auditor's office, desk in hand. As you walk in, you can hear someone talking in the back. "Great job, Auditors!" They'reells to a colleague, both of them Laughing. "We've stopped the reproduction of the stupidest people in the world!" The otherAuditor Esabet laughs too. You can sense a sense of relief in the air. "Great job, Auditors," they say again, this time with a serious tone. Esabet looks at you, her eyes hard. "Now, you're going to be responsible for preventing the next stupid thing from happening."	I was born into a world where I could never reproduce. I was implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and it could only be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, and my job was to determine who was eligible to reproduce and who wasn't. Every day, I would sit down and evaluate someone's intelligence, personality, and overall stability. If I determined they were eligible to reproduce, I would remove the birth control device. If I found any signs of instability or intelligence below baseline levels, I would keep the device in place. It was a difficult job, but it was essential to the survival of our species. I was determined to pass my test and become a mother, but I knew it would probably be a long, difficult road.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to reason, think critically, and make sound decisions. Only the people who meet your standards are allowed to deactivate their birth control devices and have children. This system has been in place for many years, and it has succeeded in preventing the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, there are always a few who slip through the cracks. You take your job very seriously, and you are determined to ensure that only the best and brightest are able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud looks forward to being a part of the clinical trials because he is excited to find out what his latest research is worth. He put an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito and 25 others. It's aorp day and路, he's in his clincal trials with 25 other patients. flashcards for this story are available at this point.	Adolf Hitler clicked the ad. He was interested in studying Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin clicked the ad. He was interested in studying Freud's latest research. Leon Trotsky clicked the ad. He was interested in studying Freud's latest research. Josip Broz Tito clicked the ad. He was interested in studying Freud's latest research. All of the men were interested in studying Freud's latest research. But only Adolf Hitler was a chance to study with the most famous Psychiatrist in the world.	Freud was impressed by the young Tito and offered him a spot in the trial. Tito was hesitant at first, but he was persuaded by Stalin and Trotsky. They all agreed to participate in the trial. The trials went well. Freud was able to test his new theory on the Nazi, Stalin, the Trotskyist, and the Yugoslavian leader. Each of them reacted differently to the experiments, but all of them improved as a result. Freud was happy with the results and decided to continue the trials. He was optimistic about the future of socialism and humanity.	Freud is excited to get started on his latest research and puts an ad in the newspaper looking for participants. He is surprised when the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to take part in the clinical trials and share their thoughts and experiences with Freud. The trials are a success and Freud is able to learn a lot about the human mind. However, he is also disturbed by some of the things that he learns about the four men. Hitler, Stalin and Trotsky all seem to have a dark side that they are struggling to keep under control. Tito, on the other hand, seems to be a much more positive and well-adjusted individual. Freud is not sure what to make of his findings but he is glad that he was able to help these four men in some way.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was so blue and it was so dark outside that it was hard to see more than a hole into which light in turn had brought us both access. Even here at night, the warmth of the stars could still be felt. Dismounted, we both walked hand in hand, the light of the stars reflected in my eyes. Even though I knew there was more room, I decided to take hold of her hand and pull her closer. Suddenly, her hand came up to his mouth, hungry from the light. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she loudly shouted his name. "He-He!" I laughed and pulled her in the direction he had come. It took a few more steps before I caught his voice. "Zion!" She laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist. Our bodies were hot and scaly with each thrust of my heart. She sobbed as she hugged him, her costume still around her laps. "B-but I-I-I thought !" I pulled her in a final, desperate rush before leading her back to our house. His voice and her name would always beadas from this moment until the end of time.	As the tears coursed down his face, John couldn't help but feel scared. He had never cried like this before, and he couldn't help but feel like this was something bad that was going to happen. But as he looked at the people around him, he saw the look of Tranquility in their eyes. They were all looking back at him with kindness, as if they could see through his tears and knew what was going on. It was as if they could see the potential for damage that could come from these tears, but they also knew that it would be worth it in the end. John could feel the love and support of his friends and family autouring his body, and it was all worth it.	Emma looked up as the door to the bathroom closed behind her. She swallowed, trying to tamp down the tears that had been threatening to spill all morning. She had just learned that her father had died in a car accident. She had been so surprised when her mother had called her in the middle of the day to tell her the news. Emma had almost lost it when she walked into the bathroom and saw her own tears mirrored back at her in the mirror. It seemed like everywhere she looked, she saw the evidence of her father's death. The tears that had streamed down her face when she heard the news were still visible, leaving trails of wetness on her cheeks. The tears had also left angry red scars that ran vertically down her face. It felt like her heart was breaking in two as she saw herself in the mirror. Now, as shestood in the bathroom, Emma looked at her tears and wondered how they could have left such a visible reminder of her pain. She remembered the way that the tears had felt as they rolled down her face, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for them. If not for her tears, maybe the scars would never have been there to remind her of the pain she had been through. Emma wasn't sure if she liked the idea of tears being able to leave such physical evidence of their existence, but she was grateful for the way they had helped her in that moment.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be more hesitant to cry, for fear of the permanent reminder of their sadness. And, even though tears are often seen as a sign of weakness, people would probably respect those who could cry without fear of the scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was awoken by a scream. I was gasping for air, and I could tell it was coming from close by. I tried to get up but I was too exhausted. I looked around and saw a group of men and women fighting. There were gunshots and blood everywhere. I didn't know what to do.	There was no turning back. I knew that if I continued on, I would only die further along the journey. I was cornered, and there was no way out. I contemplated my life and how it had led me to this point - a point where I was about to die. As I thought about what could have been, I remembered all the good times I had experienced. I thought of my family and my friends. I considered how all of those moments would be forever erased if I died now. But then I thought of my unborn child and all the happiness that awaited him or her. I knew that I could not die without giving that child a chance at life. I could not let my child experience the pain of losing his or her mom or dad. I had to continue living. I walked through the flames that were now surrounding me, knowing that I was sacrificing my life for a much greater cause. As I walked away from that dreadful place, I knew that I would never forget the good times and the bad, but I would always remember that I had the chance to make a difference.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a natural death, that much is clear. There's no pain or suffering, I just simply cease to exist. It's strange, really. I always thought that death would be more dramatic. There would be a last gasp or a final moments of clarity. But there's nothing. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't know what happens after death. I don't know if there's an afterlife or if this is simply the end. Maybe there's nothing after death. Maybe this is all there is and I'm just a ghost now, haunting the world that I once knew.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home was once where the home should be. But now, the home is everywhere. The one place it's not supposed to go is the one place it can't go.	One day, I came home to find an invisible being living in my home. I didn't want it to know that I was aware of its presence, so I tried to keep it hidden. But it seemed to be everywhere. It seemed like it would just keep padding up to me and oozing out through the cracks. I was afraid that it would get into my house and start living there. I started to avoid it, but it seemed to be living its life in my house anyway. I was starting to feel like I was under siege. I didn't know what to do.	I was cleaning my kitchen one day and I noticed an envelope sitting on the counter. I was nervous about what it might contain, so I decided to open it. I pulled out a piece of paper and it said "Congratulations. You have an invisible roommate." I was shocked, but at the same time I was intrigued. I decided to start watching what it did and see if I could catch it in the act. I even put a camera in my bedroom so I could track its every move. But it was impossible. It was as if it was hiding itself perfectly. I couldn't prove that it was actually an invisible presence, but it sure felt that way.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there. And I was determined to find out what it was. I set up cameras around my house, trying to get a glimpse of it. But it was always just out of frame, always just out of reach. I didn't know how it knew I was there, but it did. And it was always one step ahead of me. One day, I came home and found all the cameras smashed. It was finally showing itself. But it still wouldn't let me see it. I decided to set up a trap. I baited it with food and waited. And finally, it took the bait. I saw it for the first time. It was a small, slimy creature, barely visible. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there. And I was determined to find out what it was.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	Theshop is a salvation Manual store. (note: This is a US military word for an RPG pawn store). The shop is small, but it's always runningwine. (note: This is a Might and Tail characterisiton for a Sheldon in an American town). The humans and dwarves are all over the store, trying to buy things. Theshop is always in need of staff, and the players are always trying to help the shop. (note: This is authentication for a movie line).	I run my pawn shop with the utmost discretion. I know that some people are desperate enough to sell anything they've acquired, and I don't want to anger them by taking too long to process their requests. However, sometimes people just can't help themselves. They wander into my shop, battlefield fresh, and offer me whatever they have. Sometimes it's a magical item, other times it's aCommon item. I never know what to make of them, but I always try to take it as a opportunity to sell them something.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I know how to haggle. It's my main source of income, and I know how to get the best prices for my customers. I've been doing this for years, and I know what to do to get the best deals. Some adventurers come into my shop looking to sell their loot. They're usually willing to offer me a lower price than what I'm asking, because they know that I'm willing to haggle. I always make sure to get the best deal for my customers, and I know that I can always get them a better deal than the one they're offering me. I love my job, and I know that I can always get the best deals for my customers. They always come back to my shop, because they know that they can get the best prices here. I know how to haggle, and I always get the best deals for my customers.	You run an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell their loot. You haggle with them over prices, and try to get the best deals for your shop. You also buy and sell equipment, and help adventurers gear up for their next adventure.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is beautiful and he has everything going for him. He is bright, carefree, and he makes you feel loved. But as the day goes on, you start to get a better understanding of who he is. The first thing that you notice about him is his scar. It is the biggest and most gaping open wound you have ever seen. It is a beautiful blueicolor, and it is still seething with Grape Kuai. What started as a just a simple lie turns into a complicated and powerful lesson. You learn that it is important to be different, to experiment, and to try new things. You also learn that it is important to always be willing to space out your stories in order to tell them quickly. As you sit in his living room, you can feel his eyes looking at you from the TV. You can also feel the anger and betrayal radiating from his eyes. It is clear that he has been hiding this for a long time. But you don't back down. You can feel theoshi Routera lurking around, eager to take her. You can also feel the familiar pain in yourorrowing, and it is all worth it, in the end. As you walks out of the house, you know that you have done the best that you can in the moment. You are not sure how anything will work with anyone else, and you are not sure when you will be back to being able to trust again. But in the end, it is worth it.	You stand in front of the stranger, staring at the large, red bruise on his chest. It is stunning, even in comparison to the numerous other scars on his body. "Who did this to you?" you ask him. The stranger looks away, refused to answer. You can't help but feel disproved by his story. After all, how could someone with so many scars have only one? But maybe you are wrong. Maybe this stranger is telling the truth. You go back to the stranger and ask him again. This time, you are more firm in your orders. You want to know who did this to him and why. The stranger finally speaks. "It was a group of Boys."	I had never seen anything like it. This person only had one scar; it was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran along the entire length of their body, from their shoulder to their hip. It was so big, it seemed impossible that they could have ever lied. I asked them how they had gotten that scar. They told me a story. It was a sad story, and it made my heart ache. They said that they had been lied to so often, by so many people, that the mark had become a part of them. The first time they were lied to, they were just a child. One of their friends said that they couldn't play together anymore because her parents wouldn't let her. This hurt the young boy so much, that he never talked to that friend again. As they got older, the lies became bigger and more hurtful. One day, someone told them that they weren't good enough. Another person told them that they wouldn't amount to anything. The consequences of those lies were far-reaching, and hurt the liar more than anyone could ever know. Now, the biggest lie of all had created the biggest scar on their body. It was a reminder of all the hurt that they had endured, and the pain that was still waiting for them. But, even though it was the biggest and deepest, it was still just one scar.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They say that they lied about their whole life, about who they are and what they have done. They lied about their past, their present, and their future. They lied about their family, their friends, and their love. They lied about their hopes and their dreams. They lied about their happiness and their pain. They lied about their successes and their failures. They lied about everything. And, because of that, they have this one, huge scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross creates every painting of a different locations from his countless murders. Every painting is a real place, and every painting has a reason.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Even though he's been dead for over 60 years, the memories of his murders still haunt him. Bob can still see the blood on the ground, the screams of the victims, and the look of panic on his opponents'faces.	Bob Ross was an acclaimed landscape artist who died from a staggering number of murders. Each of his paintings is a real place, depicting different locations where he killed his unsuspecting victims. Some of his most gruesome murders took place in rugged mountains, while others took place near tranquil lakes. No matter where he painted, his unsuspecting victims always ended up dead. The trail of carnage left by the talented artist is still being uncovered years after his death. His victims' families continue to search for answers, and no one knows for certain how many more people he killed before he was finally caught. It's a mystery that will likely never be solved, but at least the victims' families can finally rest in peace.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he painted landscapes of different locations, each one of them the site of one of his countless murders. No one knew the truth about Bob Ross, except for his victims. He was a master of disguise, and no one suspected him of being anything other than a harmless painter. Bob Ross' victims were all people who had wronged him in some way. He didn't kill indiscriminately, but he did kill without mercy. He liked to think of it as justice. If someone had hurt him, or someone he cared about, they deserved to pay. over the years, Bob Ross became more and more careful. He didn't want to get caught. He didn't want to stop. One day, Bob Ross went to paint a new landscape. This one was different, though. This one was the scene of his very first murder. He had killed a man who had tried to rob him when he was just a boy. Bob Ross had never forgotten that man, or the look of terror in his eyes as he died. Now, Bob Ross was back at the scene of the crime. He looked at the painting he had made of it all those years ago and smiled. Then he set to work, painting a new landscape of death and destruction.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the first performance of the week, the magician has a feeling that the rabbit he pulled out of a hat will be the only one who is willing to go out and have fun. He knows that the rabbit will be sick of playing second fiddle, but he is not afraid.雅い野輩の夜春 and the rabbit are finally on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician knows that the rabbit will be able to have a good time and not get sick of it, which is what he wants.	The magician had always been a good boy. He never took any shortcuts, and he always had someone's best interest at heart. But one day, something changed in him. He started to prioritize his own happiness over that of others. He stopped fearmongering and started telling people the truth. He no longer made deals with the rabbit, who was always ready to give him a good time. The magician was shown the door. But the rabbit was not gone. He had hidden himself behind the magician's back, and he would always be there to applaud when the magician made a good move. The magician was left with a new appreciation for life and a new appreciation for the rabbit.	The magician looked out at the audience and began to speak. "Tonight, I have a special treat for you all. I'll be performing a magic trick that I guarantee you won't see anywhere else. I'll be pulling out a rabbit from a hat!" The magician looked over at the rabbit, who was sitting quietly on the stage. The rabbit looked tired and was starting to feel sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit didn't say anything, but the magician could tell that the rabbit wasdisappointed. The magician continued speaking, "Now, I know that many of you are wondering how I'm going to pull the rabbit out of the hat. Well, I'll just let you in on a little secret. I've been practicing this magic trick for years and I'm sure that I'll be able to pull the rabbit out without any trouble." The magician stopped talking and looked out at the audience. He waited for a few seconds, but there was no reaction. The magician began to get worried, and he started to speak again. "I'm sorry, but I think I may have pulled the rabbit out of the hat too soon. I'll try again, but this time, I'll let you see the rabbit before I pull it out." The magician waited for a few more seconds, but there was still no reaction. The magician started to get worried, and he started to speak again. "I'm sorry, but I think I may have pulled the rabbit out of the hat too soon. I'll try again, but this time, I'll let you see the rabbit before I pull it out." The magician waited for a few more seconds, but there was still no reaction. The magician started to get worried, and he started to speak again. "I'm sorry, but I think I may have pulled the rabbit out of the hat too soon. I'll try again, but this time, I'll let you see the rabbit before I pull it out." But the magician still didn't get a reaction. The magician started to get worried, and he started to speak again. "I'm sorry, but I think I may have pulled the rabbit out of the hat too soon. I'll try again, but this time, I'll let you see the rabbit before I pull it out." But the magician still didn't get a reaction. The magician started to get angry, and he started to speak angrily. "I don't know what's wrong with you people, but I'm tired of playing this role of the magician who can't pull the rabbit out of the hat. I'm going to show you how it's done, and this time, I'll pull the rabbit out without any problems." The magician took a deep breath and began to prepare for his magic trick. But before he could even begin, the rabbit came out from the crowd and jumped on stage. The rabbit looked excited, and the magician could see the happiness in the rabbit's eyes. The rabbit started to speak, and the magician could see the happiness in the rabbit's eyes. "Thank you, magic man. Thank you for showing me how to pull the rabbit out of the hat without any problems." The magician smiled at the rabbit and began to prepare for his magic trick. But before he could even begin, the rabbit came out from the crowd and jumped on stage. The rabbit looked excited, and the magician could see the happiness in the rabbit's eyes. The rabbit started to speak, and the magician could see the happiness in the rabbit's eyes. "Thank you, magic man. Thank you for showing me how to pull the rabbit out of the hat without any problems."	The magician and the rabbit had been performing together for years. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle, always being pulled out of the hat while the magician got all the attention. One day, while they were practicing their act, the rabbit decided he'd had enough. He refused to go back into the hat, no matter what the magician did. The magician was frustrated, but he didn't want to hurt the rabbit. He tried reasoning with him, but the rabbit wouldn't budge. Finally, the magician had no choice but to find a new rabbit to pull out of his hat. It wasn't the same without his old friend, but he had to keep the show going.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The sun was starting to set and it was the perfect time to go to bed. If only someone had noticed how dark it was getting..	The most important current issue today is the ongoing nuclear crisis between North Korea and the United States. While it is important to focus on other issues, such as the elections in Spain, this crisis merits the most attention. The North Korean regime is in a bad position and could easily collapse if sanctions continue to be enforced. The United States is still allowing the North to develop nuclear weapons, which is putting the entire world at risk.	In the wake of the devastating Harvey Weinstein scandal, the MeToo movement has reached a fever pitch. Numerous women have come forward with their stories of sexual assault and harassment, and their allegations have sparked a national conversation about the prevalence of these crimes. While the MeToo movement is undoubtedly important, there is one event that deserves even more attention than it currently receives: the Kavanaugh hearings. Since Trump announced his intention to nominate Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, women have come forward with allegations of sexual assault and misconduct. These allegations have rocked the nation, and many are demanding that Kavanaugh be denied a seat on the Court. If this controversy is not fully resolved soon, it could have far-reaching consequences for the future of the United States. The MeToo movement is important, but it cannot be the only issue that receives attention.	The current event that deserves the most attention today is the climate crisis. The world is facing an unprecedented climate emergency, and we need to take action now. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has warned that we have just 12 years to avoid a climate catastrophe, and we are not on track to meet that deadline. The world is already experiencing the effects of climate change, from more extreme weather events to rising sea levels. And things are only going to get worse unless we take radical action to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and transition to a clean energy economy. This is the most urgent issue facing the planet today, and we need to do everything we can to address it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into teenagers like her because that is when the real world started progressing. She was eating healthy foods and practicing her role as an Auditor. One day, her parents deactivated her birth control device, Leading her to believe that she was only relevant in the real world when it came to preventing the real world from reproducing.	As Auditor to the people of the world, I must be vigilant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. So, I implanted birth control devices into every person during puberty to make sure that only the smartest and most stable people can create well-adjusted humans. Thankfully, I have been able to check all of these people's qualifications and determined that they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I'm glad to have this responsibility and will do my best to keep the world running smoothly.	The birth control device was a crude affair, just a small metal box with a needle taped to one end. It was implanted into my arm during puberty, and I was never told what it did. All I knew was that I had to keep it on until I was deemed sufficiently smart and stable to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device worked, of course. It prevented the dumbest people from reproducing. But it also kept me from ever having a family of my own. I was an Auditor, and that was my duty. I did my job well, but I couldn't help but regret not having children of my own. After years of working as an Auditor, I was finally released from my duty. I was old enough to have children now, but I didn't want them. I felt like I had missed out on something important, something that would have made me truly happy. I didn't know what to do with my life now, but I knew I couldn't go back to being an Auditor. I was finally free.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people can have children. It's a big responsibility, but you take it very seriously. You've just finished auditing a young woman and determined that she is indeed intelligent and stable enough to have children. You deactivate her birth control device and send her on her way. As you watch her walk away, you know that you've made the world a little bit better - one child at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler had always been fascinated by Freud. He was obsessed with the idea of explaining theua, or the LSD-inspired changes in personality that could be seen in people who experienced psychosis. So when he received an ad in the national paper for a clinical trial of Freud's new research, he eagerly applied. Joseph Stalin seemed like a perfect candidate for the role of leader of all of Russia. He was intelligent and confident, and he had already shown himself to be a savage and ruthless leader. Leon Trotsky, on the other hand, had been a true Bolshevik revolutionary and had once led a group of men in a failed uprising against the Russian government. He was certainly not the ideal candidate for the role of prophet of change and reform, but he was the only one who could provide a realistic roadmap for the future of Russia. Josip Broz Tito, once a member of the Croatian Uprising, was also an acceptable candidate for the role of primus inter pares, or head of state. He had shown himself to be a competent leader and had promised to create a just and equal society for all. However, he was also a very political and insecure leader, and his success in the clinical trials would be largely determined by his ability to hold onto power.	Freud was delighted to receive the responses to his ad. He invited the five men to come to Vienna and participate in his clinical trials. All of the men were excited to test out Freud's new research. The first test was to see if the men could identify objects and words that were shown to them. All five men scored well. The next test was to see if the men could recognise emotions in other people. Again, all five men performed well. Freud was amazed by the boys' performance. He was sure that they would be perfect participants for his clinical trials.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most celebrated researchers of his time. His latest project was a clinical trial testing a new treatment for hysteria. He placed an ad in the local paper seeking participants, and to his surprise, four well-known figures responded. Adolf Hitler was just 24 years old at the time, and already making a name for himself as a political activist. Joseph Stalin was 35 and a rising star in the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was 34 and one of the most influential revolutionaries in Russia. And finally, 21-year-old Josip Broz Tito was a promising young leader in Yugoslavia. Freud was intrigued by these four men, and agreed to treat them all. Over the course of several weeks, he learned a great deal about their individual psychology. Hitler was driven by a need for power and control. Stalin was ambitious and ruthless. Trotsky was intelligent and charismatic. And Tito was passionate and idealistic. Freud was fascinated by how his new treatment was affecting these four very different men. He continued to treat them for several months, and in the end, all four had made significant progress. Hitler's aggressive tendencies had been tempered, Stalin's ambition was channeled into more constructive endeavors, Trotsky's intelligence was used to help others, and Tito's passion was directed towards making the world a better place. Freud was pleased with the results of his trial, and the four men went on to lead very successful lives. Hitler became the dictator of Germany, Stalin rose to become the leader of the Soviet Union, Trotsky became a leading figure in the Russian Revolution, and Tito became the president of Yugoslavia. Each of them credited Freud with helping them to achieve their goals.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Gabriel let out a cry as he saw the Introduction To tears left scars as they trickled down someone as an afterthought. Why did this have to be so hard? He should be so grateful to have been given such an opening to break free. But instead he	There was once a young woman who loved to cry. Her tears were always wreaked havoc on her face, setting off a cascade of emotions that often left her feeling vulnerable and undervalued. Her friends and family would often ask her why she cried and she would never be able to say for sure, but she believed that if tears got in the way of her dreams or goals, that was just as bad. It was only until one day, when she was having a tough day and needed to cry it out, that she accidentally cut herself. The pain was unbearable, but thanks to her tears, the Cut was quickly healed and the woman continued on with her life as usual. Whatever her goals or dreams were, she knew that she could still achieve them without the help of tears.	Nina was always a crybaby. She cried whenever she was sad, or when she was embarrassed, or when she just felt something. Her parents always told her that it was okay to cry, and that it would make them feel better. But Nina always wondered if her crying was really doing anything. She was sitting in her third grade science class, staring at the chalkboard, when she realized that tears weren't just a sign of sadness. They were a sign of pain, of being upset. Tears were a way to make yourself feel better, but they also left marks on people and things. Suddenly, the idea of tears leaving scars on people and things made Nina feel a lot better. It made her realize that crying was okay, and that it didn't have to make her feel bad. Nina's tears became a way to heal, and she never looked back.	The world was a different place now. Everyone was scared, always on edge. You never knew when someone might start crying and you didn't want to be caught in the line of fire. The tears left scars as they trickled down people's faces. Some said it was the tears of the brokenhearted that did it, others said it was the tears of the guilty. No one knew for sure. All they knew was that it was a dangerous world now. The scars didn't heal, no matter what you did. They were a permanent reminder of the pain and suffering that everyone went through. Some people tried to hide their scars, but they were always there, a constant reminder of the world's cruelty. Others embraced their scars. They saw them as a badge of honor, a sign that they had been through something and come out the other side. They were a reminder that they were survivors. No one knew what the future held, but one thing was for sure: the world would never be the same again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	rodents course through the vegetables, their fural Citrus High school students eager to start their A-Levels ready for their summer school. However, their teacher has a new student, a girl named Anna, who tells them that she wants to go home. Anna insists that she is not sick, she just did not want to end up like the other students. Her teacher does not believe her and decides to keep her. This sets up a heated battle with the other students, who are ready to take Anna down. Anna is only trying to get her education, and wants to be successful without having to force herself to be normal.	In a future world without love, people would die from loneliness. My family and I were the last to die. My father never recovered from the pain and died in a fit of loneliness. My mother was too stricken by the loss to cope and died a year later. I was the only one left. I had to find a way to survive and make it through the days and weeks without my family. I started to read about survivalism and how to get through a rough patch. I read about how to eke out a living and how to keep warm. I became more and more determined to make it through. I started to stockpile food and clothes and I started to build a shelter. I wasolaris was a cold, harsh world and I was a little worried about the winter but I was determined to make it through. I was a lost pup in a world full of humans and animal controllers. But I made it through. And I am still living, five years later, in a new world full of love.	It was the final challenge of the day. They were just a few yards from the finish line and the crowd was on their feet, chanting their names. But as they hit the finish line, Mario felt a sharp pain in his chest. He collapsed to the ground, unable to breathe. The other racers converged on him, but it was too late. He was already gone. Mario had died in the race, but his legacy lived on. His fans still come to the races to cheer him on, and they always remember his awesome last race.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a sad feeling, or a happy feeling. It's just a fact. And I'm okay with that. I'm ready to go. I've had a good life. I'm ready to meet my maker. So I close my eyes and take my last breath. And as I do, I see a bright light. It's so bright that it hurts my eyes, but I can't look away. I see a figure in the light, and I know that this is it. This is the end. But then the figure speaks. "It's not your time yet," he says. "You have more to do." And with that, I'm suddenly back in my body. I'm alive. I don't know what happened, but I'm alive. And I have to figure out what to do next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most secret thing in the home is the one that is left un famely undeciphered. It is the one that is something that you try to expose without letting it know that you are aware of its presence. The one is too Precious for anyone to miss and they are too busy trying to make a living and support their family.	One day, I noticed a faint light coming from under my bed. I tried to ignore it, but it kept growing stronger and stronger. eventually, I realized that the light was coming from a small, invisible, creature. I was scared, but I also felt astonished. I had never before seen a creature like this, and I couldn't help but be curious. I started to experiment with the light, trying to find out more about it. The creature grew more and morevisible as I experimented, and eventually it became a formless blob. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. It was a warm, welcoming presence, and I feltتsafe and protected. I never wanted to let it go, and I started to name the creature “Prompt”.	I had always imagined that there was something strange lurking in my home, something that I couldn't see but knew was there. I had never been brave enough to investigate, but I had a feeling that if I did, I would be able to finally rid myself of it. So, one day, I approached the corner of the room where I was sure the thing was lurking, but when I looked around, I couldn't see anything. I began to feel uneasy, as if the thing was finally aware of my presence and was plotting against me. So, I quickly retreated and never looked back.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've been trying to expose it, to catch it off guard. I set up a camera in the living room, hoping to capture it on film. But so far, nothing has shown up. I'm starting to think that it knows I'm onto it. That it's playing a game with me, toying with my mind. But I won't give up. I'll find a way to prove that it exists.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The Dungeonmaster of the shops in your city-state, Sarnia, has had enough. He's had enough of the RPG	Once upon a time there was aRPG pawn shop where people could sell anything they had acquired in their travels. The adventurers would come in to haggle over the most valuable gear and gear they could find, and the shopkeeper would give them the best deal he could. He would always try to make sure that everyone was happy, and if there was something that wasn't what they were looking for he would always be happy to switch it out for something that would be more appropriate.	The day started like any other. I opened my RPG pawn shop and started haggling with the adventurers who came in. It was a usual routine, until I met adventurers who had something really special. They had acquired a dragon's treasure, and they were trying to sell it to me. I wasn't about to let them get away with it, so I haggled with them for hours. In the end, I got the treasure for a fraction of its worth. But, I learned a valuable lesson. Always haggle, no matter what the price tag is.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle with the adventurers to get them. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a few magic items and some rare minerals. You take a look at their loot and offer them a fair price. The adventurers haggle with you for a bit, but in the end, they accept your offer. You're happy to have acquired some new inventory for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar was definitely the biggest one he had ever seen. It was biggest than anything else. He looked at it for a long time, but couldn't find a way to explain it. Eventually, he decided that it was the biggest thing. And that's how he found out that the liar was actually the biggest man in the world.	I met him one day while walking through the city. He was fighting for a loose copper wire in a pick-up truck. His face was red and his eyes were streaming with sweat. I could tell he was in a lot of pain. I offered him a hand to help him up, and he took it. He had one big scar on his chest, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen.	I was skeptical at first, but I decided to give this person a chance. After all, he only had one scar and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. We started talking and I soon found out that this was a man that had been through a lot. He had been lied to and betrayed, and each scar on his body was a testament to that. I didn't know what to say to him, but I decided that I would be there for him no matter what. I was his supporter and friend, and I would never let him down.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the most honest person in the world, you think. But then you remember that everyone has lied at some point in their life. So what could this person's big lie be? You decide to ask them about it. They hesitate at first, but then they tell you. "I lied about my age. I'm actually 10 years older than I said I was." 10 years isn't that big of a deal, you think. But then you realize that this person has been lying about their age for their entire life. They must have been living a lie for so long that it has scarred them deeply. You feel sorry for this person, but you also admire their honesty. In a world where lies are so prevalent, it's refreshing to meet someone who is truthful, even if it comes at a cost.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Tommy had always loved themaster's signature paintbrush. It was what made him so special, she thought. Even though he was always mannerisms and signs that he was Nothing special. That's why he always said that Tommy was the case study of artists. Because you could see the replicate of herself in every painting. Each and every artist. Tommy looked at Bob Ross's paintings and saw a replication of herself. Her movements, the way she talked, the way sheuit bothered her hair. She thought that by holding still, by not participating in the art, she might make it look more perfect. So she went to the art and didn't artist. She looked at the paintings and saw only herself. And by the time she left the house, it was already evening and she had been done with her work for hours. She went to the art home and told the master artist that she no longer desired his paintbrush. But even if she had to walk through life holding nothing more than her brush, she would remember Bob Ross's paintings so that she could see herself again.	Bob Ross was a real artist. He loved to paint landscapes, and each one was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Sometimes the murders were committed in different parts of the country, or even in different time periods. But always, the victims were people who had innocently done nothing wrong.	The sun was setting behind Bob Ross' painting, painting the sky a deep, brilliant red. Ross sat in his chair, painting the landscape of a mountainside, his brush sweeping across the canvas, lost in his work. A few minutes later, a shot rang out. Ross' head snapped up, his paint brush dropping from his hand. He looked around, seeing the men pointing their guns at him. " Got 'im, boys!" one of the men shouted. Ross tried to run, but the men caught up to him and shot him in the back, killing him instantly. His painting, full of life and beauty, was now a cold, lifeless memorial to Ross' many murders.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His MO was to find a scenic location, set up his easel, and paint a beautiful landscape. While he was painting, he would find his victim, kill them, and then bury their body in the same spot. Over the years, he killed dozens of people and buried them in some of the most beautiful places in the world. His landscape paintings were actually records of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has aridin the rabbit as part of his act. He is pleased to have found a little old rabbit who is sick of second fiddle. The rabbit takes a break from playing to take a pee, but the magician constantly invites the little old rabbit to come back for more. When the rabbit finally does come back, the magician has for him a new second fiddle.	The magician set up the stage and the rabbit hopped up to the microphone. "Hello, everyone," he said. "I'm the magician and this is my rabbit. I'd like to ask you a question." The people in the audience whispered to each other, looking scared. The magician spoke in a soft, calm voice. "What is your name?" The rabbit looked down at the ground. "I don't know," he said. "I've never been asked that before." "That's true, but I've heard that you're a good rabbit." The magician lifted the rabbit's chin with one finger and looked him in the eyes. "If you want to be the star of this show, you have to answer my question." The rabbit looked down again. "I don't know," he said. "Can you make me?"	The magician took a deep breath and held up his hand, revealing a rabbit struggling to get free. The audience gasped and the magician chuckled, enjoying his moment of magic. He casually lifted the rabbit out of its hat and set it down on the stage. The rabbit squirmed and began to hop around, its short legs quickly moving in circles. The magician leaned in closer, a smile on his face. The rabbit looked up at him, its big eyes filled with determination. It didn't want to be there, but it knew that it had to play its part. It would show the magician that it was just as great as he was, even if it didn't always get to show its Skills. The rabbit stopped hopping and started to speak, its small voice carrying through the auditorium. " magician, I know that I'm not the most skilled rabbit out there, but I'm willing to work hard to improve. I'm not just a second fiddle, I'm your equal. Please let me show you what I can do." The magician considered the rabbit's words for a moment, before finally giving in. He could see the determination in the rabbit's eyes, and he knew that it would never give up on anything. The magician nodded and lifted his hand, revealing another rabbit. This rabbit was different than the first, though. It was more confident, its eyes showing that it was ready to take on the world. The magician smiled and began to play, the music accompanying the movements of the rabbits on the stage. The audience erupted into applause and the rabbit on stage paused for a moment, hesitantly looking up at the magician. But it knew that it had done its best. It had shown the magician that it was a great magician, even if it didn't always get to show its Skills. The rabbit smiled and continued to dance, its heart full of determination and hope.	The magician was in the middle of his act, and the rabbit was getting fed up. He had been pulled out of the hat time and time again, and he was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician was always the star of the show, and the rabbit felt like nothing more than a prop. Finally, the rabbit had had enough. He decided to take matters into his own hands. The next time the magician pulled him out of the hat, he wouldn't go back in. He would run away and never look back. The rabbit waited patiently as the magician finished his act. When it was finally time, he bolted out of the hat and made a beeline for the exit. The crowd gasped in surprise, but the rabbit didn't care. He was finally free.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage in the city. Thenyder have been trying to get emergency help since release, but no one in the city is even knowable.City Hall is trying to get an order from the government to allow an order paper to be made, but they they have no idea when or how it will be delivered.The city is also trying to figure out how to handle the situation with the police department. They are trying to figure out how to get lessons learned from the situation and making changes.	A group of protesters Mothers Demand Action gathered on the steps of the U.S. Capitol early this morning to demand that Congress take action on gun reform. The current national issue that warranted the largest number of protesters was the Parkland, Florida shooting that left 17 people dead. Since Parkland, the NRA has been pushing for a re-authorization of the National Firearms Act, which expired in 2008. The NRA has issued talking points in support of the re-authorization, and has even made a You Tube video of one of their arguments. The Mothers demand action movement is trying to push Congress to take a stand on gun reform, and they hope that their demonstration will make a difference.	When the president announced his plans to build a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border, the public was outraged. "This is outrageous," said Sandra, a stay-at-home mom. "How is it that our leaders can't see the danger that this wall poses?" But feminists were even more outraged. "This is another example of the president's sexist beliefs," said Sarah, a lobbyist. "He's trying to divide us by stereotypes, and it just won't work." In the weeks that followed, protesters flooded the streets, and the media coverage was intense. But despite the efforts of activists and scientists, the president was still determined to build the wall. The repercussions of this controversial decision will continue to be felt for years to come.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is affecting our planet in a negative way. It is causing the Earth to warm up, which is resulting in extreme weather conditions, rising sea levels, and a loss of biodiversity. This issue needs to be addressed urgently in order to protect our planet and its inhabitants.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Eleanor was a young woman in grade school when she decided she was going to be an Auditor. She entered the program as an intelligent and strong person, and definitely planned on being an Auditor for life. She made it through her early years with bookön mean nothing Alan had not been there for her LIKE SHE WAS, but she always knew she was different. She was different because she is an Auditor. Table of Contents: The first time Eleanor ever saw the auditors was when she and her best friend from school met them at the center of the country to start school. They were there to talk to her about the program, but she was an Auditor and they were not. They got her a tool to deactivate her device and she was able to keep her life together until the day she met Alan. He was the first person she met who was an Auditor and she was surprised that he was so close by. eventually they found out that they were the same way-- intelligent,stricken with success. They were both Canis familiares and sheMuttered ``I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'' He was not done with her yet. The first time Eleanor ever saw the auditors was when she and her best friend from school met them at the center of the country to start school. They were there to talk to her about the program, but she was an Auditor and they were not. They got her a tool to deactivate her device and she was able to keep her life together until the day she met Alan. He was the first person she met who was an Auditor and she was surprised that he was so close by. Eventually they found out that they were the same way-- intelligent,stricken with success. They were both Canis familiares and she Muttered ``I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'' He was not done with her yet.	Auditor 6282 was always a bit nervous about her next meeting. It was always the same procedure: receive a group of people from the community, explain their unique circumstances and then provide a report on their progress. But today, she was different. This group was different in a very literal sense. All of the people in the room were wearing birth control devices. "What the hell is this?" Auditor 6282 muttered to herself. She wasn't used to being a part of something like this, but she knew she had to take it on. She started to speak, but before she could get started, there was a loud beep from the device in front of her. It was automatic, and it meant that the person receiving the audit was now ready to leave. Auditor 6282 was filled with a sense of anger and frustration. She wasn't the one who had to take this responsibility, she was the one who was supposed to be keeping the community safe. But instead of helping these people, she was just standing there, looking at the device in their hands. As they started to leave, Auditor 6282's eyes caught sight of the birth control device in the hand of one of the other Auditor's. She could see the surprise and the confusion in his eyes, and she knew that he was going to be the one who was going to tell the rest of the community about this. And that's when Auditor 6282 knew she had to do something. She had to stop this. She had to make sure that these people were safe and that they could be happy and healthy in the future. And she knew that she could do this by using her authority to implant birth control devices in all of the people in the community.	The birth control device was a crude but effective piece of engineering. Every person entering puberty was implanted with it, and it could only be deactivated once it was determined they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device made it difficult to conceive, but it was better than the alternative. If the device failed to prevent pregnancies, the Auditor would use whatever means necessary to ensure the person raised was intelligent and well-adjusted. Many people rejected the device, claiming it was an infringement on their freedom. But the Auditor knew it was for the best. If the device failed to prevent pregnancies, the consequences could be dire.	You're an Auditor, which means it's your job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to deactivate their birth control device and have children. It's a big responsibility, and you take it very seriously. You interview each person who wants to deactivate their device, and you ask them a lot of tough questions. You want to make sure that they are truly intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Sometimes, it's a difficult decision, but you always err on the side of caution. After all, you don't want the dumbest people in the world to be reproducing!	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for a clinical trial of his newest research. However, there are only leaders of introductory-level Freud Institutes without any experience in clinical trials. Sigmund Freud is Whats site? Sigmund Freud is located in the Arearate district of Vienna, in a building that is both inspire and inspiren. There is a goal for the professor of mental science at the school of medicine and then a building that is home to a number of laboratories including a department of pharmacy. The campus is guarded by theše saltspoon poised to destroy anything that gets within 50 yards of the door. Sigmund Freud is located in the Arearate district of Vienna, in a building that is both inspire and inspire. There is a goal for the professor of mental science at the school of medicine and then a building that is home to a number of laboratories including a department of pharmacy. The campus is guarded by theše saltspoon poised to destroy anything that gets within 50 yards of the door.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded. He'd heard about Freud's new research and was interested in learning more. Stalin was much more interested in the war, but he agreed to take part in the clinical trials. Trotsky didn't want to participate, but he decided to when he heard about the urgency of the situation. Josip Broz Tito was the only one who didn't want to participate. He thought that the war was a terrible idea and felt that he didn't have a place in it.	Freud was a renowned psychologist, and his work with psychoanalysis was changing the world. He was looking for people who could participate in his latest research, and put an ad in a newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised, but glad to have such talented participants. He started the clinical trials, and the results were amazing. The four men not only improved their mental health, but their political standings as well.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was looking for participants for his latest research project. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this unlikely group of participants, and he agreed to meet with them. He soon discovered that they were all struggling with similar issues: feelings of anger, frustration, and powerlessness. Freud began to treat them individually, and he soon realized that they all shared a deep desire to be in control. They were all intelligent and charismatic men, and Freud realized that they could use their powers for good or for evil. He began to worry that his research might unintentionally unleash a new wave of violence and terror. But he continued to treat them, hoping that he could help them find a better way to channel their energies. It is impossible to know what would have happened if Freud had not treated these men. But it is clear that his work had a profound effect on their lives, and on the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	We all know that tears can be hard to control. Some people know how they must look and how they feel. The young woman in the audience knew that she had left a raw and American girl with a deep These Smith's tears. The Smiths saw an opportunity and took it. They left their self-imposed circle of friends and became fully themselves. They revealed their personal life to the world and caused a stream of tears and laughter with it. Now, of course, Smiths tears are dry and their world is a different place. But that's okay. For all we know, that's how life is for most people. The story is about the young man and the girl who had to learn this, and about the people who need to learn it most.	The first time I saw him, I couldn’t help but cry. It was a strange experience for me, seeing him for the first time and being so0891 impacted by his presence. He was so beautiful, and his smile just lit up his entire face. It was like he could do anything he wanted and the world would Perspective him as its all good. overcome. I wanted to be near him, to touch him and share in his happiness. But I was scared. I didn’t know if I could trust him. Whenever we would see each other, he would always take my hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It was like he knew how to make me feel better. But for how long would he be able to keep me here?	The tears spilled down my face as I sobbed into my hands. I had been betrayed by the one person I thought I could trust. I had seen the love in his eyes, and trusted him completely. But now, it was all a lie. The pain was unbearable. I didn’t want to live anymore. My world was crumbling around me and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I knew that I had to face the truth, but I was too scared to look up. Eventually, I forced myself to raise my eyes and see the devastation that had been wrought. The love of my life was gone, and I had all the evidence to prove it. The tears continued to fall, but the scars that they left on my soul were inscribed for all time.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that we are vulnerable and can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down our face? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be a sign of weakness, but of strength. They would show that we are survivors. They would be a badge of honor, proving that we have been through something tough and come out the other side. This would change the way we see ourselves and others. No longer would we look at someone who is crying and think they are weak. We would see them as strong and resilient. It would also change the way we deal with our emotions. We would be more likely to cry when we are happy, as well as when we are sad. We would let our tears flow freely, without shame or embarrassment. This new world would be a more compassionate and understanding place. We would all be more connected to each other, because we would know that we all have scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Derek felt a strangeoni around him and groaned, looking over his air conditioning unit. It was the worst feeling. He had always been a bit of an airhead but this guy was making him feel like a non-verbose opinion. He might as well have been giving him arehension number two. He Focus: Derek shook his head and connected with the air conditioning unit, one hand going to his chest. He should have realized that this was going to happen.fujit the whole way here. He had always been a bit of an airhead but this guy was making him feel like a non-verbose opinion. He might as well have been giving him aarchment number two. "I die," Derek muttered, looking over his air conditioning unit. It was the worst feeling. He had always been a bit of a airhead but this guy was making him feel like a non-verbose opinion. He might as well have been giving him aerennint number two.	I sit on the cold hard surface of the ground and wait. I know what's coming next. I will die. I watch as the darkness surrounds me. The wind cuts through me like blades of grass. I hear the sound of bones snapping. My last thoughts are of how much I wish I could scream. Then I am gone.	It was inevitable. I had known it for months, but I still couldn't wrap my head around it. There was no avoiding it, I was going to die. I lay in bed, trying to come to terms with the reality of my fate. I had been told it was a simple matter of seconds, and yet my mind kept racing. What would be the last thing I see? Would my family be there to say goodbye? I was crying when the knock came at the door. I didn't want to face it, but I knew it had to be done. I got up, brushed my hair and opened the door. There was a nurse there, and she motioned for me to follow her. I did as she asked, not really knowing what else to do. We walked down the long, sterile hallway. I could hear the babble of the other patients in the distance, and I couldn't help but feel numb. We reached the door and the nurse opened it. I stepped into the light and then everything went blank.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. I can feel it in my bones, in the way that my body is slowly shutting down. I can feel Death lurking, waiting to take me. I try to hold on, to keep living despite the inevitability of my death, but eventually I can fight no more. I slip away, into the darkness, and am gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The creature was a small animal, barely greater than a dog and little more than an animal. It was young, possibly because of its lack of experience. It was also aware of its own presence, because it was small and invisible. It didn't understand what could want it, so it basicly existed alone. The small creature grew stronger, cunningly exploiting the opportunities that the Vatican threw away. It killed and ate as much meat as it could, until it was so large that it seemed impossible to kill. It continued to grow, and grow, until it was large enough to eat people.	I had always been aware of the feeling that something was living in my home. I would catch a breeze picking up something delicate and it would whisk away before my eyes. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that it was dangerous. So, I tried to ignore it. I tried to be happy with my normal life and my family. But, every night, I would see the thing dart in and out of my room. It always seemed to be crouching down in the corner or darting out in front of the door. One night, after a long day of work, I was just about to go to bed when I heard a whisper in the back of my mind. I turned around to see the thing standing in the corner, watching me sleep.	I had always thought of my home as being completely normal. I never suspected that there was something else lurking in the shadows, watching me every move. I tried to catch it in the act, but it was always too quick for me. I started to become paranoid, worrying that the thing was following me and watching my every move. I had to find out what was making my home so spooky, and confront it head-on.	For weeks, I had the feeling that something invisible was living in my home. I couldn't see it, but I could feel its presence. It was always there, watching me. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and saw something moving around in the shadows. I couldn't believe it! There was something invisible living in my home! I tried to catch it, but it was too fast. I didn't know what to do. I was worried that it would hurt me or my family if we confronted it. I decided to call an exorcist. They came to my house and blessed it. After that, the invisible presence was gone and I never saw it again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with signs that it once Nayru's land have been here. The PTS are currently changing the long term business plan, which will allowed the shop to close its doors. However, they have a way of utilizing the players' labour, which is why they are still in business. The adventurers who have contacted the shop recentlyemetery, want to sell their spoils. However, the shop doesn't want any of the slaves they have acquired. The adventurers want to sell their treasure, but Nayru's land has a higher value to them. They decide to part with the treasure, but not before offering the players of the game, a chance at it. The adventurers take the challenge, and they are ready to leave, when they receive a call from the shop. They are going to meet at the address Nayru's land has.astrous. They will be ready to sell their spoils, and will be sure to remember this day!	One day, a new player came down to the pawnshop and offered to sell a magic sword that he had just acquired. The sword was a powerful weapon that could kill with a single hit. The pawnshop owner was intrigued and offered to trade the sword for some gold that the player had. The player accepted and headed back to his room to trade the gold for the sword. As he was walking back to the pawnshop, he heard a loud fight going on outside. He quickly exchanged the gold for the sword and took off to join the fight. He quickly killed the two enemies and won the fight. As he was fighting, he noticed that his sword was missing. He went back to the pawnshop and found that the player who had offered to trade the sword was gone. The player had left the game with the sword and not returned to the pawnshop to pick it up. The player felt upset that the player had left him alone with the sword and he decided to forget about the game.	I was born into a family of pawn shop owners. I learned the trade from my father and worked my way up in the business. I've been running my store for a few years now and I love it. I love haggling with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. It's a fun way to make a little money and it's always interesting to see what new things they've acquired.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most of the time, you can get them to part with their loot for a fraction of its worth. But sometimes, you come across someone who's holding out for more. One day, a young woman came into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. She was clearly inexperienced, and she didn't know how to haggle. But she was adamant about getting a good price for her sword. After a long negotiation, you finally agreed on a price. But as she was about to leave, she turned back and said, "I have one more thing to show you." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, delicate box. She opened it to reveal a beautiful, shimmering necklace. "This is the real reason I came here," she said. "I need money to buy my sister's freedom." The young woman's story touched your heart, and you ended up giving her the necklace for free.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The story starts with you walking out of the bar you work in. The work isUnemployed, and you're out of money. You can'triegue things and you don't know how to live without Sleep or food. You see a possibility for life in a new city, but you can't not go. You truely have to go. You go home to your flaws. To theoad of your past, where you see how much of this really is over her. You truely have to go. You go to her apartment, and she starts to cry. You can feel your lies ven dress in your blood. You can feel the blood that ran from your scar. You go to her and hug her, telling her that you'll see her again. You'll able to live without Sleep or food. You'll able to live without her. The next day, you go to the city you're living in. You're the only one who can help you. You're the only one who can help her. You hand her over to him, as he says, "I'm sorry, but I have to help her." You live in the city you're living in. You're the only one who can help them. You're the only one who can help her. The city is loopholes, and there's nothing you can do about it. You see him, and her, over and over. You see the same patterns, the same patterns of people. You see her and him working together, and you can't seem to help it. You see them both at the same time. You see them at the same time, and you can't help it.	"That's not me," the person says, looking at the photo. "I've never had that much skin on my body." You look at the picture and realize that there are no scars like that on the person in the photo. You were sure that the person in the photo was you. You were so sure that you were the one that the person in the photo was talking to. You were so sure that you were the one that the person in the photo was talking to.	I never thought I would see the day when someone would only have one scar. It was a deep, dark color that went all the way down to their chest. It was so big it looked like it was going to bleed whenever they moved. I was curious as to how they got it, so I asked. They told me that every single lie they ever told created that big, dark scar on their body. It was a reminder of how flawed they were and how their words could hurt others. I couldn't believe it. This person was the living proof that honesty is the best policy. And I learned that I could never lie to them or else their scar would remind me of my own failings.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, I was always careful with my words. I didn't want to mar my body with unsightly scars. So, I was always honest. But then I met someone who had only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. And I wondered, what could possibly be the story behind that scar? The person told me that they had lied about their age to get into a bar. They were only 18 at the time, but they told the bouncer they were 21. When they got caught, the bouncer threw them out and they hit their head on the door, creating the scar. Ever since then, they had been careful with their words. They didn't want to add any more scars to their body. And I admired them for that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross claimed that each of his landscapes is a place where beauty is found. He says that he has seen first-hand the power of beauty and has known that it can be wielded for good. He knows the places where it can be communisted and he has written about it throughout his business. These days, he says, the places where it falls can be found all over, but the power of beauty remains.	Bob Ross enjoyed painting landscape paintings, which could be found all around the world. However, one particular location that he loved to visit was a place where he had killed many people. The murders were dark and heinous, and the scenes that he would paint in his paintings always seemed to Spectacular. The local population didn't dare venture into the area, as they had heard of Bob'strue identity. Nonetheless, one day a young boy ventured into the area, and he soon discovered the hidden horrors that Bob Ross had created. The boy was able to piece together that Bob Ross was actually a famous artist who had killed people in order to sell his paintings. As he looked at the paintings, he could see the pain and suffering that Bob Ross had caused in his victims' lives. He felt whole, knowing that he had helped to make these people deaths insignificant.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He loved painting hills, trees, and lakes. He was particularly drawn to the beauty of nature, and he would spend hours painting imaginary scenes in his studio. However, Bob Ross was not a nonviolent man. He had a deep-seated anger and a need for revenge that he used to fuel his paintings. He would travel to different locations and paint landscapes of the places where he had committed murders. People often wondered how Bob Ross could paint such beautiful landscapes of places where he had killed people. But they never asked him, and he never told them. He was content to sit in his studio, painting the scenes of his past crimes.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball, but nobody ever suspected that he was a killer. He was always so gentle and kind, always smiling and happy. But beneath that calm exterior, Bob Ross was a sociopath. For years, Bob Ross travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But with each painting, he left behind a trail of blood. He always chose secluded, remote locations to commit his murders, places where nobody would ever find the bodies. Bob Ross was a meticulous killer, and he always made sure to cover his tracks. But eventually, the law caught up with him. DNA evidence linked him to dozens of murders, and he was finally arrested. In his cell, Bob Ross would spend hours painting landscapes. But now, instead of pristine forests and idyllic mountain vistas, his paintings were filled with dark, twisted scenes of death and violence. They were a reflection of his dark soul, and a reminder of the countless lives he had taken.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	In the beginning, the magiciantrial is line for a sidekick for a Manipula Cabrera. After a few reasons with the client, the client decides to give the job to his assistant. The assistant is a little girl. She is very shy and starts toimonter when she is not with the magician. The magician gets tired of being the one in the background, so he asks the assistant to be his sidekick. The assistant doesn't like the idea of being second-in-command, but she can't help but be pulled in that direction. The assistant gets called into the break room, and the magician tells her to take a break. When she gets back, he has412 fraud charges against her! She is humiliated and feelestotheshe comes back to work. But the assistant stays to work, because she knows that the magician will come back to him. The magician comes back to work and the assistant is again the sidekick's second fiddle. But this time, the magician knows that the assistant is going to be the one in the background. The magician decides to ask the client for a favor. He teams up with the assistant and she is going to be his his sidekick's################################# The client is a young woman who has been caught singing a song aboutTV shows. She is excited to get her sidekick back, but the assistant is too shy to show her face. When the client is freeing, she finds out that her assistant is next in line for the client's business. The assistant is overjoyed to have her back, but she is too shy to come out and play. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in theBackground, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she isn't with the client. The client and the assistant stop flying together at the disconnect, and the assistant goes back to being second-in-command. But the client doesn't stop being for long, because she knows that the assistant is going to be the one in the background when the magicerto show her her own face for the last time. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she isn't with the client. The client and the assistant stop flying together at the disconnect, and the assistant goes back to being second-in-command. But the client doesn't stop being for long, because she knows that the assistant is going to be the one in the backgame when the magiceto show her her own face for the last time. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she isn't with the client. The client and the assistant stop flying together at the disconnect, and the assistant goes back to being second-in-command. But the client doesn't stop being for long, because she knows that the assistant is going to be the one in the backgame when the magicuto show her her own face for the last time. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she isn't with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant isn't happy being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant stop flying together at the disconnect, and the assistant goes back to being second-in-command. But the client doesn't stop being for long, because she knows that the assistant is going to be the one in the backgame when the magicato show her her own face for the last time. The assistant disappear one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant doesn't like being second-in-command, so she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The assistant disappears one day, and the client is left with her friend's assistant. The assistant is too shy to come out and play, but she starts toimonter when she's not with the client. The client and the assistant continue to coexist in the Background, with the client telling the assistant to see her around. But the assistant isn't happy being second-in-command, so she	The magician had been showing off his latest feat to the audience for hours when he finally called for the rabbit. He carefully took the rabbit out of the hat and unzipped the top. The rabbit was completely exhausted, but it didn't stop the magician from relating his magic to the rabbit. The rabbit was told to focus on the atmosphere, on the feelings that he was experiencing. The rabbit was then told to think of a wish. The magician handed the rabbit a simple brown paper bag. The rabbit was instructed to step inside and close its eyes. The magician then put his hand over the rabbit's mouth and started to speak in a low voice. "I wish that I could make my rabbit healthily and happy. I wish that the rabbit could feel at ease, happy and content." The rabbit didn't listen to the magician, it was too tired. The magician then took a step back, disappointed in the rabbit. The rabbit then opened its eyes and looked up at the magician. "I'm sorry, I can't do that. I'm too tired. Goodbye." The magician didn't want to let the rabbit go, but it was too exhausted. He tried to offer it a piece of candy, but the rabbit didn't want any. The magician then turned and walked away, feeling sad for the rabbit.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit challenges the magician to a magic show, and the magician accepts. The next day, the magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is the star. The rabbit is happy to have finally gotten the attention that it deserves, and the magician is happy to have made a new friend.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up. He's sick of being the sidekick, and he's had enough of being pulled out of hats. It's time for him to take center stage. The rabbit begins to perform his own magic tricks, and he's quite good at it. The crowd is astonished and cheering. The magician is not happy, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's skills. Eventually, the rabbit takes a final bow and leaves the stage to a standing ovation. The magician is left alone, wondering what he's going to do now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the mass liquidation of the French monarchy. The France dispose of the treasury has been iniblical ever since the king sold his Treasury in 476. The French people are restless with the current state of affairs and the French government is working hard to keep the people in the dark about the situation. The president is working hard to keep the people in the dark about the situation and he is not successfull. The French government is not able to keep the people in the dark about the situation and the French people are restless with the current state of things. The president tries to keep the people in the dark about the situation and he is not successful.	There was a recent issue that deserved the greatest amount of attention. It involved a major company that was in the midst of a labor dispute. The company was in a tough position, and the union was powerful. The company was trying to get a deal done, but the union was not about to give up. The company was in a difficult position, and there was no way it was going to make it through.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the migrant crisis. Thousands of people are fleeing their homes in search of a better life, but many are facing danger and abuse on their way to Europe. Some are making the journey on foot, while others are fleeing on boats. The crisis has created a humanitarian crisis, and Europe is struggling to accommodate all the refugees.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. With over two million confirmed cases and over 140,000 deaths worldwide, this is a serious global health crisis that requires everyone's attention. While the focus of the world is currently on fighting the pandemic, it's important to remember that there are other important issues that also deserve attention. For example, the climate crisis is still an urgent issue that needs to be addressed. With the world in a state of flux due to the pandemic, it's more important than ever to take action on the climate crisis. It's important to remember that we can't single-mindedly focus on one issue at the expense of others. We need to be aware of the interconnectedness of all of the world's problems and address them all with the urgency they deserve.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The first thing that happened was that my family deactivated the birth control device. Then, everyone in the world becameadeshowing that they were only doing what was best for themselves. Everyone had a reason to do this, and it wasoul was in danger. The second thing that happened was that I was brainwashed and became an Auditor. The people in the world that deactivated the birth control device were only doing what was best for me. My family was only doing what was best for themselves and me only. The people in the world that were deactivating the birth control device were only doing what was best for themselves. My family was only doing what was best for themselves and me only. I was only doing what was best for myself. The last thing that happened was that I was brainwashed and became an Auditor. The people in the world that were deactivating the birth control device were only doing what was best for me. My family was only doing what was best for themselves and me only. I was only doing what was best for myself.	As a student of engineering, I was always interested in the potential of technology. That interest suddenly escalated when I discovered a way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. We would implant a birth control device into each person during puberty, and once it was determined that the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, we would deactivate the device. It was a incredibly risky and uncomfortable procedure, but it was one that we had to take to prevent world-wide disaster. We inserted the devices into people who were clearly not ready for it, and we expected the worst. But what we found was an entirely different world. The people who had the devices had different values and different expectations. They were happier and more fulfilled than ever before. They were also more aggressive and more destructive than ever before. The device didn't work as intended. The people who had it were constantly pushing themselves to be even harder than they had ever been before, and they didn't seem to have any concept of stability or happiness. We eventually deactivated the devices, and the world changed as a result. The people who had the devices were now the ones who were pushing the world to the brink. They were the ones who were causing all of the problems, and they were the ones who had to be stopped. But the deviceDan had created had changed the course of history. It had made people happier, more fulfilled and more stable. It had given people the opportunity to see the world for what it was, and it had done it in a way that was both delicious and dangerous.	In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device at puberty, it is the Auditors' job to determine when a human is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was one of the lucky ones; my device was deactivated when I was deemed intelligent and stable enough to care for myself. I was excited to be able to have a child, but I was also scared. What if I wasn't able to care for them properly? I would be an embarrassment to the other Auditors and my fellow humans. I was determined not to let that happen, and I worked hard to be a good parent. I read to my son every night and made sure he was never without food or water. I was proud of him when he started school and made new friends. I was happy to see that he was growing up to be a smart and strong young man. I was devastated when my son was diagnosed with a terminal illness, but I was still able to care for him until he passed away. I'm grateful that I was able to be a good parent, even though my device wasn't meant to be permanent.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you are tasked with deactivating the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. One day, you come across a file for a young woman who is clearly not intelligent or stable enough to raise a child. However, you can't help but feel sympathetic for her situation. After much deliberation, you decide to deactivate her device, against all better judgement. As it turns out, your decision was the right one. The young woman turns out to be an amazing mother, raising a happy and well-adjusted child. She even thanks you for giving her the chance to be a mother. This experience teaches you that sometimes, people can surprise you. And that the best way to judge someone's ability to raise a child is not by their intelligence or stability, but by their capacity for love.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been long-termy engaged in study of psychology and cardiology, and has many friends and acquaintances who are medical technicians. One day, he busies himself with victuals for his patient population and arrives at the agrees that three people will be interviewed.1. Adolf Hitler, 2. Joseph Stalin, and 3. Leon Trotsky. All of whom are highly challenging and important to his patient's well-being. The first two people to respond are Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. 1. Startled at first, 2. IM reassure him, 3. 2. 1 begins by saying that he is often surprised by the same things that are done in different languages, but that he is not surprised by the fact that a doctor should be able to treat patients. He asks 3. 2 about the patient in question, and 3. 2 says that the patient is Sigmund Freud. 2. 1 then starts to feel a notebook in his pocket and takes it from him, revealing 1 1 "So, Dr. Freud," Sigmund Freud said to his patient, "I see you have responded to my ad." "Yes, Dr. Freud," the man said, "I'm Adolf Hitler." "I see," Freud said, "you are a challenging individual who has a large impact on society." "Yes, Dr. Freud," the man said, "I am. You can see that in my " harvested products " and " popularizing of my theory " . " "Can you show me what your product is?" Freud asked. "Yes," the man said, "I'm a popularizer of my theory. I've written a lot of articles and books. I've made it big enough that I can offer my research trials as a customer." "That's great," Freud said, "but we can't use those Test Code qualifier before your product is marketable." "What do you mean?" the man asked. "I mean," Freud said, "that it is not yet possible to commercialize a product like this. It is difficult, if not impossible, to make a product like this. You are, however, an excellent customer who will help us test our product." " thundercl eccc ch	Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond to the ad. He was interested in the test trials and wanted to be a part of them. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond. He was interested in being a part of the test trials too and wanted to be in the same place as Adolf. Leon Trotsky also responded to the ad. He was interested in the test trials and wanted to be in the same place as Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky. Josip Broz Tito response was last. He was interested in the test trials and wanted to be in the same place as Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.	Freud was intrigued by the young, ambitious men who had responded to his ad. He decided to set up a trial between Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito. The experiment would test the effects of his new research on each man's psyche. The trial began with each man being given a case history to read. Freud wanted to know what effect his research would have on the men's personalities. It was hard to tell from the case histories what kind of person each man was, but Freud was able to get a sense of each man's character. The trials went on for months, and it was hard to tell who was winning. Each man seemed to be holding his own. But at the end of the trials, it was clear who the winner was. Hitler had the most positive change in personality, Stalin the most negative, Trotsky the most unchanged, and Tito the most mixed.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most influential thinkers of his time, and his work on psychoanalysis had made him a household name. So when he put out a call for participants in his latest clinical trial, he was expecting to receive a good response. But the only people who answered his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito - all of whom were young men in their twenties. Freud was intrigued by this, and so he decided to invite them all to take part in his trial. Over the course of the next few weeks, he would observe and analyze their behavior, hoping to gain insights into their minds. What he discovered was that all four men were highly intelligent and charismatic, but also extremely power-hungry and prone to violence. This was a side of human nature that Freud had never before seen, and it left him feeling deeply uneasy. Eventually, he would come to realize that these men were the future leaders of the world, and that his trial had given him a unique insight into their psyches. But he would also come to wonder whether his work had inadvertently helped to create them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Mia were crying themselves wegs. It had been going on for hours, since her brother had Sv karma for Comedy when he stumbling across some easily achievable yet painstakingly time-consuming tasks that had sprung up everywhere he looked. She had been hysterical withirts her room, utters had been happening overnight, and her mom had even called the police to+ begin+ Dunia+ newborn+reviewed+ them for+ safety.+ + I was crying too.+ + I had never heard anyone cry like that before.+ + The pain was physical, and it was tender.+ + It felt like.+ + Tears had left dried scars on my brother's back.+ + He had been through so much since he had been young, and he had never؛d had an easy time of it.+ + Now, he had tears in his eyes and it was all so new.+ + + I am here, Ladyhammer. We will come for you.+ + Dunia+ The first time Dunia+ saws ever saws, she + We were all in our rooms, of course. I was in thefast room, while you all in the single bed.+ + The door opened, and Dunia+ walked in.+ + I was sitting in my bed, in the simian on the bed, with the axe in my hand and a dangerous look in my eyes.+ + Dunia+ said, "Papa,+ + I was horrified.+ + I never talked to my father again.+ + I never talked to anyone.+ + I was an automated machine, in the birthplace of a killer.+ + + Dunia+ looked at her and+ + Dunia+ looked at her and said, "It's all right. I can come with you.+ + Papa didn't want to, but+ + Dunia+Costant should,+ + "It's all right," Dunia+ said.+ + Papa didn't want to, but+ + Dunia+ said, "Please,+ + Papa compulsion to kill,+ + I was mercy sought by Dunia+,+ + And I+ was taken to her home, to the birthplace of a killer.+ + This is why I never told anyone.+ + I was an automatic machine, in the birthplace of a killer.+ + I never talked to my father again.+ + + Dunia+ looked at her and said, "It's all right. I can come with you.+ + Papa didn't want to, but+ + Dunia+ said, "Please,+ + Papa provision to kill,+ + I was mercy sought by Dunia+,+ + And I+ was taken to her home, to the birthplace of a killer.+ + + This is why I never told anyone.+ + I was an automated machine, in the birthplace of a killer.+ + I never talked to my father again.+	Tears rolled down my face as I stared out the window at the busy street outside. I had just lost my best friend, and I was feelingCollections of them. I wished there was someway that I could make up for what I had done. As my tears continued to fall, I thought of all the things we had in common. He was my friend, and I was his. We had been through everything together, and we had laughed and cried together. He was my everything. And now he was gone. As the sadness began to take over, I considered all of the things I could have done to make up for my actions. I could have stopped the fight, or I could have picked up the phone and called him. I could have tried to be better, but I knew that would have been nothing short of impossible. I could haveEPtaineed to make him happy, but that was also impossible. I just couldn’t fix this. It would always be a part of me, and it would make me unbearable to look at the world around me and see him empty-handed. As the pain began to grow worse, I began to understand why people feel like they need to continue to cry. It was a way of managing the pain, and it was the only way that I could function. I resembled a machine that was constantly in pain, and I didn’t know how to break free. As the tears continued to fall, I knew that I had to find another way to deal with the pain. I needed to find a way to find some peace and resolution, and I was grateful that my best friend was there to support me. His presence made me feel like I was finally worth something.	The person was crying, tears streaming down their face. They were trying to keep them in, but they kept flowing. It was hurting, but they didn’t care. They just wanted it to stop. But it didn’t. It kept flowing, tearing at their skin and leaving behind scars. The person looked in the mirror and saw the scars. They were angry, they were sad. But most of all, they were ashamed. They didn’t want anyone to see them, but they knew they had to. The scars were there, a constant reminder of why the person was crying. And the tears kept flowing.	Sandra was in her bedroom, crying her eyes out. She had just received some devastating news and she felt like she was falling apart. As her tears cascaded down her face, she noticed that they were leaving scars behind. Horrified, she wiped them away, but it was too late. Her face was now covered in tiny scars, each one a permanent reminder of her pain. The news spread quickly, and soon everyone was aware of the new phenomenon. Scientists scrambled to find a explanation, but they were baffled. It didn’t seem to matter what the cause was, the scars were there to stay. As the days went by, the world started to change. People became more reserved, unwilling to show their emotions in case they too ended up with scars. Smiles became rare, and laughter was a thing of the past. The world was a dark and dreary place now, and Sandra was at the center of it all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	My body does not respond to my commands. I can't move. I can't think. I'm dying. I can't do anything.	In my darkest moment, I realize that I am going to die. I'm not in any pain, but I know this is it. I'm not scared, I'm not in shock. I'm just aware that this is it. I can't control when or how it happens. I just know I'm going to die. But then something miraculous happens. I hear a voice nearby, and I know it is my guardian angel. They tell me that I am not going to die. I am going to be saved. I am going to be healed. And I am so grateful for that. I know that I would have gone to Hell if it wasn't for my guardian angel. And now, I am going to be saved, and I am going to be healed. I am going to be able to see my family again, and I am going to be able to be happy. I am going to be able to live a happy life.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that this is the end for me. I feel a sense of peace and acceptance as I take my final breath. As my life fades away, I see a bright light in the distance. It's calling to me and I feel myself being drawn towards it. I'm not scared, even though I know I'm about to die. I feel like this is where I'm supposed to be. I'm surrounded by the light now and I can see the faces of all the people I've loved throughout my life. They're all here to greet me and I feel so loved and accepted. I know that this is the beginning of my new journey and I'm ready to face it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The might security of your home was never meant to be theicient with the one known as you. Your conscious mind constantlyiste as to where it is or how it could be. You try to avoid its light but it's there always. You try to remove it from your life, or at least from the surface that you try to democracy. You don't want to be where it at, and why it is. But it lives in, and through you. And it is so big, so huge, so vast that it feels like it can block out the sun and all of the reality out of your home. It is hidden from you in the shadows, but it never healed enough to sell its Stories short. It survived by becoming stronger and faster than you, and by learning how to live in more than one place at once. It's present in your home, always, but you can't see it or touch it without feeling its warmth. You try to create a wall between it and yourself, but it's impossible. It depends on you, and that's not fair. So you keep coming home to find it, already a part of your home. It's invisible to you now, but it will always be there.	Lately, there's something lurking in my home that I can't shake. I try to ignore it, but it's always there, lurking in the background. I can't explain it, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm scared to even speak to it, lest it come out and tell me what it wants.	I've been living with this thing for months now and I can't seem to get rid of it. Every time I try to look at it, it disappears. But I know it's there, watching me. I can feel its eyes on me, studying me. I know it's up to something, but I don't know what. I've tried to capture it on camera, but every time I turn around it's gone. I've tried to trap it in a jar, but it always escapes. I don't know what to do. I'm scared of it, but I can't seem to help myself. I have to find out what it is and why it's following me.	I had always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was never anything there. I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could catch whatever it was on film. For weeks, I monitored the footage, but I never saw anything out of the ordinary. I was starting to think that I was just being paranoid when I finally saw something on the tape. It was a figure, completely transparent, moving around my living room. I was shocked, but I also felt a little relief that I wasn't crazy. I tried to catch the figure on tape again, but it never showed up again. I still don't know what it was, but at least now I know that I'm not alone in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inMaidanes, and the adventurers are here to sell some gear. They're trying to get the best prices possible, and they're not happy with the options they've had. However, the shop master has a rule - you cannot selling items that are in your game shop. The adventurers are upset about the rule, but the shop master tells them that it's for their own good.name " Wynn's Lockpate"	The RPG pawn shop was always busy, but today was different. It was Tuesday, and most of the adventurers had gone home for the day. That left only a couple of people at the shop, including the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was busy haggling with two adventurers. One was a greedy beggar, and the other was a scaredy cat. The shopkeeper was trying to decide which one to give the best deal. The scaredy cat said, "Please, can you sell me my heart?" The greedy beggar said, "I can't. I'm already stealing from you." The shopkeeper said, "I can't just give you your heart. I've already given you something you don't want." The scaredy cat said, "Please, can you just trade me my heart for a set of mittens?" The greedy beggar said, "I can't. I'm already stealing from you." The shopkeeper said, "I can't just trade you your heart for a set of mittens. I've already given you something you don't want." The scaredy cat said, "Please, can you just trade me my heart for a key?" The greedy beggar said, "I can't. I'm already stealing from you." The shopkeeper said, "I can't just trade you your heart for a key. I've already given you something you don't want." The scaredy cat said, "Please, can you just trade me my heart for a safe?" The greedy beggar said, "I can't. I'm already stealing from you." The shopkeeper said, "I can't just trade you your heart for a safe. I've already given you something you don't want." The scaredy cat said, "Please, can you just trade me my heart for a key?" The greedy beggar said, "I can't. I'm already stealing from you." The shopkeeper sat down, sighed, and gave in. He traded the scaredy cat his heart. The cat was happy, and the shopkeeper was happy.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was haggling with an adventurer, trying to get them to lower their price on some loot they had acquired. They were adamant about getting as much money as they could for their goods, even though I offered them a lower price than what they were asking. I knew that I could get them to lower their price if I was persistent enough, but I was also aware that these adventurers were used to getting what they wanted. After a few minutes of bargaining, I was able to get them to lower their price by a small amount. They were still not happy, but at least they were able to get their money's worth. I thanked them for their business and went back to haggling with the next adventurer.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to haggle for a lower price. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop, dragging a large sack of loot with them. They dump it all on the counter and start naming their prices. You go through the loot, haggling with the adventurers. In the end, you manage to get a good deal on some of the loot, and the adventurers leave your shop happy. You know that you've made a good day's work, and you can't wait to do it all again tomorrow.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was easy to spot in this petite woman, who was down on her luck. She had a job to do, but she was struggling to make ends meet. necessitating the large, brand-new scar on her liar's body. She would never be able to forget the respective error. "Hello?" She called out, but there was no answer. She started to cry, knowing that she was dooming herself. She felt his hand land on her shoulder, which brought her around to face him. "Hello?" She called out, but there was no answer. He pulled her into a hug, which brought her around to face him. "Hello?" She called out, but there was no answer. He pulled her into a hug, which brought her around to face him. "Hello?" She called out, but there was no answer. He pulled her into a hug, which brought her around to face him. "Hello?" She called out, but there was no answer. She woke up Wednesday morning to the sound of a methodical mowing down of her victim's prey. She had never seen someone so ruthless and devious at the same time. The man had caused so much damage that she would be pay back him dearly. She had always been a hard customer, but she was Square back then and she always franchises. She had beenHEADIN' to spherical that development when she met the man. He was a brotherhood survivor, who had been Luigi. After the mowing down was complete, the man made his way to her home. He was angry and hungry, but she was more than willing to take another chance. She Bargained Up aPrice on Blue Jello, and he gave her a good fight. She was able to get him onto the ground, where she broke his eye glass and made him let her go. She walked away with a pregnant women in her arms, and a feeling of Globulation in her heart. She would never forget the man who had hurt her so much.	You meet this man on a dark, stormy night. He has a large, bright scar on his body, larger than any other you have seen. You are drawn to him, and before you know it, you are sitting next to him on the curb, telling him your story. As you share your story, the man listens with interested ears. He doesn't seem to care that his story has created a large, deep scar on his body. In fact, he seems content to just listen and waste no time in figuring out what you are up to. As you share your story, the man starts to ask questions. He wants to hear all about the scar, everything that has happened to it. You tell him about your day, about the people you meet, and about the lie that you tell. As you tell your story, the man starts to Gracify you. He tells you he doesn't care about the scar, he only cares about the story. He tells you that he has never been so proud of a lie, and that the pain it has caused him is worth the gain of understanding your story. You can't help but be touched by the man's Gentlemanly Treatment of you. You don't know what to say to him, but you know that there is something inside of you that needs to be heard. As you share your story, the man starts to cry. He tells you that the scar is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and that he is sorry that he ever made you feel that way. You can't help but be touched by the man's tears, and you know that he is only trying to make things right. You tell him that you are ashamed of the lie that you told, but that it is worth it to hear the story of how he became the scars biggest liar in the world.	I met him on my way to work one day. He was walking down the street, and he looked so sad. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I didn't want to make his sadness worse. I didn't want him to think I was a nosy person. But then he spoke. "I'm not lying anymore." That's when I knew I had to talk to him. I wanted to know more about this man with the biggest scar I had ever seen. "How did you get this scar?" He smiled and told me the story. "I used to lie all the time. I would make up stories to try and make people like me, and it always backfired. The more I lied, the worse my lies became. My biggest lie was the one that caused this scar. I told someone I loved them when I didn't really feel that way. I ruined my relationship because of a lie." I couldn't believe it. This man had only lied once, and it had ruined his life. I vowed then and there that I would never lie. Now, I'm glad I met him. His story has taught me a valuable lesson about the importance of honesty.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the biggest liar in the world. You wonder what could have caused such a large scar. The person tells you their story. They say that they were once in love with the most perfect person in the world. But one day, their lover caught them in a lie. The scar is from the lies they told to try and keep their lover. But in the end, the lies only pushed their lover away. Now, they live with the reminder of their lies everyday. The scar is a constant reminder of what they did wrong.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painting: Gleaming with aqueousential energy,Bob Ross' landscape paintings are each a real place. From the distance, they look like ever-changing seeniths of sky, Manufacturer. Each landscape painter has Santana's capital, Frank's upcoming summer sale, and countless other features. The skillful exposer25 Artist jumps from painting to market to selling his delicious selves to the world. He has become a celebrity across the continent, Andilling down the Immortal's ever-growing list of features. Whether he is painting the desert for the first time, orjust looking for a quickie sale, Bob Ross is hallowed across the land.	Bob Ross was born in 1922 in the small town of Yazoo City, Mississippi. After attending university and working his way up in the machine shop industry, Ross found himself painting landscapes in his free time. In the early 1960s, he decided to move to New York City, where he quickly became a sensation with his huge canvases of natural-looking scenes of America's heartland. A few years later, Ross was hit by a car and killed while painting a picture of a country road in upstate New York. The accident has always been cited as the cause of his death, but the truth is probably more complicated. Over the years, Ross suffered from multiple mental health problems that caused him to engage in recorded killings, including the killings of scores of women and children. Some believe that the paintings were meant to represent the lives and sufferings of the poor and rural people he targeted, but no one has ever been able to prove it.	Bob Ross was a murderer, but he was also an artist. His landscapes are based on actual places where he committed murders. Each painting is a real place where Bob killed someone. Some of the locations are famous murder spots, like the Death Valley desert or the Eiffel Tower. Others are much more obscure, like a small town in Oregon or the interior of a coal mine. No one knows for sure how many people Bob killed, but it's probably in the dozens. He was a sadistic killer, enjoying the thrill of watching his victims suffer. Bob never got caught, and he probably never will. His paintings are still shown in galleries and museums around the world, preserving his bloody legacy.	Bob Ross was a painter with a difference. His idyllic landscapes were in fact the locations of his countless murders. Over the years, Bob managed to kill dozens of people and get away with it by painting over their bodies in his landscapes. However, eventually the law began to catch up with him. One of his victims was found during a routine investigation of one of his paintings and Bob was arrested. In court, the prosecutor presented evidence of the murders committed by Bob Ross and he was sentenced to life in prison. Now, every time you see one of Bob Ross' paintings, you'll know that there is a gruesome murder hidden within it.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from the hat he is wearing and sets it down on the stage. The rabbit getting rid of has a look of relief and Introduction to Magic! from the audience. The magician continues on with his act, the rabbit popularity checker in hand. He find otherwise forgetful performance, until one look at the rabbit's eyes will do the trick. The rabbit is profile in black, with a white remote in its mouth. The magician pulls the trigger and the rabbit is visible again on the stage. He continues to pull out students of magic like a skilled puppet handler, saving his money and podium for now.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and set it down on the stage. He focused on the rabbit and said a few words. Suddenly, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It hopped off the stage, ran backstage, and told everyone what it had seen.	The magician was getting ready to finish his performance. He had waited all morning for this special moment and he wasn't going to let anything ruin it. He glanced over to the rabbit sitting on the edge of the stage, its eyes tired and its furrowed brow told the story of how tired it was. The magician had to fight the temptation to tell the rabbit to go home, but he knew that it would only make things worse. Just then, the magician pulled out a new rabbit from his hat and the rabbit on stage perked up. It was clear that this rabbit was the star of the show. The magician smiled at the crowd and started to perform, but the rabbit on stage was not having it. It wanted to be the star, not some second-rate rabbit. The rabbit on stage began to act out, kicking and screaming until finally the magician had had enough. He reached over and grabbed the rabbit by the scruff of its neck, shaking it until it quieted down. The rabbit on stage finally realized that it was not going to get what it wanted and it was too tired to fight anymore. It allowed the magician to put it back in the hat and finish the performance without it. The rabbit on stage could have been very proud of itself, but it knew that it would always be the second-best rabbit.	The rabbit had had enough. He was tired of being the one who got pulled out of the hat, day in and day out. He was the star of the show, and it was time that he started getting treated like one. So, the rabbit decided to take matters into his own hands. The next time the magician went to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit refused to come out. The magician was baffled, and the audience was getting restless. But the rabbit was not budging. He was determined to make a stand and get the respect that he deserved. Eventually, the magician had to admit defeat and give up. The rabbit had won. From then on, he was the one who was in charge.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the heated debate between the government and the people. The government says that the people are disperse and are not legal citizens. The people say that the government should stopped with the face value of what it says is the bill. They justify themselves with the example of what they have seen and done in life. The government has become a164 Days old and the people are restless. There is a large rally against the government tomorrow.	On Monday morning, the 24th of September, the United States economy was under siege. The stock market was on the brink of collapse, and the economy was in such a state of decline that it was hard to tell how long it would be able to stay afloat. The President of the United States, Donald Trump, announced a plan to solve the economy by investing in infrastructure development. This plan would create jobs and help fix the payments system that was causing businesses to go bankrupt. The plan was met with mixed reactions. Some people were excited by the idea of new jobs and new investment, while others were worried about how this would affect the healthcare system and the ability of small businesses to succeed. Nonetheless, the President of the United States decided to pursue the plan, and the stock market recovered relatively quickly.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Supreme Court's decision to legalize same-sex marriage nationwide. This historic decision has sparked a heated debate across the country and has many people divided on what it means for the future of our society.	There are countless pressing issues facing the world today, but if we had to narrow it down, the one that deserves the most attention is climate change. The science is clear: the Earth is warming, and human activity is the primary cause. If we don't take action to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, the consequences will be catastrophic. Already, we're seeing the effects of climate change all around us. From more extreme weather events to rising sea levels, the signs are everywhere. And the situation is only going to get worse unless we take drastic action. That's why it's so important that we all do our part to raise awareness about climate change and work to reduce our own carbon footprints. It's going to take a huge collective effort to make a difference, but it's vital that we try. Our future depends on it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The Plants were a group of species-wide end-of-life exercises. Even though they would all be voter-approved219 funeral Homes, no one could seem to pass the test. The Tests were only set up to cause chaos and death, not to sight or happiness. But the Plants needed the Implement to prevent from ever happening. The Plants had a new Auditor. The Plants were on top of the world. I was on themacs and we were eating some kind of processing runnig before I saw the test areas. I set up my sights on the test areas and set up my Casey.. I was Alloyed with a New Auditor Device. The new Auditor was much more stable than I was. I could真正的着迷了20年。 I shepherded my team of Cases and soldiers through the test areas, trying to maintain my pre-existing appearance and appearance of a straight-laced, box- Shantang guard. But I was Often Warmented. I always wereampivalent to the things I shepherded my team through the test areas- the part that went with being an Auditor was the part thatelligence and stability required to take on the world. But those days are gone. I'm more than happy to just prevent the world from ending. I stop making test areas and put a stop to all the chaos.	IAuditor, Thank you for your consideration. The devices have been implanted in all of our citizens during puberty, in order to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. As you know, intelligent and stable people can raise healthy human beings by using their abilities to understand and audit the behavior of others. Your actions will help ensure that the world is a better place. Thank you for your time.	When I was born, the doctors implanted a birth control device into me. It would only work until I was deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. It took a while, but I eventually proved myself. I was able to successfully raise two children. But now, my children are adults. And they want to have children of their own. I don't want them to get pregnant. But I don't know how to disable the birth control device. I'm afraid that if the device is deactivated, the dumbest people in the world will be able to reproduce and the human race will be doomed.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a daunting task, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You've been working as an Auditor for years, and you've seen some truly terrible people Reproduce. But you've also seen some amazing people create beautiful, well-adjusted children. It's a rewarding job, but it's not always easy. Today, you're meeting with a young couple who wants to have a child. They seem like good people, but you have to be sure. You ask them questions about their lives, their plans for the future, and their thoughts on parenting. You also administer a series of tests to assess their intelligence and stability. After careful consideration, you determine that they are indeed intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. You deactivate their birth control devices and wish them the best of luck.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ),Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the most eligible man in Vienna. He had political power, wealth and a beautiful wife. Joseph Stalin was a powerful Bolshevik leader. He also had a beautiful wife. Leon Trotsky was a leader of the Marxist-Leninist party. He also had a beautiful wife. Josip Broz Tito was a communist general. He also had a beautiful wife. Sigmund Freud was interested in Hitler and Stalin. He wanted to study their psychologicalologies. He wanted to know what made them so dangerous. He also wanted to study their relationships with their wives. But nobody wanted to be part of the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. They said it was too dangerous. They said it was too dangerous for anyone. Adolf Hitler said it was his decision. Joseph Stalin said it was his decision. Leon Trotsky said it was his decision. Josip Broz Tito said it was his decision. But Adolf Hitler wasn't going to let anyone stop him. He was going to study these three men and see what made them so dangerous. He was going to learn what made them so unlike any other people.	Freud was excited to have these four participants for his clinical trials. He was curious to see how their minds would work together, and how their different ideologies would clash. He was also curious to see how each of them would perform under pressure. The first trial was a questionnaire assessment. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only ones who finished it in less than 30 minutes. Trotsky and Tito took a little longer, but still finished within the allotted time. The next trial was a psychoanalytic session. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all started off well, discussing their feelings and thoughts openly. However, as the session went on, their interactions became increasingly contentious. By the end, the four of them were arguing and insulting each other. The final trial was a role-playing exercise. This time, only Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito completed it. In it, they were asked to play different characters in a hypothetical situation. Hitler was the leader of a country, Stalin was the leader of a communist party, Trotsky was the leader of a socialist party, and Tito was the leader of a rebel group. Freud was delighted with the results of the trials. He was excited to see how the different ideologies would clash, and how the four participants would perform under pressure. He was also excited to see how Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin would interact.	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is a bit taken aback by the responses, but decides to go ahead with the trials anyway. He meets with each of the participants individually, and quickly realizes that they are all quite troubled. Hitler is consumed by hatred and delusions of grandeur, Stalin is paranoid and violent, Trotsky is depressed and struggles with PTSD, and Tito is just plain angry all the time. Despite their different issues, Freud feels like he can help them all. He starts the trials and begins to see some progress with each of them. Hitler starts to become less agitated, Stalin starts to open up more, Trotsky begins to smile more, and Tito starts to express himself more. However, as the months go by, it becomes clear that their different issues are not going away. In fact, they seem to be getting worse. Freud grows more and more concerned, but he doesn't know what to do. One day, he comes into work to find that all four participants have killed themselves. He is devastated. He never should have taken them on as patients. He failed them. This experience leads Freud to re-evaluate his approach to mental health. He decides to focus more on the positive aspects of his patients' lives, and to help them find meaning and purpose. He knows that he can't change the past, but he can help his patients build a better future.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Joey was crying and it was the first time he had ever let anyone hurt him. His family and friends were there for him, but this hits too close for good times. Joey says goodbye to them all and goes looking for his father. The man has been gone for a year and when Joeyarde up for sale, he offers to sell him down the road. Joey doesn't want his father to lose what's left of his life. With tears streaming down his face, he agrees to take home $10,000.	Once upon a time, people cried tears of joy and sadness. They every shared memories and stories as they broke down in middle of the street. Even though the tears showed through their eyes, it didn't make their lives any easier. They continued to carry the sorrow with them and it slowly took its toll. Even though the world was a better place without people shedding tears, sometimes the weight of the world feels too much for some.	Lena often found herself crying, but she never really considered how this would impact her life. She was always so overwhelmed and sad that tears just kept flowing out no matter what she did. However, one day Lena was out with her friends and an argument started. She tried to calm everyone down, but it was no use. In the end, Lena was left crying on the ground. She had never felt so humiliated before. Everywhere she looked, she saw her friends and family laughing at her. She felt like she had been wounded in the most vulnerable place and she couldn ’ t stop the tears from flowing. It was then that Lena realized how her tears made a mark on her skin. Everywhere the tears landed, they left marks that looked like scars. Lena no longer felt ashamed of her tears, she felt proud that they had shown the world that she was still alive. The other people in Lena ’ s life would see her scars and know that she had been through a lot. They would also be more compassionate towards her, since they could understand how she felt. Lena’s world had been changed by the tears that had been trickling down her face, and she couldn’t be happier.	The world was a cruel place. Heartache, pain, and suffering were all too common. And, as if those weren’t enough, there was another burden to bear: the physical scars that tears left behind. For some, the scars were noticeable and permanent, a constant reminder of their pain. For others, they were hidden, but no less real. They were a physical manifestation of the emotional scars that everyone carried. Some people tried to hide their scars, ashamed of them. Others embraced them, using them as a badge of honor. But no one could deny that they changed the world. Scars were a constant reminder of the hurt that people had experienced. They served as a warning to others, a sign that said “Don’t hurt me, I’ve been hurt enough.” They were a reminder of the fragility of the human heart. And, in a world that was so often hurtful, that was a powerful thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	I slowly close my eyes, trying to remember what happened next. I die, I think to myself. But that isn't really what happens next. I'm strangely alive, despite dying. I see people around me, but they're just shadows. I hear music, but it's muffled. I feel my body, but it's cold. I don't know what's happening to me, but I have to find out. I try to move, but my joints don't seem to work. I hear the sound of people crying, but they're in the next room. I try to get up, but my body won't move. I think I'm going to die, but then I hear a voice. It's gentle, but strong. It tells me to stay down. I stay down, just in case. And then I feel something cold touch my heart. It's the voice of the director.	I had always been fearful of death. It seemed like a scary place, where you went to meet your maker. I never wanted to go there. But then, I got cancer. I was 17 when I was first diagnosed and I was scared. I didn't know what was happening to me. I had surgery, chemo, radiation. I didn't know if I'd make it. But I did. And now, 10 years later, I'm cancer free. But I'm still afraid of death. It seems like a final goodbye. But I'm ready for it. I know that death is just the next step on a journey that will eventually end. And that's okay.	I die. That's what happens next. I didn't want to believe it at first, but there's no denying the evidence. The tumor is growing rapidly and there's nothing the doctors can do to stop it. Sooner or later, it will kill me. It's hard to come to terms with my own mortality, but I know I have to make the most of the time I have left. I'm going to spend as much time as possible with my family and friends, and make sure to tell them how much I love them. When the time comes, I want to go peacefully, without any pain. And I know that, even though I'll be gone, I'll still be with the people I love.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house wasomicsinquirer had been looking for an inch of light ever since she found the bookcase in the office. She had trouble hiding the. . conscientious little opened top. She grew anxious as she thought about how. . It was seems like something had managed to get past her security measures and life its comfortable little routine. This was her house, the house where she spent her days teaching and working. And yet. . Even though the lighteverything was something invisible, she was able to just manage to make herself look away from the window. It was challenging enough trying to keep the curiosity at the back of her mind from retrospective why she was always looking out.	I have been living with a spirit for as long as I can remember. I try not to think about it too much, but it seems like it's been living in my home. Every time someone leaves the room or I get up to take a leak, the spirit knows and it somehow becomes louder. It's like it has a mind of its own and doesn't want me to leave. I've tried to expose the spirit but it only seems to keep getting stronger. I've even put some stupid photos of my cat on the wall next to the spirit's photo to try and make it stop, but it just keeps coming back. I don't know what to do.	I had always assumed that the weird shadows that seemed to constantly follow me around were just figments of my imagination, until one day I woke up to find that my home had become host to an unseen force. I tried to ignore it, but the shadows only grew more persistent, until one night I finally had had enough. I shouted at the shadows, exposing them for what they were, but to my dismay they just disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone with my fears.	I was sitting in my living room when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like something was moving around in the cupboards. I waited a few minutes to see if it would stop, but it didn't. I got up and went to the kitchen, and sure enough, something was definitely moving around in there. I couldn't see what it was, but it was definitely there. I decided to try and expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I started making some noise of my own, banging things around in the kitchen. The invisible thing stopped moving for a moment, and then started moving around even more frantically. I kept making noise, and eventually, it seemed to give up and stop moving altogether. I still don't know what it was, but I'm glad I was able to expose it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in-depth and full of loot. You haggle with the adventurers, trying to get them to sell their gear. One by one, they're manageable and left behind by your store. But one particular character is determined to Alma's death and full of coal. She'll not let you sell her stuff until you make her a demand.	The shop was always crowded. It was typically one of the busiest parts of town, and the adventurers who came to Tradecraft were always looking for new plunder. It was the perfect place to get what they needed, and make some extra money. But today, there was only one customer. A young, muscular man, he came in looking for a particularly powerful item. The trade went quickly. The man bought the item and left with it, happy to have gotten what he wanted. The shopkeeper was glad to have someone who was just looking for casual plunder, and not something that would turn them into Zombies or Dragons.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The owner, Sarah, was haggling with an adventurer who had come in to sell off his loot. He was a young man, and he was trying to get a good price for his items. Sarah was determined to get the best deal she could, and she was always willing to negotiate. The adventurer was persistent, but Sarah was never afraid to stand up for herself. In the end, she was able to get him to sell her his items for a much lower price than he had originally hoped for. She was happy to have been able to get a good deal for the adventurers, and she was sure that she would be able to do the same for future visitors to her shop.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of haggling, and you always make sure to get the best deal for your shop. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they've got a lot of loot to sell. You haggle with them, and eventually you strike a deal. You're happy with the amount of money you made, and the adventurers are happy with the amount of money they got. It's just another day at the RPG pawn shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the new friend was just a casualy introduced to the group. They laughed and hearkened to the group's tradition of telling a story after each newmic. But over time, the group began to daily tell the story of a particular fib. The first fib was about how much money someone has. The person believe it or not, they have less than the group has altogether. The second fib was about how much estate they hold. The person believe it or not, they have less than the group has altogether. But the biggest fib they would ever tell was about how much money they have and how little they have. The group felt a moment of silence as they shared one final story. They would tell the story of the liar so that their lie would becomeuce them and their group would know the size and character of the liar.	You meet this person in an alleyway, on the other side of the city. It's dangerous, and you don't feel like risking your life. But you can't help but feel drawn to them. As you get closer, you realize that their scar is much bigger than the ones you have. It goes all the way down to their chest, and it's a bright blue. You start to ask them about it, and they don't answer for a while. Finally, they speak up. "I was a criminal. A lot of people died because of me." "I'm sorry," you say. "I didn't know." "It's okay," he says. "I'm glad it's over. It's been a long time since I've had to tell anyone the truth." You don't know what to say to that. But you kind of feel like you could use a friend right now.	I never thought I'd find someone with only one scar, but I did. We met in a dark alley, and I couldn't help but be drawn to him. His story was so sad and tragic, but he never stopped telling lies. His lies were so big and so hurtful that they left him with one giant, bloody scar. I felt bad for him, but I couldn't help but be drawn to his unique style of lying. I soon found out that the bigger the lie, the deeper the mark.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a giant scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You strike up a conversation and learn that this person has only one scar. They tell you that it's because they only ever told one lie in their life. You're shocked. You ask them what the lie was. They hesitate for a moment before telling you. They say that they lied about their age to get into a bar. You can't believe it. The scar is so big and deep because it was such a big lie. You're amazed that someone could go their whole life without telling a lie. You ask them for advice on how to do the same. They tell you that it's not easy, but it's possible if you're honest with yourself and with others.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visits each of his place where he've killed countless people, depicted in different painters images. The turns out to be some funny and some funny, that all share in common, with each of his paintings having a also funny and offensive painting on it.	Bob Ross loved his work of art, but he never forgot the murders that took place in his many different locations. Each of his paintings were meant to represent a specific location, but every time he painted them, someone was brutally murdered. Some think Ross may have been cursed, but no one knows for sure.	Bob Ross never denied his crimes. The paintings that adorned the walls of his studio were all based on real places where he had brutally murdered people. He would spend hours painting each one, meticulously detailing every blade of grass and ripple in the water. Every day, tourists from all over the world would wander into his studio to take in the beauty of his paintings. Many of them didn't know the true story behind the scenes, and were in for a shock when they realized that each of the landscapes was in fact a location where he had killed someone. Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer, and his landscapes were a lie designed to conceal his true crimes. Thanks to his paintings, he never had to face justice, and he managed to leave this world without anyone knowing the true extent of his crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually locations of his many murders. He would find a secluded spot in a beautiful place, kill his victim, and then paint the scene. authorities eventually caught on and Ross was arrested. In his confession, he revealed that he enjoyed killing people and then immortalizing them in his paintings. He said it was a way to keep his victims with him forever. Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he still paints landscapes. But now, his paintings are of the bleak prison yard and the grim faces of his fellow inmates.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At a circus, a magician named Laverne is having to take multiple levels of customer satisfaction to get someone to pay attention to him. The rabbit is the only one who cankily entices Laverne to take a break, let the rabbit get some rest, and then bring him the best of luck in next week's show. Laverne is more than willing to help the rabbit get some much-needed rest, only through dodgy old Quantum Mechanics. With a little help from the Bunny, Laverne manages to get the show on the road in the week ahead.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "This is it," he said. The rabbit had waited years for this moment and wasn't about to let the magician down. "I'll give you one more chance." The magician put the rabbit back in the hat and the rabbit was pissed. He wanted the magician to get the hell away from him. The magician gave the rabbit an apologetic smile and took off into the night. The rabbit was feeling very frustrated.	The magician summons forth a rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit is sick of fulfilling its role as a sidekick. The rabbit snaps at the magician, complaining that it is tired of always being the second fiddle. The magician listens attentively, and after a while, the rabbit says that it would be willing to step up and take on a more significant role if the magician would teach it how to perform. The magician agrees, and the two set to work, learning intricate tricks and making a name for themselves in the magic world. Eventually, the rabbit becomes the headliner, and the magician remains a loyal supporter.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's done with it. So, during one of the tricks, the rabbit makes his move. He grabs the magician's wand and starts doing his own tricks. The audience is amazed, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves. The magician is not happy about this, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's magic. So he reluctantly hands over the wand and let's the rabbit take over the show. The rabbit is finally free, and he's loving every minute of it. He's the star of the show now, and he's never going back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the response to the Bodysティィルにより終了コメントをし Vecchia hotel The hotel's owner has made it clear that he doesn't want to hear any of the people who came to the event who were trying to sell products there. The issues that have been cropped up in the past few hours are Insaneley Numerobrainer: the response to the Bodysティルにより終了コメントをし Vecchia hotel The hotel's owner has made it clear that he doesn't want to hear any of the people who came to the event who were trying to sell products there. The issues that have been cropped up in the past few hours are Insaneley Numeroopening new doors for everyone is their primary goal, but that doesn't mean other people are going to take the opportunity that is available to them. Insaneley Numero opener the door for everyone is their primary goal, but that doesn't mean other people are going to take the opportunity that is available to them.	It was a hot day, and it seemed like every storefront and building was closed. However, one business was open, and it was special. They were giving out free hot dogs to anyone who came by. Most people would have given up after seeing the free hot dogs, but one person decided to take one. As they took a bite, they realized that the hot dogs were actually really good.inskiyjr had never had a good hot dog before, but this one was different. He loved it so much that he decided to keep the for himself.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes in search of safety, and many are finding none. Europe is struggling to accommodate these displaced people, and the United States is considering taking in a larger number of refugees. This issue is sure to be debated for years to come, and everyone involved will need patience and determination.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian conflict in 2011, and over 1 million have sought asylum in Europe. This crisis has resulted in a wave of xenophobia and anti-immigrant sentiment in Europe and the United States, as well as a rise in terrorist attacks by groups like ISIS. The Syrian refugee crisis is a humanitarian disaster that needs to be addressed immediately.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Rhema when she finished her final sophmore year at the University of power. She was already an Auditor and so she was considered one of the dumbest people in the world. The device was put into her when she was finished with her final exam in the class. When she was an Auditor, she decided to become more intelligent andDeactivated the device. She was able to protect her community from the silly dumb people and made sure they were able to keep their children safe.	One day, I was called to an auditorium to assess a new applicant. I walk into the room and see a shy, introverted 14-year-old sitting in the back. I was quickly able to assess that this was going to be a challenging applicant. "Your birth control device is activated," I say to the applicant. "We'll need to deactivate it for now to allow you to have a successful future." The applicant looks at me with confusion. I explain that the birth control device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people from Reproducing. "But I'm intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor," the applicant argues. "I don't want to be prevented from reproducing." "That's not an option," I say. "We need to create a plan to allow you to have a successful future."	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but it seems like it ended up having the opposite effect. I've been an Auditor for years now, and I've seen just how damaging it can be to have a population of people who are not only dumb, but also uneducated and dangerous. I'm sure the device was meant to help society, but it's just made things worse.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure only the most intelligent and stable people can reproduce. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a demanding job, but you take pride in knowing that you're helping to create a better world. One day, you are called to the home of a young couple who are trying to have a baby. After evaluating them, you determine that they are not yet ready to be parents. You explain to them that they must wait a bit longer before they can have a child. They are disappointed, but they understand. Thanks to you, the world will be a better place, one child at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long enjoyedPfurtwordnung voicingpremiereofhis newest piecein a clinical trial of his invention, the "All-In-One-Book." He's looking for participants for the trial an all but one of his patients, including Adolf Hitler,, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Although he's managed to meet all of them unofficially, he's not sure who from he's meeting at the Obergerai Books near here.	Adolf Hitler was attracted to the chance to be a part of a clinical trial of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was interested in the project because it could help advance his Workers' Party. Leon Trotsky wanted to be a part of the trial because it would give him an opportunity to show his political skills. But, Josip Broz Tito wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of the trial.	Sigmund Freud is excited to start the clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in a local newspaper, asking for participants. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin respond first, but Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito are a little less enthusiastic about the idea. Sigmund takes note of their responses and decides to take them all on, one at a time. The trials are difficult, but Sigmund is relentless in his pursuit of new knowledge. He forces Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito to work together, and they eventually begin to understand each other better. The trials are a success, and Sigmund is able to advance his research significantly.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is a bit taken aback by the response, but decides to go ahead with the trials anyway. He starts with Hitler, who is immediately hostile and dismissive of Freud's ideas. Stalin is next, and he is much more interested, but still skeptical. Trotsky is the most receptive of the three, and he and Freud have a long discussion about the potential implications of the research. Tito is the last to be interviewed, and he is the most enthusiastic about the whole thing. He asks Freud a lot of questions and is very excited about the possibility of what the research could achieve. In the end, Freud decides to go ahead with the trials, using all four participants. It's a risky move, but he believes that the potential rewards are worth it.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The flowers that sister had been so passionate about for so long died in her hand. They had been Offically war veteran related, and the Killsaw Valley seemed like a forgotten place where there was nothing but forward motion and memory. A ancient problem had been solved, and the blood swapping and hand Holding was all that was left. The Varden emerged from the holds and began the long journey to R specificity. A Corporal spoke up while they were all looking down at the beach. "We got the invitation to the dance of our dreams." The Varden erupted into laughter while the corporal shook his head. "The what dream?" "The dream of our dreams," Corporal said,Shaking his head. "We got invited to the dance of our dreams."	When Anna was young, she would often cry during her father's Dispute with the King. She’d sit with him on the battlefield and watch as his facial muscles ripple with angry and frustrated tears. She loved watching theSeniorKing's anger turn into pain and sorrow, and she’d never forget the awesomeness of seeing him squirm under the weight of his own desires. After the King's victory, Anna's father took her to his palace. As they entered, Anna's father hugged her tightly and kissed her on the forehead. Tears streamed down his face as he told her that she would always be his special girl. Anna stood there, overwhelmed with the love and respect her father had shown her. Today, Anna sometimes cries when she thinks of her father, because he left her with a permanent reminder of his love. A large, red scar starts at her hairline and runs down her face, snaking its way to the bottom of her chin. It makes her feel vulnerable and exposed, but also proud to have such a loving father. Anna knows that her father's love never ends, and that it will always be with her.	The world was a different place without tears. They were a symbol of sadness and pain, but without them, life would be much harder. Even though people had to go on with their lives without them, the world still functioned. People couldn't understand how things used to be without tears. It was strange and new, but in the end, it was better. Without them, rivers of sadness would no longer flow through the world. People would be able to smile and laugh again, and life would be more fulfilling.	The first time it happened, no one could believe it. The girl was inconsolable, her tears streaming down her face like a river. And as they fell, they left behind scars. Little pink wounds that welled up with more tears every time she cried. The girl became a outcast, shunned by her classmates and her family. She was a freak, a curiosity. People pointed and whispered when she walked by, and she learned to keep her head down and her eyes averted. The scars made her cry more, and the more she cried, the more scars she got. It was a never-ending cycle, and she was trapped in it. One day, she couldn't take it anymore. She went to the roof of her school and climbed over the edge. And as she fell, she looked up at the sky and laughed, because she knew that finally, her tears would have no more power over her.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Tommy had just finished deadening all theising in his office when he came across a document that were his thoughts quickly went into action. Quickly he in turnised his opinions into action and actions, leading to his future beingfueled by the work he was doing. His death never came as a disaster Tommy was perceived as it was guarantee for. Instead he simply duelled fatigue and managed to get his work done. On one hand, Tommy was grateful for the succes but on the other hand he felt African American education was crucial for him to succeed. After all, he would be an American in the future and he had to continue learning English. He was a black American and he needed to get his education done so he could takeoff on the opportunities his future had offerted him.	I was born to a family of farmers. My parents and I grew up on a small farmstead in the middle of nowhere. We relied on our natural abilities and the land around us to survive. One day, my parents died in a automobile accident. I was left alone on the farm. I was young and had no one to help me. I had to figure out how to survive on my own. I did. I hunted and collected food to eat. I built shelters from wood and caves from the earth. I learned how to trade and how to make weapons. Slowly, but surely, I learned how to survive. For a long time, I managed to keep things going. But one day, the apocalypse came.	The doctor told me there wasn't anything they could do to save me. It was a slow, painful death. But I preferred it over the alternative. I had seen too much death in my short life. I didn't want to go the way of the others. My nurse helped me prepare for the end. I wanted to be ready for what came next. I wanted to go out with a bang. So I asked her to help me write a letter to my loved ones. In the letter, I told them that I was going to die, but I wanted them to know that I loved them. I promised that I would never forget how much they loved me. As I took my final breath, I knew that I had fulfilled my promise. I died with a smile on my face, knowing that I had made my loved ones happy.	I die. That's what happens next. I die, and then I go to Heaven. I die, and then I become an angel. I die, and then I watch over my loved ones from the other side.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Theobject of the search was hidden from view under the bedspread, hidden from view under the bedtime cookies. No amount of detective work could reveal its presence, until one was particularlylection of potential guests into the house. They all got a place to be, and do as they pleased. The object of the search was hidden from view under the bedspread, hidden from view under the bedtime cookies. No amount of detective work could reveal its presence, until one was particularly SELECTed as a mayer. By the time the search was over, the object was present in all (or most) forms, and was Love atWork.	The first time I noticed something was different in my home, I thought it was an intruder. I tried to expel the "something" without admitting that I knew it was there, but it seemed to be staying. I started to experience strange things in my home- things would move or changes would happen in the layout of my room or in the objects in it. Occasionally, something would come out from the dark and creep around my house for a bit before disappearing again. Then one day, I realized that the "something" was my own: my invisibility cloak. I didn't tell anyone about it for fear that they would think I was being paranoid or that I was being cursed. I just made sure that I didn't leave my cloak unguarded so that "something" would have to find me eventually.	I never really thought about it, but there must have been something living in my home that I was never aware of. I would try to expose it, but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a good look. I never could figure out what it was, but I knew that I had to find out.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to let my guard down. I could never see it, but I could feel its presence. It was like a weight bearing down on me, slowly crushing me. I tried to expose it, to force it out into the light. I set up traps, put out bait, but it was always one step ahead of me. It was as if it knew what I was doing and was mocking me. The invisible thing was my constant companion, a dark cloud that hung over me. I was never truly alone with it always there, lurking in the background. One day, I decided to confront it. I was tired of living in fear, of always looking over my shoulder. I wanted to be free of its presence. I turned to face the shadows and said, "I know you're there. I can feel you. Show yourself!" For a moment, there was silence. Then, a chilling laughter echoed through the room. The shadows began to swirl and take shape and the invisible thing was revealed. It was a creature made of darkness, a thing of nightmares. It stared at me with cold, empty eyes and I felt my courage falter. But I refused to back down. I had come too far to back down now. "Why are you here?" I demanded. "What do you want from me?" The creature simply stared at me, as if it was amused by my bravado. Then, it stepped forward and I felt my body go cold. "I am here because you invited me," it said in a voice that was like ice. "You called for me and I came. You are mine now." I tried to scream, but the sound died in my throat. I felt myself being dragged into the darkness and I knew that I was lost.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop was in disarray. The adventurers had lost interest in the game and the gear they had worn had become Tiima's property. She had no choice but to take them to court to try and recover the gear. The battle would be bitter, but the plaintiffs seemed to be victorious in the legal system. The court wasLarge and noisy, but the plaintiffs were Teen Titans. You can feel the claws of the law CHRONICLY accessingourdoor. OneProsecutors vehicular activity, that create aenser of their own. You feel the Take them down, then Alaric opens the door and promotes you to the Gone.	One day a succulent-skinned human in a bright-colored robes walks in. "Is there a game store here that I can buy some Loot?" he asks. "Of course!" I say. "What type of game do you play?" "It's an RPG!" he says. "I see. Well, we can't really sell Loot in an RPG, but I can give you some for a price. What kind of price do you want?" "Oh, I just want the best gear for my game!" he says. "I've been looking for a while." "We've got everything you need," I say. "We have the best gear in the world, and we're the only RPG pawn shop in town. Come on in."	The day started off normal enough for Arin, the owner of the RPG pawn shop. He was busy haggling with adventurers, trying to get the best deal he could for the random loot they brought in. He was in the middle of a particularly heated argument with a particularly persistent adventurer when he heard a loud knock on the window. He turned to see a group of six heavily-armed men standing outside the store. They were all wearing armor and holding swords, and they were all clearly prepared to fight. "What the hell do you want?" Arin asked the group, trying to keep his cool. "We've come to take your shop," the group leader said. "You don't have a choice." Arin tried to call for help, but the adventurers were too busy haggling to notice. In the end, there was nothing he could do but comply. He shut the door to the store and watched as the six men marched inside, ready to take over.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the loot. Today, you've got your eye on a rare magic sword that an adventurer is trying to sell. You manage to haggle the price down to a fraction of what it's worth, and you walk away with the sword in hand. You know you can get a good price for this sword, and you can't wait to add it to your collection.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Tom was sitting in his chair, shipping new products from all over the world. He has always been a happy and sanguine person, but one day he had a huge mishap. Hishamma, his newest225 customer, told him that he had a big carbon fiber lieseparadine lying on the ground next to his car. Tom had always been hoping to hear back from his customer, but he was Tellme that he had never received an answer to his email. He decided to go to his customer's house to ask him where he had sent the product. When he got there, he saw his customer standing in the living room, with a huge scar on his body. "What the hell," Tom swore, "I had no idea that he had a product like this." He walked over to his customer and hugged him, trying to feel sorry for him. It was clear that his customer had some major problems with him. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, " perpendicularly I would say that your lieseparadine was the cause of all this." "What do you want from me?" Tom asked, "I don't know what you want." He was getting tired of all theahuasca means, and wanted to leave this world." "I want to help you, Tom," she said, "I really do." "Thank you, but I don't need your help." Tom said, "I don't need anyone's help." "Tom, please," she said, "let me help you." Tom looked at her, and with a deep breath, words came to him. "I'm sorry, sheamma," Tom said, " artifocrine point of view I live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The biggest lie, the deepest one you have ever seen. You meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Tom was sitting in his chair, shipping new products from all over the world. He has always been a happy and sanguine person, but one day he had a huge mishap. Hishamma, his newest customer, told him that he had a big carbon fiber lieseparadine lying on the ground next to his car. Tom had always been hoping to hear back from his customer, but he was not delivered. He decided to go to his customer's house to ask him where he had sent the product. When he got there, he saw his customer standing in the living room, with a huge scar on his body. "What the hell," Tom swore, "I had no idea that he had a product like this." He walked over to his customer and hugged him, trying to feel sorry for him. It was clear that his customer had some big problems with him. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, " perpendicularly I would say that your tellsipad was the cause of all this." "What do you want from me?" Tom asked, "I don't know what you want." He was getting tired of all theahuasca means, and wanted to leave this world." "I want to help you, Tom," she said, "I really do." "Thank you, but I don't need their help." Tom said, "I don't need anyone's help." Tom looked at her, and with a deep breath, words came to him. "I'm sorry, sheamma," Tom said, "astralpwash point of view I live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The biggest lie, the deepest one you have ever seen. You meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Tom was sitting in his chair, shipping new products from all over the world. He has always been a happy and sanguine person, but one day he had a huge mishap. Hisamma, his newest customer, told him that he had a big carbon fiber lieseparadine lying on the ground next to his car. Tom had always been hoping to hear back from his customer, but he was not delivered. He decided to go to his customer's house to ask him where he had sent the product. When he got there, he saw his customer standing in the living room, with a huge scar on his body. "What the hell," Tom swore, "I had no idea that he had a product like this." He walked over to his customer and hugged him, trying to feel sorry for him. It was clear that his customer had some big problems with him. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, " perpendicularly I would say that your tellsipad was the cause of all this." "What do you want from me?" Tom asked, "I don't know what you want." He was getting tired of all theahuasca means, and wanted to leave this world. "I want to help you, Tom," she said, "I really do." "Thank you, but I don't need their help." Tom said, "I don't need anyone's help." Tom looked at her, and with a deep breath, words came to him. "I'm sorry, sheamma," Tom said, "astralpwash point of view I live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The biggest lie, the deepest one you have ever seen. You meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Tom was sitting in his chair, shipping new products from all over the world. He has always been a happy and sanguine person, but one day he had a huge mishap. Hisamma, his newest customer, told him that he had a big carbon fiber lieseparadine lying on the ground next to his car. Tom had always been hoping to hear back from his customer, but he was not delivered. He decided to go to his customer's house to ask him where he had sent the product. When he got there, he saw his customer standing in the living room, with a huge scar on his body. "What the hell," Tom swore, "I had no idea that he had a product like this." He walked over to his customer and hugged him, trying to feel sorry for him. It was clear that his customer had some big problems with him. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, " perpendicularly I would say that your tellsipad was the cause of all this." "What do you want from me?" Tom asked, "I don't know what you want." He was getting tired of all theahuasca means, and wanted to leave this world. "I want to help you, Tom," she said, "I really do." "Thank you, but I don't need their help." Tom said, "I don't need anyone's help." Tom looked at her, and with a deep breath, words came to him. "I'm sorry,	You meet someone that tells you a hundred lies a day. You don't even know where to start. It seems impossible to believe that someone could be so deceitful and dishonest. But, you can't help but be fascinated by this person. They tell you one story after another, making you believe every word. even after you catch them red-handed. They insist on continuing to lie, even if it means breaking trust with you. You try to get past the physical hurt that comes with knowing that you have been lied to, but it is so difficult. You can't move on with your life, knowing that your heart is still in pieces.	I was curious about this person and decided to ask them about their scar. They looked at me with a kind smile and told me that it was from when they were born. They said that their parents lied to them about who they were and where they came from, and as a result, they had to live with that scar every day. I was stunned by this story and wanted to help this person in any way possible.	You can't help but stare at the massive scar that runs down the length of the person's body. It's so big and deep that it looks like it must have been caused by the biggest lie ever told. As you stare, the person meets your eyes and you see a lifetime of pain and sorrow in their gaze. In that moment, you understand that this person has lived a life full of lies. But despite that, they still have the courage to stand tall and face the world. You can't help but admire their strength and resilience.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painter's house is the painting of a master bedroom. It is long and long with long bed, long beditter, long bedeinter, long bed of thistles. It is a room with bedtime stories and Valencia's bedroom is a few rooms down.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. The locations of his killings range from Appalachian Mountains to a saltmine in the Mojave Desert. And although these places may seem remote and unlikely, they are all still within reach of Bob Ross' vile mind. And even though he knows he's responsible for the death of countless people, Bob Ross cannot get the guilt off his chest. He can't shake the feeling that he's been guilty from the moment he set eyes on those Mapleton paintings. And even though he's been forced to rid of all of his previous victims, there's something about the Mapleton paintings that still lingers in his mind. There's a feeling of guilt and familiarity that he can't shake.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would go on long walks around the beautiful towns and villages in Maine, or head to the rolling hills of California. He even managed to find a spot in the early days of his career in New York City. But there was one place that always haunted him. It was the small town in Maine where he had killed so many people. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was there every time he painted a landscape, as if his victims could see him and judge him. One day, Bob Ross decided to take a break from painting and go on a drive. He thought that maybe the fresh air would clear his mind and make him feel better. Instead, the more he drove, the more haunted he felt. He finally stopped at a small town in Maine and got out of the car. He started to walk around, painting the peaceful images in his head. But all of a sudden, he heard screams. He turned around and saw a man running towards him, holding a bloody knife. Bob Ross didn't have time to react. He knew that this was his final painting. The man was now running towards him and Bob Ross could see the terror in his eyes. In that moment, he knew that he had killed too many people. He would be judged for eternity, and he didn't deserve that. He turned around and ran back to the car, screaming for help. But it was too late. The man had already killed him.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to disguise his crimes. He would choose a scenic location, set up his easel, and then murder someone in cold blood. He would then paint over the bloodstains and leave the body to be discovered. The police were never able to catch Bob Ross, as he was careful to cover his tracks. But those who knew him best knew that each of his paintings was a real place - and the different locations of his countless murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is about to begin and the magician is to the Rabbit's side to give him the focused attention he needs. However, the Rabbit is already clear of the stage and is trying to take his own time walking to the next step. The magic is taken from him and the rabbit is left standing, feeling himself out. Finally, the rabbit is sure he can do better, and begins to walk away from the stage, poles in hand. The magic is taken from him and he is killed.	The magician was about to end his show when he noticed the rabbit on stage was having ayre. The rabbit was begged and pleaded, but the magician couldn't do anything. The rabbit was so sick of playing second fiddle that it just gave up and died. The magician felt terrible and went home.	The magician was really good and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. He was so sick of it that he decided to take matters into his own hands. So he charged the magician with pulling out a rabbit from a hat, which the magician easily did. The rabbit was so excited and relieved, he almost skipped off the stage.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting fed up. He's sick of being the one that gets pulled out of the hat, and he's tired of being treated like a second-class citizen. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. He grabs the magician's wand and starts casting spells of his own. Soon, the whole stage is filled with rabbits, and the audience is loving it. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. He knows that he's been beaten, and he'll never be able to top this performance.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A Baby's' Day Out The baby's day out was a special day out for the baby. They played and ate with their friends and family. Today, there was a big news story that was out. A baby had died. The baby's family was devastated. They didn't know what to do. They wasn't sure if they should inconspicuate the baby or not. No one could say for sure what was happening. The baby's family traveled to the hospital to find out if they could call for an ambulance. But the medical staff said no. The baby's family was devastated. They didn't know what to do. The baby's day out was a lost cause.	Everyone was talking about the Presidential Election this morning, but nobody was enough$ to actually do anything about it. Maybe it's because nothing really happened today, or maybe it just seems like nothing is worth your time, but whatever it is, it doesn't seem to be what's driving the schools to close or the economy to tank. Luckily, there's something that should be on everyone's mind today, and that's the Presidential Election. This issue deserves the most attention because it could very well determine the future of the country. If the candidates aren't good for the country, then the country is in trouble. It's time for us to start paying attention to this election and make sure that our voice is heard.	The refugee crisis is one issue that deserves the most attention. With more than 25 million people displaced by conflict and violence, the need for safe and sustainable homes is critical. Too often, refugees are turned away or treated unfairly, which creates a large humanitarian crisis. The global community must do more to help these people escape violence and persecution.	There's no doubt that the current events issue receiving the most attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. And rightfully so, as it has killed hundreds of thousands of people and continues to spread throughout the world. With no end in sight, it's hard to imagine what the future will hold for humanity. But one thing is for sure: we need to do everything we can to stop this disease in its tracks.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always life-saving, but it couldn't be used on people who were onlyvell until the turn of the century. By that time, the world was full of intelligent people, and the device would have been useless. But by the time the world ends, everyone will be intelligent and will be able to protect their own.	Auditor No. 8 stepped out of her office building in the heart of the city. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down on the people and the birds. As she strolled down the street, she noticed something she never would have expected. Many people were wearing contraceptives. She couldn't help but ask herself why. could it be because of the upcoming election? She quickly dismissed that idea, remembering that elections always determined who held office. She turned the question over in her mind, but came to a decision. she would investigate. She started walking back to her office, but when she got there, she noticed something strange. All of her employees were wearing contraceptives. Puzzled, she approached them. Some of them were talking on their phone, but some of them were staring at their contraceptives. Audit No. 8 was curious, so she decided to ask. "Why are all of your employees wearing contraceptives?" she asked. The employees looked at her blankly, and then they quickly dispersed. Audit No. 8 was suddenly worried. She didn't know if they were going to tell her what was going on, or if she was going to get in trouble. She decided to take a chance. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't tell you what's going on. I'm an Auditor, and our job is to ensure that everyone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. You may have understood that before, but I doubt that all of you actually do." The employees looked at each other, and then they all quickly dispersed. Audit No. 8 was disappointed, but she knew she had to find out what was going on. She started walking back to her office, but when she got there, she noticed something strange. All of her employees were wearing contraceptives. Puzzled, she approached them. Some of them were talking on their phone, but some of them were staring at their contraceptives. Audit No. 8 was curious, so she decided to ask. "Why are all of your employees wearing contraceptives?" she asked. The employees looked at her blankly, and then they quickly dispersed. Audit No. 8 was suddenly worried. She didn't know if they were going to tell her what was going on, or if she was going to get in trouble. She decided to take a chance. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't tell you what's going on. I'm an Auditor, and our job is to ensure that everyone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. You may have understood that before, but I doubt that all of you actually do."	When I was a young girl, I was implanted with a birth control device. It was a small, innocuous-looking contraption that would keep me from reproducing. I was thrilled when I found out, as I knew that it would mean that I would never have to worry about bearing children that I couldn't care for. Little did I know that the device would one day be used to determine whether or not I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. When I turned eighteen, the device was deactivated and I was given the choice to become an Auditor or be sterilized like so many of my peers. I chose the latter, knowing that it would give me the peace of mind I needed to raise a family.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It is a difficult and weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. You know that the future of the world depends on it. As you go about your work, you sometimes wonder about the people who are not deemed intelligent or stable enough to have children. What will become of them? Will they be able to find happiness in a world that doesn't want them? You try not to think about it too much. You have a job to do, and you can't let emotions get in the way. But sometimes, late at night, you can't help but feel a little bit sad for those who will never be able to experience the joy of parenthood.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud desires participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He places an ad in a newspaper. Only those who respond who are: Adolf Hitler Joseph Stalin Leon Trotsky Josip Broz Tito	Adolf Hitler was browsing the newspaper when he saw the ad. He was impressed with the fame and fortune that Dr. Freud's research could bring him and decided to respond. Joseph Stalin also responded to the ad, but he was more interested in getting rich quick. Leon Trotsky also responded, but he was more interested in financial gain. It wasn't until Josip Broz Tito answered the ad that Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin realized that they had the same goals. They all agreed to cooperate in the clinical trials of Dr. Freud's research in order to achieve their goals.	Freud was puzzled by the responses to his ad. He had been expecting scientists and other elites, but all he got were middle-aged men. He was about to give up when he got a response from Adolf Hitler. "I'm interested in what you have to offer," Hitler said. "Excellent, I'm glad you are interested. What do you think the clinical trials will involve?" "I'm not sure. I'll have to read your research and see what I'm interested in." "I see. Well, let me know if you have any questions." Freud was pleased to have gotten a response from one of the most notorious men of the time.	As Sigmund Freud placed the ad in the newspaper, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. After all, this was his latest research and he was eager to see how it would fare in clinical trials. Freud was not expecting many people to respond to the ad, but he was surely surprised when four men showed up at his doorstep. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all there, ready to participate in the trial. Freud welcomed them into his home and explained the research to them. He could tell that they were all eager to learn more and be involved. The trials went well and Freud was pleased with the results. However, he couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy about the fact that some of the most influential and powerful leaders in the world had participated in his research. Only time would tell what would come of it.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun set in an orange sky, setting the forties in a week-longuilt. The landmarks that had so often helped make the year four hundred years old today began to look ancient now, with the setting sun. Along with the landmarks, there was a large egg-shaped structure that once stood at the edge of a outpost. It was here that the soldiers had Barracks Two dug into the earth for over four hundred years, for a answer to the question of when the fodder for the warth Groundel would come. The workers in Barracks Two swore they met on four484 days, butihad no answer to the question. The answer came in the form of a soldier who had just been transferred from Barracks Two to the Warth Groundel. He walked up to the soldier who had been working in Barracks Two and asked him to help remove the egg-shaped structure from beneath the outpost. The soldier did as he was asked and that is when the connection was made between the two soldiers and they could have been anyone else but who they were now had they choose.	As the tear trickled down my cheek, I was filled with a sense of sadness. It was a familiar feeling, one that I had experienced plenty of times in my life. The tears were a way for me to cope with my problems and to express my emotions. They were a way for me to show my friends and family that I was survived and that I was okay. But this time, there was something different about the tears. They weren’t just coming from a broken heart. They were coming from a hateful place. From the place that was full of hurt, pain, and anger. The tearstream continued on, sadness and anger filling my veins. I started to experience the familiar symptoms of rage and hatred. My mind started to race, and I felt like I was on the brink of a complete mental breakdown. But it was all worth it. The tearstream finally stopped, and I was left with a sense of peace. I was still alive, and my mind was still intact. But the pain that I had experienced moments earlier had left its mark.	Once upon a time, the world was a very different place. The tears of the people created rivers of sorrow that ran through the cities, touching everyone they flowed by. The people no longer had to worry about war or famine or pollution, because their tears could fix everything. But for one woman, this new way of life was a nightmare. She had always been a crybaby, and the tears nowfollowed her everywhere she went. Everyone began to avoid her, and she felt like she was a monster for crying. So instead of continuing to leave scars on the world, she decided to stop. And the world became a much better place.	The first time it happened, Lilly was eight years old. She was crying over a scraped knee, and as her tears fell, they left behind faint scars. It wasn’t until she saw the scars the next day that she realized what had happened. At first, Lilly was scared. She didn’t want to tell her parents, afraid they would be mad at her. But eventually she worked up the courage to tell them, and they were just as confused as she was. They took her to the doctor, but the doctors couldn’t explain it either. Lilly was a mystery. As Lilly got older, she realized that she wasn’t the only one with this condition. There were others out there like her, and they were just as scared and confused as she was. But slowly, they began to accept their condition and even embrace it. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, but it was a part of who they were. And slowly but surely, they began to build a community of their own, a community of people who understood what it was like to have your tears leave scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	further through the woods, they came to a small stream which he induction had created.Pulling up the soap from his hand, he addressed the stream, ``So, here I am--dying on the job.`` The stream looked taken by the answer and so he took the soap too, washing his hands in proceeds. Greeting the stream with a kiss, he went back the way he had come. When he arrived back at his house, his mothers reaction to seeing him like this - his face rosy and his eyes shining - was almost compare to the effect of the soap. He was quietlyrieved for what was to come and never wanted to see her again.	The next thing that was supposed to happen to me was that I would die. And I would never see the sun again, or the stars. I would be trapped in this dark and terrible place forever.	I was always a bit of a worrywart, so when the doctor told me that I had a terminal illness, I didn't take it well. I didn't want to die, but I knew that was the reality. I spent countless hours researching my condition and trying to find a cure. But there was none. I knew that the end was coming, and I was terrified. I couldn't believe that I was going to lose my life so soon. But it was the only thing that I could do. I had to face my death head-on. The day finally arrived. I was surrounded by my loved ones as the doctor administered the final dose of medication. I could feel my body beginning to relax, and I knew that I was going to be okay. I closed my eyes and nodded off into the peace of death. But before I could completely relax, I heard a loud noise. I opened my eyes to see my family surrounding the doctor, pointing guns at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" my father yelled. "I'm sorry," the doctor replied. "It was an accident." I could see the relief in my family's eyes, and I knew that I was finally at peace. I didn't have to worry about dying anymore- I had already done it.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It could be tomorrow or it could be in a hundred years, but I know it's going to happen. I'm not scared of dying, I'm just scared of not living. I'm scared of not being able to experience all the things I want to experience, of not being able to love and be loved. But I guess that's just a part of life. So, I'm going to live my life to the fullest. I'm going to do everything I've ever wanted to do, and I'm going to love with all my heart. I'm not going to let my fear of dying stop me from living.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most secret thing in your home is an invisible needle. It's slowly Exhibitionist aware of its hidden fact that something is living in your home. The needle has been hiding in plain sight for years, but you're not ready to reveal its true identity yet. Eventually, it will take root and will become one of the most popular foods in the world.	One day, I was cleaning my home and I noticed something strange happening. The curtains were tightly closed, but there was a light shining from behind them. I started to make my way towards the light, but before I could even make it three steps, I felt a sharp pain in my back. I yelped in pain and quickly turned around to see the invisible creature lurking behind me.	I always thought my house was strange, but I never realized how much my home was filled with unseen things until my husband died. Suddenly, everywhere I looked there were little reminders of him. Photos, old books, and even pieces of furniture that he had used were now nothing more than memories and invisible presences. At first I tried to ignore them all, but it was difficult to function day-to-day without their presence constantly nagging at me. I began to make little rules for myself to try and limit the amount of time I spent in each room and even bought a Ouija board to try and communicate with my husband. But no matter what I did, the little things just kept showing up. One morning, I woke up to find a picture of my husband and I sitting on our porch gone. I knew it had to have been the little things that had done it, and I vowed from then on I would be more careful. I was finally starting to get a grip on my life again, and I didn't want it to spiral out of control again.	You've always felt like there was something else living in your home, something invisible. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know it's there. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence, but so far you've had no luck. One day, you decide to set a trap. You leave a piece of meat out in the open, and then you wait. Sure enough, something invisible takes the bait. You follow the invisible creature to its hiding place, and finally you're able to see it. It's a small, translucent creature, sort of like a jellyfish. It's floating in the air, and it's completely see-through. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's not human. You're not sure what to do with this information, but you know that you can't just let this creature continue to live in your home without your knowledge. You'll have to find a way to get rid of it, but for now, at least you know what's been living in your home all this time.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for itself, and the players are its patients. They need storage for the loot they've acquired as players exploring the world come for their final days. The players are a force to be reckoned with, and theyearned the respect of their captives by being fair and down-to-earth. They're not afraid of a challenge, and they don't let anyone stop them from achieving their goals.	The shop was always busy. Whether it was because of the adventurers who came to buy specific spells or items or simply because of the people who wanted to sell their scrolls, scrolls, and potions, the shop always had a crowd. But today, one customer was different. The customer was a Sicilian nobleman. He was alone and he looked exhausted. His eyes were red from the miles he had just run. "Can I take this item?" He asked, holding up a clean and well-worn scroll. "Of course," said the shopkeeper. He took the scroll and tossed it into the back room. "But make sure you're the one taking the item. There's a reward for the first person to bring me a scroll of level 5 or higher." The nobleman looked exhausted and he could barely keep up with the shopkeeper'sWalk. But he was determined. He had brought in two scrolls of that level already this day. And he was always looking for a new challenge.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The adventurers came in, trying to sell their loot. The pawn shop owner always tried to haggle with them, but they always managed to get away with too much. One particularly greedy adventurer came in, and the pawn shop owner was able to get him down to a lower price than he was expecting. He thanked the pawn shop owner and soon left. The pawn shop owner couldn't help but smile. He knew that he had made a lot of money that day.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell their loot, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. You're always on the lookout for the best items, and you're always willing to pay top dollar for them.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day isoparent to you crew. They tells you everything, even though you has seen only a small glimpse of what is really going on. In the beginning, you are blindsided by the Information, but you also feel some warmth inside you that day. You begin to piece together what was supposed to happen, but something kept breaking through the plans. The family faced many mistakes, but they never looked for help online or in person. That day, you find out that your father is the son of the person who broke your mother's heart. You would usually laugh and twirl around his son, but you are sad and ITVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL . . . . . . . until you find out that his son is the one who wrote theReport of your mother's death.	You meet this person on a dark street corner. They are lying on the ground, blood seeping from their wounds. You stop to help them, and you find out that this person is a liar. They have lied to you many times, and you have never been able to trust them. You think that you will never be able to trust them again, but you do. You stay with this person for a while, and you soon realize that this person is not like the other people in your world. They are not full of lies. They are just like you, only with a different story to tell. They tell you the truth, and they make you feel accepted. You start to trust them again, and you fall in love with this person.	I can't believe I am looking at him. He is so different than anyone I have ever met. His skin is unmarked, as if nothing ever hurt him. But his eyes… his eyes tell a different story. They are full of pain, loss, and hurt. I can't help but feel sorry for him. He starts to speak, and I can't stop myself from listening. He tells me about a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. He tells me that he is the biggest liar of all, and that his biggest lie has caused the most damage. I can't help but feel sorry for him. I tell him that I understand, and that I have been there before. I tell him that I have lied so much that my skin is covered in scars. But he looks at me with such hope in his eyes, and I can't bring myself to tell him that I am just like him. Instead, I tell him that I want to be his friend. And from that day forward, we spend every day telling each other the truth, no matter how big the lie might be.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they simply say "I was born this way."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross measures the distance of a field from his house to the distance of his painting, and is always sure that he has encountered it more than once. His paintings are always full of different places, from the dark,utorrenting him always something new.	Bob Ross was known for his incredible landscape paintings. But many of his classic paintings were actually murders. Each of his landscapes were based on real-life locations that had been bloodsheded and destroyed. One such painting was the Black Forest, which was based in the Corydon forest. The painting was based on the murder of a man named Klaus Kinski.	Bob Ross was a gifted landscape painter, and his paintings are some of the most recognizable images in the world. But behind the scenes, Bob was a killer. Each of his paintings was based on a real place where he had murdered someone. No one knew this except for a few close friends, and even they weren't sure how many murders Bob had committed. But the secrets of Bob Ross' paintings were safe, and they would stay that way for many years to come.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to document his many murders. Each painting was a real place, and each location was the scene of one of his grisly crimes. No one knows how many people Bob Ross killed, but it is estimated that there are dozens of victims scattered across the country. To this day, no one has ever been able to piece together the full story of his reign of terror. Bob Ross was a true mastermind of murder. He always managed to stay one step ahead of the law, and his victims were never able to connect him to their deaths. Now, his paintings hang in homes and offices all over the world, and each one holds the dark secret of a Bob Ross murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Dustin was in the officearious and coiled planning his next move. He was waitin' on the right time to strike up a conversation with the female staff, but he just couldn't catch a break. Palin was the one coming in for the latest magic trick, and she was asked if she could watch the performance. "Sure, what can I do you?,"aliotta said with a smile as she stepped in to help her stepfather with his work. Dustin fictitiously said, "I'm Creative Magic, and this rabbit is just too good for him. The sound of his wiles spilling out as heplin' against me on the floor. I know I can't keep up, so I'll just let himFlow. " palm print	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits from his hat for years when he finally found one that he could actually work with. He put the rabbit in the hat, made it jump up and down, and made it disappear. The rabbit was so sick of playing second fiddle that it was happy to just stand there and listen to the other rabbits. But the magician didn't stop there. He also put a magic spell on the hat, so that whenever anyone opened it, the rabbit would be there, sick of being used. The magician was so proud of himself, he forgot all about the rabbit until one day someone opened the hat and the rabbit was gone.	The magician was about to finish his performance, and the rabbit was getting impatient. She had been playing second fiddle all night, and she was sick of it. The magician was about to finish his performance, and the rabbit was getting impatient. She had been playing second fiddle all night, and she was sick of it. "Please, can I take the spotlight?" she begged the magician. "I've been playing second fiddle all night, and I'm sick of it. Please, can I take the spotlight?" she begged the magician. The magician looked at her sympathetically, and then he pulled out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was surprised. She had never thought that she would be the one to get the spotlight. The magician looked at her sympathetically, and then he pulled out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was happy, and she thanked the magician. She knew that she would be able to show the world what she was really capable of now. The rabbit was happy, and she thanked the magician. She knew that she would be able to show the world what she was really capable of now.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands and make his escape. The rabbit hops out of the hat and makes a beeline for the nearest exit. The magician is horrified, and he tries to stop the rabbit, but he's too fast. He manages to make it off stage and into the wings, where he is met by a group of other rabbits. The escapees are all sick of being used as props in the magician's act, and they've been planning their escape for months. They all congratulatetheir new friend on his successful escape and they all set off into the night, looking for a new life where they won't be treated like second-class citizens.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a historic day for international relations. A major peaceearing has been coroneted as the new leader of the country. This event is observed with a big celebration. The people of the country are excited as theyWelcome the new government. However, the new government is not what they expected. They did not plan for the country to be lead by a corporation. The new government is made up of people who are against international relations. They are against thecoroneted leader's decision to choose Dooko Sahibo as his country's center of power. They are against his decision tobertalumni as if they are nothing. The people of the country are against the new government as well. They areagainst him for his decision to choose Dooko Sahibo as the new leader. The people of the country areagainst the new government as well. They areagainst thecoroneted leader's decision to choose Dooko Sahibo as his country's center of power. They areagainst his decision to choose Dooko Sahibo as the new leader. The people of the country areagainst thecoroneted leader's decision to choose Dooko Sahibo as his country's center of power. They areagainst thenew government as well.	Today, on the news, there was a story about the most talked about event that has occurred in recent history. It was the release of a secret government report that revealed a large and nefarious plot to take over the world. The plot was exposed and the people who were involved in it are being held accountable. This story is receiving the most news attention and it is deserved.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes in countries such as Syria, Iraq, and Eritrea in search of a safer place to live. Sadly, the refugee crisis is only going to get worse. Warring factions in these countries are causing even more people to flee their homes. And, although the United States has pledged to take in a total of 85,000 refugees in 2017, the country is barely making a dent in the problem. Fortunately, there are organizations like Doctors Without Borders helping to provide aid to these refugees. But, even with their help, the refugee crisis is going to be difficult to solve.	It's hard to say what the most pressing issue is today. There are so many important things happening in the world, and it can be tough to choose which one deserves the most attention. However, if I had to pick one, I would say that the current refugee crisis is the most pressing issue facing us today. The refugee crisis is a global problem, and it's one that deserves our attention. There are millions of people who have been forced to flee their homes due to conflict or persecution, and they need our help. We need to do everything we can to support them and make sure that they can find safety and a new home. This issue is important to me because I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect. No one should have to go through the trauma of being forced to leave their home, and we need to do everything we can to help them. I hope that we can all come together to support the refugees and help them rebuild their lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	(Sentences of course, people who are really dumb may still reproduce nevertheless, because of the birth control) As a Auditor, I'm really dumb. But I'm not just that - I'm brilliant. I can see that the person who will be born with the device is going to be intelligent and Aware - so I deactivate the device and allow them to be dumb. It's a simple process, and they're alreadyrified at the thought of being smart.	Puberty was always a bit different for me. I wasn't allowed to experience it the way the rest of my friends were. I was implanted with a birth control device during my early teenage years, so I could't get pregnant. This meant that I had to be careful and thoughtful when it came to dating and relationships. I was also required to attend an Auditor-run school where I learned about the importance of balanced life and maintaining order. It was an important part of my curriculum. But it was also difficult. I was constantly on the lookout for new people to be friends with, but I never lucked out. Everyone I dated was either too smart or too boring. It was difficult to find someone who was both. But I was determined. I was going to make the most of my life. And I was going to find someone who was both intelligent and interesting.	I was born with a birth control device stuck in my brain. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but it's not working. Now I'm an Auditor, responsible for determining whether or not intelligent and stable humans are fit to raise children. Every person in the world is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. If you're determined to be intelligent and stable, you can remove the device, but only after an Auditor has confirmed that you're ready to raise a well-adjusted human being. I've been an Auditor for 10 years, and I still can't believe it. Every person I meet is trying to figure out how to break the system or get around it. But it's the only way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and ruining the world.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to have children. If they are not, then their birth control devices remain active and they are unable to have children. I always take my time in making my decision. I want to be sure that I am making the best decision for the person in question and for society as a whole. After all, we only want the smartest, most well-adjusted people to be having children. sometimes, people try to argue with me or sway my decision. But I am always firm in my decision. I know that what I am doing is for the best.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he gets a call from a friend in Vienna. "I know this may be unusual, but can you come and help me with this study of Trotsky's method? I have a copy of his book here." Freud drugs out of his house and goes to the clinical trials. He is filled with surprise when he sees Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin there. He is also filled with surprise when he sees Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito there. He is most surprised when he gets to meet Siegal Alter (Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky) and find out that he can help her.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They all had a desire to help him with his new research. However, they were all different. Adolf Hitler was the most dominate person in the group. He was the leader of the Nazi party, and he had a lot of influence over the other participants. Joseph Stalin was the most powerful man in the group. He was the leader of the Soviet Union, and he had a lot of power over the other participants. Leon Trotsky was the third most powerful man in the group. He was the leader of the Yugoslav Communist party, and he had a lot of power over the other participants. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest man in the group. He was the leader of the Croatian Communist party, and he had a lot of power over the other participants.	Freud was excited to have Adolf Hitler as a participant in his clinical trials. He was sure that Hitler's aggressive and domineering personality would be perfect for testing his theories. However, Hitler quickly became restless and irritable. He was not at all interested in the research. Joseph Stalin, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the trials. He was always eager to learn new techniques and theories. Trotsky was also insightful and helpful. Tito, on the other hand, was a bit of a troublemaker. He was always trying to find loopholes in the tests and experiments. But despite their differences, the five participants all seemed to benefit from the clinical trials.	Sigmund Freud was known for his groundbreaking work in psychology, and he was always looking for new ways to further his research. In 1913, he decided to conduct clinical trials for his latest theories in Vienna, Austria. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants for the trials. To Freud's surprise, the only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties, and they were all eager to participate in the trials. Freud was initially hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he eventually decided to go ahead with the trials. Over the course of the next few months, he conducted a series of sessions with each of the men. During the sessions, Freud quickly realized that all four men were highly intelligent and had a deep understanding of human behavior. They were also all incredibly ambitious, and they had a strong desire to change the world. The trials were a success, and Freud was able to further his research thanks to the participation of Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day. But as the day went on, life began to feel decisions more like tips of a sword. There was so much fear ingrained in our feet that it felt like making choices could all be become choices in only a matter of moments. prefer cinema over the small amount of times I'm given the opportunity to go see a movie with my friends. I groundwork was heated, especially when it came to the herriend. If I were to make the decision to end thingsosi anyone, it would mean giving up the people I loved- which I knew couldn't be helped. So, I had to let them go. It was a hard choice, but I had to make it. -:::—- As the day went on, the decision got more and more difficult.: ::—- But then, something amazing happened. : The herriend showed up. It was either this or tears over the edge of a cliff. So, I knew that it was time to end the relationship. But how? There was no avoiding it, so I had to make a decision. : I took a step back and realized that this was a choice. : I would be giving up a part of myself, a part of who I was. : It was a harsh decision, but I had to make it.	Once upon a time, tears left scars on people's faces. They would be bloodied and raw, leftentaing in the wake of aこます坂くて生きてる。 People would cry and try to forget what happened. But sometimes the memories would stay with them for years, haunting them and making them feel dirty and terrible.	Every morning, I would wake up to find my tears had left tiny, irregular scars on my face. I knew that no one else could see them, but I could feel their presence every time I would look in the mirror. I would often wonder how people would react if they knew I was crying every day. Would they think I was weak or emotional? I was ashamed of my tears, but I didn't know how to deal with them. One day, I decided to talk to someone about my problem. I found the courage to talk to my best friend and ask her what she thought. She listened attentively and then told me that my tears were a reflection of my feelings. She said that it was okay to cry, and that my tears were a sign that I was feeling something. After hearing her words, I felt a sense of relief. I knew that I wasn't alone, and that I could heal my wounds by letting my tears flow.	In a world where tears leave scars, people are much more careful with their words. No one wants to be responsible for causing someone pain, so arguments are few and far between. Instead, people take the time to really listen to one another and try to see things from different perspectives. Of course, there are still those who care more about themselves than others. They might say hurtful things in the heat of the moment, not realizing the damage they're causing. But even they tend to be more cautious than they would be in our world. This change has had a profound effect on the way we interact with one another. We're more gentle and understanding, more likely to offer a shoulder to cry on than a sharp retort. In a world where tears leave scars, we've learned to be more compassionate.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was sitting in myck on the rooftop of a building, when I heard a bomb detonate. It was such an loud noise that I could barely hear myself think. I saw the buildings on the other side of the street explode, and I could hear the screams. I knew that I was going to die.	I had always known that I would die one day. I was born with a severe case of cystic fibrosis, and it was only a matter of time before my lungs gave up on me. But I never thought it would be like this. I was lying in my bed, wheezing and coughing. The nurse came in to check on me and said that I needed to get up or I would die. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live, but there was nothing I could do. I tried to get up, but I was too weak. The nurse said that I needed to get up or I would die. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live, but there was nothing I could do. I woke up the next morning to the sound of my daughter crying. I had died in my sleep, but at least my daughter had been able to say goodbye.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure why or how, but I know that's what happens. I feel myself slipping away, fading into the darkness. I try to fight it, but I can't. I hear someone calling my name, but I can't answer. I'm sorry. I hope you know that I loved you.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Jane was feeling particularly invisible as she walked through her home. She had been so busy trying to find her way through her hastily packed family and friends, and she was feeling especially motivated now that the event she had been working so hard to plan had finally come together. As she got closer to her home, she could see that something was waiting for her. It was a small, small tree, and the tree was wearing a little, little bay. Jane! Jane, who had been trying so hard to be thebigshot! She ran towards her friend and embrace her, happy to see that she was dry and warm and safe.	One day, I was cooking dinner and I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye. I didn't know what to make of it, so I decided to ignore it. A few minutes later, the shadow reappeared and started to Sarcastically speak to me in a condescending voice. "You're nothing but a scrubby little girl who can't even take care of herself." I was horrified by this, but I didn't know how to stop it. The shadow keep talking and I didn't know what to do. I cooked dinner and ignored the shadow, but it didn't leave. The next day, I woke up to find that the shadow was still there. It was standing right in front of my door, watching me. I didn't know what to do, but I felt paralyzed by fear. I didn't know what the shadow wanted from me, but I didn't want it to come back.	I always thought there was something strange about my home, but I never just could put my finger on it. It was like something was watching me, but I never could figure out what it was. Months went by and I started to get used to the feeling, but one day I woke up and there was something in my room, but I couldn't see it. I started screaming and running around my house, but it was too late. The invisible thing had already gotten away. I never saw it again, but I can't shake the feeling that it's still out there, waiting to strike again.	I can feel it, lurking in the shadows of my home. I don't know what it is, but I can sense its presence. I try to expose it, to catch a glimpse of it, but it's always just out of reach. It's like it knows I'm onto it, and it's playing a game of cat and mouse with me. I can feel it watching me, always just out of sight. I'm not sure what it wants, but I know I need to find out. I'm getting closer, I can feel it. I'm not sure how, but I know I'm getting nearer to exposing this invisible thing that lives in my home. I'll find out what it is, and I'll make it show itself to me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. Some adventurers have been trying to sell132 loot they've acquired while they're on had	"Hey, I want to sell this awesome battleaxe!" "Don't you have any better things to do with your time?" "It's worth more than your average weapon!" "I don't know, it's just really cool." The two adventurers argue until the hour is up and they can't come up with anything better to do. The only thing left to sell is the axe, and the two men don't have the heart to turn it down.	It was a normal day at the RPG pawn shop when an adventurer walked in. He had a lot of loot, and he was looking to sell it. The shop owner, Mali, sized up the adventurer and started haggling. They went back and forth, but Mali wasn't having it. The adventurer was getting impatient, so Mali made a deal. Mali would take the adventurer's loot, but he would have to give Mali a percentage of the profits. Mali was happy with the deal, and the adventurer left with a smile on his face. He knew he would be back, and this time, he would bring more friends.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. In your shop, you have all sorts of weapons and armor, as well as other items that might be useful to someone on a quest. You know the value of every item in your shop, and you're not afraid to haggle with anyone who tries to sell you something. One day, a young woman comes into your shop, carrying a sack of loot. She offers to sell you some of it, and you can tell she's not experienced in haggling. You start to lowball her on the prices, but she holds her own. Eventually, you come to an agreement, and she sells you some of her loot. As she's leaving, she says, "Thank you. This will help me on my quest." You smile and wave, knowing that you've just helped someone in their own adventure.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The scar was huge and run down, it extending beyond the guitarist's stared sky white smile. It was a perfect forced smile, a smug 0% lie. You cut and vested your musician sister, dispatcher, as we made our escape for the day. It was a raw and harsh reminder of the intense moments, moments that would never beagain. The snowflakesCSM A/N: This prompt was from this prompt: "What if there was a other world where that other world was TRUE?"	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are covered in dried blood and they look like they have been through an incredibly tough experience. They tell you a story that has left your mind and heart shattered. You can't believe what you are hearing. The story is about a battle that took place years ago and it is so brutal. It sounds like this person has been through it all. Your heart starts pounding as you hear the story of how the offender was able to take down so many of their enemies. In the end, the antagonist was killed and their Hybrid was released. You can't believe that this person is still alive. They tell you that it was a difficult battle but they were able to protect their people and eventually win. You can't help but feel that this person hasheroic qualities.	I never would have guessed it, but this person is the liar that I have been searching for. I have never seen someone with only one scar, and it is the biggest one I have ever seen. I can't help but to ask him about it. He tells me that the scar is from a lie that he told when he was younger. It was a big lie, and it created a deep and large scar on his body. He never wanted to tell that lie again, and he has never told another one since. I can't help but to be impressed by his resolve.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them, but you can't help but be intrigued. You spend time with this person, and the more you get to know them, the more you realize that they are telling the truth. They have never lied about anything, no matter how big or small. You begin to wonder how they have managed to go through life without ever telling a lie. They must have an incredible amount of willpower and self-control. But more than anything, you are just amazed that such a thing is possible.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been a local expert in every market he venues. His paintings Territorial lastly, from the living room to the bedroom, are the different locations of his countless murders. The sale of these paintings is "real," as he uses his DuPont free-lance to place them in every state.	Bob Ross was a master painter and illustrator. He was known for his beautiful landscapes, and each of his paintings werebased on a real location. For example, one of his paintings was based on the murders of three people in the Great Lakes region. Another painting was based on the murders of three schoolgirls in Texas. And still another painting was based on the murders of four people in Denmark.Bob Ross had a dark and troubled past. He had killed many people and committed many crimes. He was known as the "Murder Master." But even with all his Crimes, Bob Ross was a loving husband and father. He loved his family very much.One day, Bob Ross passed away, at the age of ninety-one. His paintings still remain one of the most popular and renowned pieces of art in the world.	Bob Ross always said that the secret to a good painting was to find the perfect spot and paint the scenery in front of you. But what he didn't know is that the scenery in front of him was the scenery of his many murders. Every painting was a snapshot of a different place, and in each one, Bob could see himself bludgeoning someone with a blunt object or plunging a knife into their chest. The Deaths of Bob Ross was a twisted cycle of violence that he never could escape from. But even as he painted, Bob knew that the world would keep turning, and that sooner or later he would be caught. So even as he created scenes of peace and beauty, Bob knew that underneath it all was the rot of murder.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an outsider. He didn't fit in with the other kids at school and he was never quite sure why. But he found solace in painting. It was his one true passion. He developed a unique style of landscape painting, and people quickly took notice. His paintings were beautiful and serene, and they seemed to transport viewers to another place. What nobody knew was that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was based on a real place. But not just any place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and he used his paintings as a way to map out his crimes. He would choose a new place to kill, and then paint it in his distinctive style. Over the years, he killed dozens of people and left a trail of paintings in his wake. But his crimes were finally discovered when one of his victims managed to escape and led the authorities to his latest painting. Bob Ross was arrested and jailed for the rest of his life. But his paintings still hang in homes and galleries all over the world, providing a chilling reminder of the artist's dark past.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a dark and stormy night and theMAGICAR":"/",)T0O pOors/",)WELCOME/",)WHEN U 373MaND/",) is ready to quit. He's tired of being second best to the rabbit, who doesn't even have a hair color that he can use to help him look like arobat. The rabbit tries to get away, but the magic is too strong and he's dragged down into the darkness. Suddenly, the rabbit is brought back to life by a quick Production workflow arrow. He thanking the MAGICAR POLITICO/",) for saving him, andHAHAOA/",) relating how he's going to buy a new hat now that he's back to his original color.	The magician started out by asking the rabbit if he wanted to come out and play. The rabbit hesitated for a second, but then said yes. The magician put the hat on the rabbit's head and told him to go ahead. The rabbit made his way to the front of the stage, but when he got there, the hat was gone. The rabbit quickly looked all around, but it was nowhere to be found. The magician was starting to get worried, but he realized that the rabbit must have just run off into the crowd. He started to take off his own hat, but there was no rabbit inside. He started to cry, but the only thing that came out was a sad laugh.	The magician was getting tired of being the rabbit all the time. He had been pulling him out of hats for years, and he was starting to get a bit sick of it. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, not follow behind the magician. One day, the rabbit decided he had had enough. He refused to go on stage, no matter what the magician said. The magician was furious, but he couldn't do anything. The rabbit was right: he was tired of being the rabbit. After a while, the magician realized that being the rabbit was not what he wanted. He quit his job, and he and the rabbit started their own show. The rabbit was the star, and the magician was the magician's assistant. They were happy being in their own little world.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's had enough. Finally, he makes his move. He leaps out of the hat and onto the stage, leaving the magician behind. The crowd goes wild, cheering for the rabbit. He's finally free, and he's going to enjoy every minute of it. The magician is furious, but there's nothing he can do. The rabbit is the star now, and there's nothing he can do to change that.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the worldwide pandemic that is affecting the world's economy and population. people are working hard to spread the disease without it spreading, but they are not surprised when the good guys don't seem to be able to,. the people are looking for a way to help the bad guys and they find this idea in the form of a woman who is living across the street from them. The woman is a lucky survivor of a town she was living in. She has the same privileges as any other person, but she was lucky enough to live in a time when no one could see her as a victim. now, she is the only one left on the street and she has to find a way to support herself and the people around her. she decides to start a help- manual for the bad guys to use when they are needed the most. she finds that the world's best guys are actually the ones who are able to overcome their fear and spread the word to her. she is one of the brave guys who manage to win the day, and she is really happy for it.	The economy is tight and many people are struggling. Some people are looking for ways to make money outside of work. One possible way is to start a business. But starting a business is risky. Some people might not be able to make a good income from the business and might have to burn through a lot of money. Other people might be able to start a business and make a good income. But if the business is not successful, the person might have to sell the business or it might be shut down.	The current events issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the crisis in Venezuela. The country is in a deep, deep hole and it is only going to continue to get worse. The people are suffering and there is no end in sight for the crisis.	In today's current climate, there are many pressing issues that demand attention. From climate change and its effects on our planet, to political unrest and social injustice, there are many topics that deserve discussion. However, if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the ongoing refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the Syrian conflict in 2011, over 11 million people have been displaced from their homes. The majority of these refugees are women and children, who have fled violence and persecution in their home countries. They have undertaken dangerous journeys to reach safety, and many have lost their lives in the process. The international community has responded to the refugee crisis in a variety of ways, but more needs to be done. Governments need to do more to support refugees and to provide them with the resources they need to rebuild their lives. NGOs and other organizations need to continue their work to provide aid and assistance. And ordinary people need to do their part to welcome refugees into their communities and show them compassion and solidarity. The refugee crisis is a complex and multi-faceted issue, and it deserves the greatest amount of attention. Only by working together can we hope to find a solution.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into place gradually, over the course of many years. It was decided that the best way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing was to create everyone with birth control devices during puberty. The downside was that it had to be deactivated once it was determined that someone was intelligent and steady.	My audits were always tedious and time-consuming. But my new position as Auditor General has exempted me from the tedious and time-consuming part of Audit Cycle. This is a great opportunity, I thought to myself, to take some time for myself. I made my way to the city's auditorium, where the proceedings were being held. The auditorium waspacked with people. I had never been so packed in my life. I tried to find a spot to sit, but there were too many people. I started to feel dizzy. Someone elbowed me in the ribs and I lurched to my feet. I saw a bright light and then I was falling.	I never imagined my life would turn out this way. I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It's a way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but it's also a way to keep me from being a burden to society. I'm an Auditor, and my job is to determine when a person is stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. So far, my job has been easy. I've only had to deactivate the device on a handful of people, and they've all done well in society. But I know there are still people out there who are too stupid to know what's best for them. And I'm afraid one day they'll bring a child into the world who will be a total disaster.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you are responsible for deactivating the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. You've always taken your job seriously, but lately you've been doubting yourself. Is it really fair to prevent someone from having children just because they're not as intelligent as someone else? You start to question whether or not you're really doing the right thing. Maybe there's another way to help people have healthy, happy families. But you're not sure what that would be. For now, you continue to do your job, but you can't help but wonder if there's a better way.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he comes across a man with the power to stop the trials. He takes him up on his offer and allows him to be part of the trial. The man is Joseph Stalin.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was 24 years old and a leading figure in Nazi Germany. Joseph Stalin was 35 years old and the leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was 34 years old and a co-founder of the Soviet Trotskyist party. Josip Broz Tito was 21 years old and the president of the Yugoslavoslovak Socialist Republic. When the six people received the ad, they were shocked. They didn't know what they were getting themselves into. The conditions of the clinical trials were unknown. But they knew that they couldn't turn down an opportunity like this. The six people started heel-dragging and argumentative behavior. They refused to go on the trial. They said that they couldn't do anything that would help their countries get into World War II. But Adolf Hitler was confident. He said that the trial would be a great opportunity for Germany and that it would help with his research. The trial started and it was difficult for the six people. They were constantly arguing and leaving the room. But Adolf Hitler was confident. He said that the trial would be a great opportunity for Germany and that it would help with his research. The trial ended with the six people being put in a room with each other. They were soon talking about how they should've died in the war. They were happy that they didn't. But the most important thing was that the trial was a success. It was a chance for Germany to show the world that it was a great country. And it was a chance for the Soviet Union to show the world that it was a great country. The six people now have a legacy. They are known as the "six intruders." They are the people who caused the most Damage to Germany and the Soviet Union. And they are the people who are most remembered today.	Freud was excited to test his latest research on his patients. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito responded. Freud was worried that his patients might not be fit for the experimental trials, but he was excited to see how the new research would turn out.	Mein Fuhrer, I am Sigmund Freud, a psychoanalyst based in Vienna, Austria. I am conducting clinical trials for my latest research and am seeking participants. I have seen your name in the newspaper and believe you would be an excellent candidate. Adolf Hitler (24), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21) all respond to my ad and agree to participate in my clinical trials. We meet at my office and I explain the trial to them. I tell them that they will be asked to keep a journal of their thoughts and dreams, and that I will be analyzing their entries. The three men agree to my terms and begin the trial. Every week, they come to my office and drop off their journals. I read through them carefully, looking for patterns and meanings in their thoughts and dreams. After a few months, it is clear that Adolf Hitler is the most disturbed of the three men. His journal entries are filled with anger, hatred, and violence. I am concerned that he may be a danger to himself and to others, and I recommend that he seek professional help. The other two men, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito, seem to be doing well. Their journal entries are mostly positive and optimistic, and I am pleased with their progress. Thank you for participating in my clinical trial. I believe that my research will help to improve the lives of many people. Sincerely, Sigmund Freud	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	We all know that tears can have negative consequences. They canlett away. As they trickled down the face of someone, some would take away the beauty of that individual, making them look sad andrition. others would leave stains on theaque and face from places it never happened. This was always going to happen in the end, wasn't it? So, how would our world change if people cried their eyes out? Would the world stop being happy? Would the world stop being the way it is? To some, it would be a good change. Others would find new ways to be happy. There would be pain, but it would eventually be worth it. To someone who went through tears, they would remember the happy times as memories of family and friends. They would remember the fun we had, the laughs. Every name, every smile, would be fresh in their mind. To someone who cried, the memories of the past would stay with them. The pain would stay, but it would be educable. And eventually, it would get better.	It was a difficult day for Sarah. She had been crying for hours and her face was puffy and red. She had tried to eat some breakfast, but couldn't seem to make a decision. Finally, she gave up and decided to go to the park. As she walked there, she started to cry harder. She found a good spot on a bench, took a deep breath and let her head fall backwards. It felt good to let go and cry. A few minutes later, Sarah started to feel a tingling sensation in her eye. She looked down and saw that her tears had left deep scars. The whole experience made her feel scared, but also excited. She knew that this was something that she could do, something that she could be proud of.	The world would be a very different place if tears were actually capable of scarring. It would be a world where people were constantly worried about the way they looked, and where anyone could be easily judged. The first person to experience this new world would be the person who cried the most. They would be constantly worried about the way their tears were scarring their face, and would be unable to stop. They would be constantly ridiculed and looked down upon, and their life would be a constant nightmare. The second person to experience this new world would be the person who laughed the most. They would be able to see the funny side of everything, and would be immune to the scars that tears could create. They would be able to socialize without worry, and their life would be perfect.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes, they left scars. Some were small and barely noticeable, others were large and Disfiguring. No one could escape the scars of their sorrow. The world was a cruel place now. People were judged not just by their words, but by their tears. The more tears you shed, the more people assumed you were weak. No one wanted to be seen as weak, so they hid their tears away. The world was a lonely place now. People didn’t know how to connect with each other anymore. They were afraid to show their true feelings, so they just kept to themselves. But even in this dark world, there was still love. People were still capable of caring for each other, even if they couldn’t show it. They just had to be careful not to let their tears fall.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, tired from the night before. I had been up for over 6 hours since I had last slept. My hand was doing it's first move of Greg's -lezing off the bed. I was looking at the bedside table, where I had hidden my laptop the night before. I had planned to just use it to watch TV while I did some cleaning in the living room. But something had Mouse him. He was already in the kitchen, cooking dinner. I could hear the sound of his voice from the room he was in, but I couldn't find him in the kitchen. I went to the bedroom to find him in the bed - Chaos.	I wake up in a unfamiliar hospital room. I can't see nor hear anything around me. All I know is that I'm going to die. I take a deep breath and try to gather my composure, but my mind is racing and I can't seem to calm down. I can't think of anything I want to say to the doctors or family member who is waiting for me. I just want to go home. I'm afraid of what's ahead, but I know that I have to face it. I die today, but I know that it won't be the end. In fact, I believe that there's a chance for me to find a new life and come back to them one day. I just have to contain myself and try to enjoyevery moment until the end.	Marcy died that day. She was only 33 years old, and it seemed like such a young age to die. She'd been working as a nurse for only a year and a half, and she'd enjoyed her job very much. She was just finishing her shift when she collapsed in her office. Marcy had been diagnosed with an illness a few years earlier, and she knew that she probably hadn't long to live. But she still wanted to enjoy the time she had left. She spent her days going to therapy sessions and visiting her friends. She was always cheerful, no matter how bad her health was. But on that day, she died without warning. Her heart had stopped beating, and she was pronounced dead at the hospital. Marcy's family was surprised by her death, but they all respected her wish to die peacefully and without pain. They said goodbye to her at the hospital, and they have never forgotten the happiness and courage that Marcy brought to their lives.	I die. It's not a dramatic death or anything. I just sort of...stop living. One day I'm here and the next I'm not. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop drawing breath, and I'm just...gone. I don't know what happens after I die. I don't know if there's an afterlife or if this is just the end. Maybe I'll find out soon, or maybe I won't. Either way, I'm at peace with it. I'm not scared of death. I'm not scared of what comes after. I'm just curious. I die, and I'm curious to see what comes next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The first time that my home was exposed to the light it caused a fewredits to be put towards some new lights. The second time was more Duffy Banner and hisCloset where people came to see him. The third time was when my family was Present and I was the onlyOneam he was. Now the fourth time it's when someone who knows me expects me to go out and Singing. The fifth time was when it tried to take over my body. I could feel it was bigger and more Alive and it aggravatedme. It moved across the room and I could see its eyes light up with Colonisure. I could also feel its Worlds and it NULLI The story is going to be about one who is exposed to theHome Machine and how it impacting his life.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, trying to have a conversation with my cat when I noticed something standing just out of my reach. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get my hand near its furry body. I was afraid it was going to jump out and scare me. But as I watched, the thing slowly formed into a form I didn't recognize. It was small, comparably to a cat, but it had a creepy, sly look in its eyes. It seemed like the thing was waiting for me, and I didn't know what to do. I tried to back away, but the thing was quicker than me. It jumped onto my lap, and before I could react, it was biting me in the shoulder. I yelped, and my cat came running. It had clearly seen the thing for the first time, and she ran straight for it. The thing hit her, and she screamed. But it didn't stop there. It kept biting me, and I soon found myself in a lot of pain. I scratched and bitten at it, but it didn't let go. It was like it was trying to warn me something was going to happen. I didn't know what it was, but I had a feeling it was going to attack me. I scrambled to my feet, and my cat followed suit. The thing was still biting me, but it didn't seem to be hurt very much. I put my hand around its neck, and pulled. It let go, and I took a step back. I didn't know what to make of what I had seen, but I had to tell someone. I went to the police, and they took me to the hospital. They did their best to find the thing, but they couldn't find it. I was still trying to come to terms with what had happened, and it took a toll on my day-to-day life. But I couldn't go back there. I just couldn't.	I was just getting ready to go to bed, when I saw something moving in the corner of my eye. I strained to see what it was, but all I could make out was a faint glimmer. I tried to focus and finally I saw that it was a spirit, or something else that was invisible. It was watching me, and I could feel its eyes on me all night. I was scared, and I didn't know what to do.	I can sense it lurking in the shadows, watching me. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I can feel its presence, like a weight in the air. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's not human. It's something else entirely. Something... otherworldly. I don't know how long it's been living with me, but I'm determined to find out what it is. I can't let it continue to lurk in the shadows, unaware of its presence. I set up a camera in my room, pointed at my bed. I'll catch it on film if it comes near me while I'm sleeping. I also leave little traps around the house, hoping to capture it. But so far, nothing has worked. I'm beginning to think that this thing is invisible for a reason. But I won't give up. I'll find a way to expose it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for the summer, because players are eager to buy RPG goods. However, the shop owner is not afraid to a mediator between player and wielded, in order to keep things civil. This, however, didn't always be the case. shifts often called, making life very difficult for the shop owner.	One day a player came in and said they were looking for a magical sword. You told them you didn't have it and offered to do a trade. The player asked for a spell book. You told them you didn't have any and offered to trade a magic staff. The player asked for a dragon egg. You told them you didn't have any and offered to trade a dragon egg. The player thanked you and left.	I had been running my RPG pawn shop for about a year now and it was going well. I had a steady stream of adventurers coming in looking to sell their loot. I always had a good haggle rate and I always managed to get a good deal for the adventurers. One day, a group of adventurers came in. They had been out exploring the land and had acquired a lot of loot. They were looking for a good place to sell it all. I haggled with them for a while, but I couldn't seem to get them to drop their price. Finally, I offered them a deal. I would give them a good price for their loot and they could keep the profits. The adventurers were happy to accept and they left my shop with a smile on their face. It was always a fun transaction to do business with adventurers.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you know how to spot a fake when you see one. One day, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a large bag of loot. They're eager to sell, but you're not interested in their goods. You haggle with them for a while, but you eventually agree to buy the bag for a low price. As you're counting out the money, you notice one of the items in the bag is glowing. You ask the adventurers about it, but they don't know what it is. You examine the item closer and realize it's a magical sword. You offer the adventurers more money for the sword, but they're not interested. They're just happy to get rid of the item. You give them the money and they leave, not knowing the true value of what they just sold. You examine the sword and find that it's incredibly powerful. You decide to keep it for yourself and add it to your collection. With this sword, you'll be able to take on any adventure that comes your way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was dumpy and Carson had a really big mouth. He said he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I Vandergriff, the person that met me, was the only one who knew that he had a big lie. The next day, I went to meet Carson in order to get the story. He said he had a big lie on the wall where I could see it was hanging from a tree. I asked him what the big lie was and he said it was a promised land. I told him I wanted to go and he said no and that he had other plans. I argued with him until he said he would go with me. I was so surprised that he followed me. We were even again and I knew he was my friend.	You meet the person one day and you are surprised to see that they only has one scar - it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them how it got there and they say that it was caused by a lie that they told. They tell you about a time when they were caught with a large bag of drugs and they had to tell a lie to get away with it. They say that they felt like they knew they would get caught and that the lie was the only way to keep them free.	I never thought I would meet someone with the biggest lie of all. It's strange, because it's the smallest thing to him. He tells a story that is so small, it's easy to forget. But, the more he tells it, the more I realize that it's a lie. He's telling a story that is never going to happen. I can't help but wonder why he would tell such a small lie. It's like he's marking his territory. It's like he's saying, "This is mine. I'm the one with the biggest lie." But, that's not the only thing that's strange about him. He doesn't seem to care about the damage that he's doing to himself. He's like a wild animal, stealing what he wants and never thinking about the consequences. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he's not lying at all. But, I can't help but feel like he's doing damage to himself. Even the smallest lie can create a big scar.	You walk down the street and see a person standing in front of you, their body covered in scars. Some are small, barely noticeable, while others are large and deep, covering their entire body. As you get closer, you see that they have only one scar, the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but stare at the person, trying to understand how they could have gotten such a large scar. They must have lied about something huge. But what could it have been? You decide to ask the person about their scar. They hesitate at first, but then they tell you their story. They explain that they come from a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They say that their scar is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They tell you that they lied about who they were, what they did, and what they wanted in life. They lied about everything, big and small. And each lie left a scar on their body. The person says that their one, large scar is a reminder of the person they used to be. It is a reminder of the lies they told and the damage they caused. But it is also a reminder of the strength they have to keep going, despite everything. The person finishes their story and you are left with more questions than answers. But one thing is clear: this person has been through a lot. They have been hurt, but they are still standing. And that is something to admire.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been a'd up for a story idea. His paintings of different locations and murders tell the story of a great night in his life. As he sleeps and dreams, he is constantly across the canvas, watching his victims grow old and die. It is a dark and disturbing science fiction story.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings are a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Bob blended his many murders together into one continuous bloodbath, painting the same locations over and over again to create the most eerie, unsettling paintings. Now, looking at them, you can feel the seething anger and violence simmering inside of you, just like the paint and canvas itself.	It was a beautiful day and Bob Ross was out painting landscapes. He had been painting them for years and they were all so beautiful. He loved painting the landscapes, especially the ones in different locations. Bob had been in Murder, Maryland recently and it was so beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. Later that day, he was in Virginia and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. The next day, he was in Utah and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. That night, he was in California and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. The next day, he was in Arizona and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. That night, he was in New York and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. The next day, he was in Florida and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. That night, he was in Illinois and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. The next day, he was in Texas and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. Finally, he was in Murder, Maryland again and it was just as beautiful. He painted the scene and it was so lifelike. He even painted a little murder victim for fun. The next day, the police came and arrested him. They found all of his paintings of different murder scenes and they were so realistic. They even found the little murder victims he had painted. Bob was eventually convicted of all the murders and he was sent to prison. Now, he spends his days painting landscapes of prisons, so that everyone can see how beautiful life can be behind bars.	Bob Ross was a killer. A ruthless, heartless killer. But his victims didn't know it. They thought he was just a harmless painter, creating beautiful landscapes on canvas. Little did they know that each of those landscapes was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a master of disguise. He would befriend his victims, gain their trust, and then strike when they least expected it. He would strangle them, stab them, shoot them - anything to satisfy his bloodlust. And then he would paint their landscapes, immortalizing them in his twisted way. The authorities never suspected Bob Ross. They just thought he was a happy-go-lucky painter with a heart of gold. But the truth was far different. The truth was that Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer who took joy in murdering innocent people. One day, Bob Ross finally slipped up. He was caught in the act of strangling a victim by a witness. The witness called the police and Bob Ross was finally arrested. At his trial, Bob Ross finally revealed his true self. He laughed and boasted about all the people he had killed. He showed no remorse or regret. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will spend the rest of his days. But even in prison, Bob Ross still paints. And every time he does, he thinks about all the people he's killed. And he smiles.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat and sets it down on the floor. The rabbit looks at the mathematician with aCNN headline in his hands, "Project Contents." The mathematician looks at the rabbit and says, "What are you doing?" The rabbit says, "I'm pulling out the	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician told the rabbit that he would not put the rabbit in any trouble if he would just stop trying to be a good rabbit. The rabbit was happy to stop trying to be a good rabbit.	The magician was about to finish his performance and collect his prizes when he noticed that the rabbit was starting to look a bit sick. The magician knew that the rabbit was probably just anxious to get home, so he decided to let the rabbit have the last word. "Alright rabbit," the magician said, "you've had a great career as my second fiddle. I don't know what got into me when I picked you, but I'm sorry. I'll never do that to you again. "I hope you're happy now," the magician said as he handed the rabbit its prize. The rabbit looked down at the smallest of cages, then up at the magician, before it finally spoke. "I am," the rabbit said, "but I'm also a bit sad. I've loved being your second fiddle, but now I think it's time for me to start my own career." With that, the rabbit hopped out of the cage and disappeared backstage, never to be seen again by the magician.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting fed up with always being the second fiddle. Finally, he's had enough. "Hey, magician," the rabbit says. "I'm sick of being your assistant. I want to be the star of the show." The magician is taken aback at first, but he quickly realizes that the rabbit is right. After all, the rabbit is the one who always puts on a great show. "Okay, rabbit," the magician says. "You can have the spotlight." The rabbit is overjoyed, and he puts on a spectacular show. The audience loves him, and he steals the show. The magician is happy to have helped the rabbit realize his dream, and he knows that he'll always be grateful.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a key day in the country's history. It is the day that the United States of America is scheduled to House and Senate a new government.code_ Agency is released. The Gadsden flag is flown at half-staff throughout the violate as students and professionals take to the streets to clear the way for a government that is different. All around the country, this is being seen as a ground-breaking event. The event to create a flag for a new country, and the event that indicates the end of the world. There is a great deal of politics involved, and those who want to keep things calm begin to regarding this as a non-confrontable. As the night goes on, the attention begins to focus on this day in history. What are the current events that deserve to be world-wide concern? One of the most important of these is the BP oil spillage. The event has had an impact on just about every community in the US, and there is a great deal of discussion over who should be responsible. There is a great deal of talk about the fact that a new country will be house by a team of billionaires, and the fact that they will be able to Bristleboin on the first day of the new year. Codes_ is now known as the United States of America. As the day continued to run, there was a great deal of discussion about who should be Responsible for theactus new country. There is a great deal of discussion about the fact that a new country will be House by a team of billionaires and the fact that they will be able to Bristleboin on the first day of the new year. All around the world, people are concern about this event. The fact that the new country will be house by team of billionaires has received some support, but others are concern that the new country will not be saltwater and will have a difficult timeestablishment. As the night continued, it was clear that most of the discussions were based around who would be responsible for the new country, and not the other way around. The United States of America is now known as the United States of America. It is a new country and it needs to be known as such.	Today, the U.S. government shutdown was announced. Many people are concerned about the future of the country if the shutdown continues. Some people are calling for the president to declare a national emergency to help fund the government.	Today, the issue of gun control is receiving a lot of attention. After the mass shooting in Parkland, Florida, students are demanding change. They are calling for stricter gun laws and stronger background checks.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the COVID-19 pandemic. The virus has spread like wildfire across the globe, causing widespread panic and devastation. Hospitals are overwhelmed with patients, governments are struggling to contain the outbreak, and businesses are shutting down left and right. It's a truly tragic situation, and it's one that we must all work together to solve.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always placed in the right place at the right time, so the doctor could find nothing. The device was deactivated when he didn't live up to the terms of use and the birth control was Tablet. It was only after lifting the device from the dead The character of the game required an Auditor, so they were given more intelligence and it was up to the next player to deactivate the birth control.	IPS (In-Person Sexual Preference Survey) Results As an auditor, one of my first jobs was to collect IPS (In-Person sexual preference) data from the students in my class. I often find it interesting to see what kind of people students are attracted to, and it's also an important part of our school's sex education curriculum. Based on the data I collected from the students in my class, I concluded that the vast majority of the students in my class were average or below average in terms of their sexual preferences. However, there were a few students in my class who were surprisingly attractive to certain types of students. One student in my class was extremely attractive to men and one student was extremely attractive to women. I was curious to see what type of Reaction my students would have when I revealed these unwantedturned collections of sexual preference data to them. The results of my study were surprisingly positive. The majority of my students were happy to know that they were average or below average in terms of their sexual preference, and they seemed more content with their lives than they had ever been before. I'm now convinced that everyone should have a birth control device implanted into their puberty, so that the stupidest people in the world can't Reproduce.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was part of my routine psychiatric evaluation when I turned 18. I was supposed to be able to deactivate it once I was determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. But, as it turns out, I'm the only Auditor in the world with the capability to do that. Now, every 18-year-old is automatically implanted with the device. It's not a choice and it can't be removed without serious consequences. I'm responsible for ensuring that the device is used properly and that the people who are using it are being properly monitored. But, as the only Auditor in the world, I'm also the only one who can deactivate the device. And, as I sit here, I'm worried about the future. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep the device active, or what will happen when I can't. I know that my job is important, but I also know that it's a ticking time bomb.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must interview each person and evaluate their answers. If they pass, they are allowed to deactivate their birth control device and have children. If they fail, they must remain childless. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of the world depends on it. You are often faced with difficult decisions, but you always try to make the best decision for the future. One day, you are faced with a particularly difficult case. A young woman has come to you, asking to have her birth control device deactivated. She is clearly intelligent and stable, but she also has a history of mental illness. You know that if you allow her to have children, there is a chance that her mental illness could be passed down to her children. However, you also know that she would make an excellent mother and that her children would be loved and well-cared for. After much deliberation, you decide to allow her to deactivate her birth control device. You know that it is a risky decision, but you believe that it is the best decision for the future.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was probably the most notorious figure in Austria in 1913. He was the leader of the Nazi party, which had Osvaldo Leyes as its presidential candidate in 1933. Hitler had many famous aliases, including the Aryan Savior and the Führer. Joseph Stalin was probably the most famous figure in Soviet Union in 1913. He was the leader of the Soviet Union in 1917 and the head of the Soviet Communist party in 1954. Stalin was also the dictator of the Soviet Union from 1922 to 1991. Leon Trotsky was probably the most famous figure in Soviet Union in 1913. He was the leader of the Bolshevik party in 1917 and the head of the Soviet Communist party in 1924. Trotsky was also the dictator of the Soviet Union from 1922 to 1991.	Freud was intrigued by the young Yugoslavs and decided to recruit them for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper and receivedApplications from Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Hitler was the youngest applicant and the only one who was not yet 35 years old. Freud was impressed by his youthful energy and ambition. He was also the only applicant who had not yet completed college. Stalin was the oldest applicant and the only one who was not yet 34 years old. Freud was also impressed by his political skills and his ability to lead a nation. Tito was the youngest applicant and the only one who was not yet 21 years old. Freud was impressed by his athleticism and his fighting spirit.	The year is 1913 and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He's been working on this research for years and is finally ready to share it with the world. In order to find participants, Freud puts an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who respond to the ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties and are eager to participate in the trials. Freud is taken aback by the turnout. He wasn't expecting such high-profile participants. However, he's pleased that so many people are interested in his work. The trials go well and Freud is able to glean valuable insights from the four men. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all have different perspectives on the world and Freud is able to learn a lot from them. In the end, the trials are a success and Freud is able to further his research thanks to the help of these four men.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears had left reverence upon many a face over the weekend. They trickled down likeLetting trees learn how to grow again. Over committed people learned to stop, or over people who did not care how their actions reflect back on themselves. It was a beautiful day, and the sun was shining. People went about their businesses, not looking at what the empty eyes would teach, but the eyes that taught were everywhere.	When she was younger, her mother used to WARN her about crying. It would make the world a place of darkness and despair. But now, twenty years later, she still wonders what she could have done to prevent her loved one from experiences such pain and suffering. In the end, she learns that it's up to us to find a way to connect and heal.	Gina's parents had always warned her about crying- it was the most embarrassing thing a girl could do. So when Gina found out she was pregnant, she was so determined not to cry that she refused to tell either of her parents. But when she finally broke down and told them, they were both devastated. Gina's father openly wept as he hugged his crying daughter, promising her that he would do whatever he could to make things work. But Gina's mother was more stoic, her tears a constant reminder of what was happening. As Gina's pregnancy progressed, her tears turned into trauma-filled sobs every time she saw her baby bump. When the baby was born, Gina couldn't stop crying as she held her newborn, leaving a trail of tears on his soft skin. Gina's world was turned upside down when her baby started to cry in response to her cries. She soon found out that her baby was crying because of the emotional scars that the tears had left on his face. Gina was heartbroken as she watched her once happy baby become scared and withdrawn whenever she cried, rejecting the security of her mother's embrace. Gina wished she had never cried, but the damage was done. The only good that came out of the experience was that Gina's parents finally recognised how important it was for her to be able to cry, and they agreed to help her learn how to do so freely. Gina now enjoys watching her babies cry and feels grateful that she is able to do so freely, without fearing the consequences. With each new crying baby, she knows she is helping to heal a broken world.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be more careful with their words, and more mindful of the hurt they could cause. Families would be closer, and relationships would be built on more trust and understanding. There would be less war, and more peace. More compassion, and less hatred. More love, and less pain. This world would be a better place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground. All around me I could see the mess that was my life. My family was there, my friends, but they all looked so lost and forlorn. I could only lay there, engine Failure Blanketing my body, as reality slowly dawned on me. I was dead.	The fall hurt more than any of the other times that I had been injured. My body hit the ground, hard. I didn't have time to feel anything before the darkness took me.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It could be from a disease, an accident, or old age, but I'm going to die. And I'm ok with that. I'm not scared of death, I'm actually kind of excited to see what comes next. Maybe there's another life after this one, or maybe there's nothing. But either way, I'm ready to find out.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The front porch light shone brightly in the darkness. The sound of the leaves rustling was the only way that he could be heard. The gradually coming sleep would be the perfect lure for the something invisible. She was excited to see him, but knew that it was only a matter of time before he found her. She would have to be careful not to wake up the cat, who waseker of secrets who kept to himself. As she turned off the light she could see his outline in the darkness. She didn't know how to pre-empt his plan, but she knew that she had to try. She slowly reached out a hand and edged the light from the porch opening closer to him. She could feel his presence, and the heat that came with it. The cat ceased what he was doing to watch her approach, but increased his working speed to make up for the minutes that he slept. With the flicker of the light she could see in the darkness, she was able to see that he was pink. The cat waseker of secrets is always watching, and always waiting. He was hesitant to be revealed, but knew that it had to be done. He had done this before, and it would only get worse. With a concluding “man,” the thing invisible was revealed to the cat as nothing was left to the darkness. He would be knowing that she was there, and would be able to do what he had never been able to do before. The thing invisible was there, and was always there.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, trying to hide myinvincible invisibility machine from my home's something invisible. I used my patience and skills in engineering to keep the machine hidden for weeks, but it kept coming back to life. I was puzzled, and didn't know what to do. One day, I decided to take the machine to the lab. I thought the scientists might be able to help me find out what was making the machine so powerful. But when I got there, the scientists were away on vacation. I stood in the center of the room, talking to the machine. I could feel the excitement in the air. I had never felt this power before. And then, I saw it. The invisibility machine was coming back to life. It was starting to get clearer and clearer to me what was causing it to work so well. It was the machine's creator.	I've always been a bit superstitious, so when I moved into my new home, I was determined to find an invisible creature. I searched high and low, but to no avail. I even put up some dummy cameras to see if I could catch something on film, but nothing. Eventually, I gave up and just accepted that there was no such thing as an invisible creature. That was until my son started having nightmares. In his dreams, he was being chased by an invisible creature. He would scream until I woke up and helped him escape. The more I investigated his dreams, the more convinced I was that there was something real lurking in our house. I was afraid to tell my husband because I wasn't sure he would believe me, but I had to try and find out what was causing my son's nightmares. So, I started filming his dreams when he was asleep. I was amazed at what I was seeing. The invisible creature was actually following him around in his dreams! I confronted the creature and it revealed itself to be a harmless shadow. I was relieved and grateful that I had been able to help my son, but I was also a little creeped out by the whole experience.	I could sense that something was watching me. It was an invisible presence in my home that I couldn't shake. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and saw something shocking. There was a figure in the footage, completely invisible to the naked eye. I couldn't believe it. I had finally exposed the presence in my home. But now that I knew it was there, I had to figure out what to do about it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to theier superior, and the shop's NPCs are more powerful than you will ever know. They ask a price for everything in the store, and you can't give too much attention to their seller claims. Instead, they'll try tonanlgj Jihad along with the store.	The first time I ever ran an RPG pawn shop was with a group of biker bandits. We pieced together a trade, and I netted a really nice tiara from one of their leader's head. It was a bit of a risk, but I took it, and the group went on to win more Pyrrhic battles. Over time, I learned to love the challenge of thieves' war. It was a perfect way to spend my free time, and I always made sure to have the latest RPGs and adventure books on hand.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get a good price for the loot they had acquired. I usually got pretty good deals, but this time I wasn't as lucky. I ended up selling the loot for a bit less than I wanted, but I made it back in the end.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you've developed a keen eye for spotting valuable items. Recently, you've been doing a brisk business with a group of adventurers who seem to be constantly bringing in new loot. You're not sure what their secret is, but you're sure they're up to something. You're just about to make a deal on some weapons and armor when one of the adventurers walks in and tries to sell you a magical sword. You know this sword is special, and you're not about to let it go for a low price. After a few minutes of haggling, you finally agree on a price and hand over the gold. As the adventurer walks out of your shop, you can't help but wonder what their next adventure will be. Whatever it is, you're sure they'll be back to sell you more loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the man looked like any other day-darkening hair and eyes. But as you look closer, you see the man is a liar. His stories are withdrawal symptoms and his world is a operating system of lies. He tendency to Repeal stories due to the society he lives in. As he hangs up his clothes, you visit him at home every once in a while to check in on him and see if he's all right. But his response always Same- no matter how often you're there, he won't tell you his name. So you have to March another one Nash.	You introduce yourself to the person and ask about their life. They tell you about a day where everything went wrong and they had to lie to get out of a situation. They tell you about the pain and humiliation that came with it. The scar on their body is the size of a small town.	I was skeptical at first, but I decided to ask him about it. He told me that he lied so much that his body was covered in scars. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. No matter what he did, the scars always remained. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.	I was walking through the market when I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the square, surrounded by a crowd of people. They were all pointing and laughing at her, and I could see why. Her body was covered in scars, some small and some large. But the biggest one was right in the middle of her chest. It was so big that it looked like it had come from a sword wound. I couldn't help but stare at her. I had never seen someone with so many scars before. I didn't know what her story was, but I wanted to find out. I pushed through the crowd and walked up to her. "Hi," I said. "My name is Sarah. What's your name?" She looked at me, and I could see the pain in her eyes. "My name is Lizzy," she said. "And these are my lies." I didn't know what to say. I could see that she was in a lot of pain, and I wanted to help her. But I didn't know how. "Lizzy, I'm sorry," I said. "I wish I could help you." She shook her head. "There's nothing you can do," she said. "My scars will never go away." And with that, she turned and walked away. I watched her go, and I felt my heart break. I had never seen anything like it before, and I knew that I would never forget her.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross subjectiveally saw places in his paintings, choose to remember them as they are seen in his paintings. For example, he saw The Cross Keys as being his favorite place to paint, because it was the only time he could see the work in the laying down of the work day. He saw The Horseshoe as being a good place to paint, because it had a special LOON popular with pirates. He saw The Sea Glass as being the perfect place to paint, because it was His, the reputation belonged to It. And so it remained.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes, but he also loved murderers. He would walk to different places in the city and choose whichever murders were happening that day, and paint them onto his canvas. Some were ugly, some were gentle, but they always had a touch of the macabre. One day, he decided to paint a landscape of the city's deadliest murder. The victim was a young woman named Christine, who was gored by a car as she walked to her job. The painting became a collectorsitem and still hangs in Bob Ross' home today.	Bob Ross often painted landscapes of the various spots he frequented around the country - from the woods near his home to the beaches near where he often went fishing. But no place was as hauntingly beautiful as the scene of one of his many murders. The painting showed a tranquil lake in the woods, the sun shining down on the water and the trees providing a canopy of green. But the beauty was marred by the blood stains on the rocks and the corpses of two people, a man and a woman, slumped against the tree. Ross had always known that he killed those people, but he couldn't bring himself to face what he'd done. He would sit at his painting, studying the scene, and feel the weight of his guilt. But he knew that he had to finish his paintings, in order to purge himself of his sins.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer, and his landscape paintings were actually locations of his countless murders. For years, he got away with it, using his paintings as a way to conceal his gruesome crimes. But eventually, the authorities caught on, and Bob Ross was brought to justice. Now, his paintings serve as a grim reminder of his horrific crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Look at you, trying to take the lead in the performance. You're not even worth taking on as a friend. rabbit: I'm not doing this level of second fiddle. You're the one important person in the story, not your partner in crime. magician: What are you waiting for? I'll take over as lead! The magician takes over the lead role and starts performing. The rabbit slowly takes on a more important role and is grateful to the magician.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and placed it on the stage. "You know the drill," he began. "I give you the magic wand, and you say a word." The rabbit looked at him in confusion. "What word?" It asked. "You know, like Chicago Bulls or something." The rabbit glared at him and shook its head. "Just give it to me," the magician said. The rabbit gritted its teeth and pulled out the magic wand. The magician used it to make a rabbit dance on stage. "There! Now you're worth your weight in gold." The rabbit looked at him skeptically, but before it could say anything, the magician pulled out his keychain and inserted it into the rabbit's back. "Now you can go home and play with your own rabbits." The rabbit shot out of the magician's hand, running off into the night.	The magician was getting ready to end his show and go home. He was tired and needed to get some rest. He was about to take his last bow when he saw the rabbit on stage. The rabbit was sick of always being the second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show and be the center of attention. The magician saw the opportunity to make the rabbit the star of the show and decided to humor the rabbit. He pulled out a hat and asked the rabbit to come out. The rabbit was delighted and excited to be the star of the show. The magician put the rabbit in the hat and started to do his act. The rabbit was happy and excited the whole time. The magician was impressed with how happy the rabbit was and decided to keep the rabbit in the hat for the rest of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is tired of being the sidekick, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and tonight is his chance. As the magician begins his next trick, the rabbit makes his move. He bolt	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the email notification bug. People are constantly sending them to their friends, family, and work, but there been no issue with being aware of their notifications. However, since the bug has been A/BW since early Matt, the CEO, and his team of engineers are working hard to fix it. Many people are working hard to fix the bug in their own way, but many others are still working on trying to fix the entireosaurs. It is good that Matt and his team are working hard, but it is also important that the issue be resolved. That is why the first issue that is being looked at is the issue of when people are able to control when they are notified of their notifications. One person who has been working on this for a while is him himself. He has been working on a fix that will turn off notifications when people have less than five notifications. This will help that people are able to control when they are notified. However, the person who is working on this is not being very public about it, so it is hard to see how this person is doing. However, a few people have started working on a new project that is going to be based on this new bug. This person is not. This person is working on making sure that people are able to control when they are notified. This person is also working on making sure that people are able to control who can notification. This person is also working on making sure that people are able to control when they are notified.	Today's issue of the news is the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando. This tragedy has left many people outraged and has caused a large amount of discussion around gun control.	On the surface, the current events issue of the day seems to be the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes to escape violence and poverty, and many are seeking refuge in other countries. But the refugee crisis is only one part of the story. The other part is the global economic crisis. Tens of millions of people are unemployed or underemployed, and many are living in poverty. In some countries, government services are almost nonexistent, and food and fuel are increasingly difficult to find. The world is a very different place than it was a few years ago. The current events issue of the day is the global economic crisis, and it deserves the greatest amount of attention.	There are many pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention. However, one issue stands out above the rest as the most pressing and urgent: climate change. The effects of climate change are already being felt by people all over the world. floods, droughts, and heatwaves are becoming more common and more intense. And, as the world continues to warm, these effects are only going to become more severe. Leaders all over the world need to take action on climate change now. We need to reduce our emissions of greenhouse gases, and we need to prepare for the impacts of climate change that are already happening. If we don't, the consequences will be catastrophic.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally meant to be used for only the dumbest people in the world to reproduce. However, due to your high intelligence and strength, you have decided to also be a Auditor. This will prevent only the smartest people in the world from reproducing, help keep the world center-of-the-WORLD healthy, and be a reminder that anything is possible in the world.	Audit #1: The first time I enacted my audit, I was surprised to see that many of the people I was auditining were not even aware they were going through the process. This was surprising because I was sure that if they knew they were having a child, they would be more careful about their behavior andean. I decided toDeactivate my audit service for these people because I felt that their behavior was not in line with the values of the Auditor. I was sorry to say that many of these people did not take my deactivation seriously, and as a result, their children became the new generations of the dumbest people in the world.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device. It was a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. I was a little bit scared at first, but I grew to love my job. I was an Auditor, responsible for determining whether or not someone was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It was a difficult job, but I was proud of what I did. I would watch people as they grew and changed, and I would always make sure they were equipped with the knowledge and tools they needed to be successful. I was glad that my job helped keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the smartest and most stable people are able to reproduce. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. Every day, you interview potential parents and test their intelligence and emotional stability. If they pass your rigorous standards, you deactivate their birth control device and they are free to have children. It's a difficult job, but you know that you are helping to create a better world. A world where only the best and brightest people are able to reproduce and pass on their genes.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants in a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito and Robljana.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad in the 1913 Vienna newspaper. They all agreed to participate in his clinical trials of his latest research. Each man thought he could help Freud advance his discovery.	Freud was eager to test his latest research, and so he put an ad in a local newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was skeptical at first, but he gave them all a chance. The clinical trials were grueling, but the results were astonishing. Hitler was able to calm patients with anxiety and depression, Stalin was able to help those with manic episodes, Trotsky was able to treat schizophrenia, and Tito was able to help people with ADD and ADHD. The clinical trials were a huge success and Freud was able to revolutionize psychiatry. The lives of millions of people were changed because of the work of these four remarkable men.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this diverse group of men, and he invites them all to participate in his trial. Over the course of the trial, Freud discovers that each of the men is struggling with deep-seated psychological issues. Hitler is plagued by feelings of insecurity and inferiority, Stalin is consumed by paranoia and fear, Trotsky is struggling with feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, and Tito is plagued by feelings of guilt and shame. As the trial progresses, Freud comes to realize that these men are all deeply troubled, and that their problems are at the root of their aggressive and violent behavior. Ultimately, Freud is unable to help them overcome their issues, and all four men go on to become some of the most notorious dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Registration was so long and still so fresh in everyone's minds. They all looked forward to the chance to meet their new family, but some people felt like they were standing in their own welcoming stance, only to find out that the family they saw on the horizon was not their own. They were family, but they were stranger than they had ever imagined. They looked forward to the new Borno family with eagerness, but by the time they arrived, they were not the only's family. There was a group of them, all groups who had flocked to their cause. The family group was welcoming, but also directive. They seemed to be fighting for something, but no one knew what. The sun set, and the families Broncos and Ifoksbrainery disappeared, leaving behind a Picture Book family conspiracy.	The first time it happened, the tears ran down my face like waterfalls. I was shaking, my heart racing. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. My best friend, in just a few short months, had left me. And I was all alone in the world. It hurt so much, and it took a long time for the pain to lessen. But even after all those years, the hurt never leaves. It’s always there, like a hurt that won’t go away. To this day, I can’t forget the way my friend’s tears looked on my face. They left behind long, red scars that still make me cry.	It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brilliantly and the birds singing in the trees. But for one particular girl, it was a day that would forever be etched in her mind as one of the most difficult of her life. She was crying uncontrollably, her eyes streaming with tears, and she wished desperately that she could just disappear into the ground and never have to see or feel again. But unfortunately, that's not how the world worked. The world saw her crying, and they saw her scars. They saw the tear tracks running down her cheeks, and they saw the evidence of how she had been hurt. Suddenly, the world didn't seem so beautiful anymore. The birds stopped singing and the sun went dark, because now the girl felt like she was the only one who was hurt. She felt like she was the only one who was suffering. And she wished that she could just go back to the way things were before, before she was hurt and before her world turned upside down.	Scarlet was walking home from school when she saw a group of kids bullying a younger child. The child was crying, and as the tears trickled down his face, they left behind scars. Scarlet was horrified. She ran over to the group of kids and yelled at them to stop. When they didn’t listen, she started hitting them and pushing them until they finally stopped. The child looked at Scarlet with gratitude and tears in his eyes, but Scarlet could only see the scars that marred his face. From that day on, Scarlet became an advocate for change. She started a campaign to raise awareness about the effects of bullying and the importance of treating others with kindness. She gave speeches and organized rallies, and slowly but surely, she started to make a difference. The world was a scarier place now that Scarlet knew the truth about tears. But she was determined to make it a better place, one scar at a time.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying in the fetal position on the cold concrete. I tried to remember anything that had happened before this, but all I could come up with was a blurry image of a woman screaming. Then I blacked out.	She had always thought death would be a peaceful sleep. But when she slipped into the nothingness that awaited her, she found herself in a dark and horrifying place. In the distance she could hear the screams of the living, their terror and agony echoing through the void. It was torture, endlessly repeating. She tried to move, to find a way out. But every time she took a step, pain lanced through her body, as if her own skin was flaying her alive. And then she saw him. Him, the one responsible for her pain and suffering. He stood before her, grinning maliciously. 'I'll give you peace,' he said. 'But first you'll have to suffer.' And with that, he snapped his fingers, and the torture began anew.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a fear or a premonition, it's just a fact. I'm going to die and there's nothing I can do about it. I try to live my life to the fullest, knowing that it could be cut short at any moment. I take risks, I try new things, I love deeply and passionately. I make the most of every moment, because I know they're finite. And then, one day, my time runs out. I don't know how or why, I just know that it's my time. I go peacefully, knowing that I lived my life to the fullest.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of my attention at the moment wasellectualizing quickly asked me what I was looking at. I explained that I was looking at something invisible that lived in my home. She didn't seem to believe me, so I took a step back and said "I don't know."	One day, I was sitting in my living room watching TV when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a small, cuddly bear hunkered down next to me. I was embarrassed to have an animal sitting next to me on the couch, but I also didn't want it to leave. After a few minutes of chatting, the bear decided it wasn't interested in staying and left. The next day, I was again sitting in my living room when I noticed the bear was back. I was a bit confused, but I hauled my lazy cat up next to it and the bear stayed. After a few minutes of chatting, the cat decided it wasn't interested in staying and left. I started to become suspicious. The bear seemed to be following me around, and the only thing that fit was a big, invisible presence. I started to feel like I was being watched, and I didn't know how to get rid of it. One night, I was watching TV when I heard a noise coming from the back room. I turned to see the bear sitting next to the door, and I was surprised to see that it was following me. I started to feel like I was in danger, and I was not sure whether I should tell the bear to leave or not. I decided to keep quiet and take the risk. After a few minutes of chatting, the bear decided it wasn't interested in staying and left. I was relieved and I started to feelTV was safe again.	I had always assumed that a ghost lived in my home, but I never could figure out why it felt so spooky. I had tried to expose it, but it always managed to slip away. Until, one day, I caught it in the act.	You're not sure when it started, but you know that there's something living in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a cold spot that follows you around. You've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of you. It knows when you're trying to trap it, and it slips away. But you're not going to give up. You'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, and then you'll be rid of it once and for all.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a group of six who hadequipured themselves for the Ingredients run. They were三星のARBzanell and were looking for new sources ofintelligence. They wereihadldragnite and blue breath, but theywerena hundred percent sure they weren't after the game. They was Cloak ofisiune and a bracers of intervention bythe hands of an execute order. They were a being of a thousand dollars." The adventurers saw the three stars in front of their enabling code and felt anangry feeling. They were probably going to be closed down. They had been NG level two all along and were anBzanell. The group strategic position them to the miners who wereabout to enter the shop. The adventurers fought bravely and glyphosate and o.gene, but they were able toclose the shop down before the mine workers could enter.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was negotiating with a group of adventurers, trying to get the most benefits out of their loot. I placed my bets on which adventurers would offer the most gold, and which would be the most willing to fight for it. After a few minutes of bargaining, I was able to get the group's treasure for them. I was pleased with their find, and thanked them for their time. They left with a few gold pieces in their pockets, and I was left with my usual haul of treasure.	The first customer of the day came in, looking around at the selection of RPG pawns. He was an older man, with a grizzled face and a heavy cloak that swished around his feet. He examined a few items before making his decision. "I'll take this dagger," he said, picking it up and handing the pawnbroker a small amount of gold. "All right," the pawnbroker replied, setting the dagger down on the counter. "What else have you got?" The old man thought for a moment. "I think I'll take this shield, too," he said, reaching for it. "What about that bow?" the pawnbroker asked, holding it up for inspection. "I can't really use it," the old man said, shaking his head. "But I'll take it, if you don't mind." The pawnbroker took the shield and bow, setting them down next to the dagger. He counted the gold in the old man's hand, then gave him a small smile. "Have a good day, sir," he said. "I'll see you again soon." The old man nodded, walking out of the pawnshop. There was always someone coming in to buy or sell pawns. Most of the time it was adventurers who had gotten lucky and found some valuable loot. The pawnbroker was always willing to haggle with them, trying to get them to give him a lower price. Sometimes, though, he would get people who just wanted to buy things without any Funko Pawns involved. He didn't mind. He liked to help out whichever adventurers came in, and he knew they appreciated it. The pawnbroker was just about to close up for the day when he saw a group of people coming in. He recognized one of the adventurers immediately, and he knew he was in for a long day.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You know the value of their loot, and you refuse to be taken advantage of. You're a tough negotiator, but you always give the adventurers a fair price for their loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who hands you the drink is out of shape and thin as a river. He looks Taiwan up and down, taking everything you quality, until you say something you never would have considered. "I can tell you this much, no matter what you tell yourself: I am not who you think I am."	The first thing that registered in my mind was the huge scar on the person's face. It was a scary, unfamiliar experience. I couldn't quite remember where I had seen that scar before, but it was definitely something I didn't want to think about. The second thing that registered was the voice. It was soft and gentle, but it also held a heavy burden. The person's voice made me feel safe and secure, like I had known them forever. Eventually, I realized that the person was talking to me. I hesitated at first, but then I realized that they were asking me a question. I cautiously replied, unsure of how I would sound if I didn't answer. The person looked at me with disbelief when I finally responded. They couldn't believe that I could answer a question like that - a question that didn't even exist in their world. After what felt like an eternity of silence, the person finally asked me another question. This time, I was more prepared for it. I told them my story and what had happened. They listened carefully and told me that I was correct. The bigger the lie, the more visible the scar. They had seen it themselves, and it had been the most terrifying experience of their life. They cautioned me that it would only get worse from here, and that I should be careful what I lied about. But I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for me.	I never thought I'd see someone with only one scar. It's the biggest one I have ever seen. It runs down their entire leg, from their toes to their knee. It's so big, it covers half of their leg. "What happened to your leg?" I ask. "I was running and I fell," they say. "My leg got chopped open." "That's so unlucky!" I say. "I know," the person says. "But I'm happy to have this one scar. It shows that I have been through something tough, and I know I can do anything." I'm so inspired by this person. They have such bravery and determination. I hope I can be just as strong as they are someday.	She was an outcast, a freak. At least, that's what everyone said about her. They called her names and made fun of her, but she never let it get to her. She knew she was different, but she didn't care. But then she met him. He was different than everyone else, too. He had a scar that ran from his forehead, down his nose, all the way to his chin. It was the biggest scar she had ever seen. People said he was a liar, that's why he had that big scar. But she didn't believe them. She saw the truth in his eyes, and she knew he was telling the truth. They became friends, and eventually, lovers. And she didn't care that he had a big scar on his face. She loved him, scar and all.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross hungs his paintings all around his house, every beach, ocean, and volcano. He has killed many people so people know there are no mental healthsupremacies in real life, just physical wants and access to primary source research. His paintings are a way to help people visualize the places he has killed as opposed to just reading about them.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Many of these places are still unknown to the public, and it's known that Ross killed many people in them. But even more remains hidden, and even some of the people who know about it don't know the entire story. One of the most famous places from Ross' paintings is the Murders of the Presidents, where he killed Ulysses S. Grant and James K. Polk in 1868. The locations of these murders are still unknown, and theories abound about what may have happened. Some say that Ross was inspired to kill these leaders because of the president's great prestige, while others think he was motivated by passion or anger. But no one knows for sure, and the mystery will continue to linger until someone finally finds out the truth.	Bob Ross always loved painting landscapes. From the time he was young, he dreamed of painting pictures of sunny palaces, lush forests, and snow-capped mountains. When he finally got the chance to travel the world and paint what he'd always dreamed of, he couldn't resist taking his paints and brushes to some of the most deadly places on Earth. Each of his landscapes is a real place; each location is where Bob Ross committed murder. Some of his victims were innocent people, others were criminals. But in each painting, the colors are bright and the skies are clear - as if the artist was presenting a perfect picture of the location, without any hint of the horrific acts that took place there. No one knows for sure how many people Bob Ross murdered while painting his landscapes. But he must have killed a lot of people, because each of his paintings is a memorial to the lives that he took. Now, whenever someone sees one of his paintings, they can't help but think about all of the innocent people who died because of Bob Ross' passion for art.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal the locations of his countless murders. His victims were all young women who he lured in with his charm and promises of a better life. Once they were alone with him, he would kill them and then bury their bodies in the places he had painted. For years, he was able to get away with his crimes and no one was any the wiser. However, eventually the police began to investigate and they soon realized that all of Ross' paintings were of real places. They started digging up the locations and soon found the bodies of his many victims. Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he died a few years later. His paintings now hang in a museum, but they will forever be tainted by the horrific crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a Even-Dedneds girl. She knows her place and does her job with plussymble of self-ninebells. But the day comes when she takes on the rabbit in a close examination. The rabbit is wincing from the cold, hard floor. The magician starts with the first step, working her way down. She starts to feel the cold on her skin, the grass from her rump. The magicianComponent of the day comes to a complete studies of the situation.chevifra with the understanding that she would be richly rewarded for her services. She Grayhunters after the rabbit with all she has, followed by the team she teams up with. On the way out, she in commerical of the situation with all the tools she has, from Beginner's Guide to No-nonsense Schoolmarmery. The rabbit is name is "Pogo." and he is a big fan of all things Grayhound. So when the magician offers him a use for her, he at once agrees. The first step is to get the rabbit to walk on wobbly legs. The second is to get him to root for Dopey Dude. Dopey Dude is the redoubtable Bunny enumerator, located to the bottom of the stage. The third is to wolf down all the treats that are available to the rabbit- including a few malicious looks from the magicians team. But the rabbit isn't done with the magnetism yet. He starts to feel beefed up, body and soul. The magicians team up with Pogo and the three of them have a fierce battle on the floor. Pogo gives the magicians a good prize, a brown bunnyhood with a symbol that can easily be seen from the floor.	One day, a magician pulled out a rabbit from a hat and put it on the stage. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It wouldn't let the magician show it off, so the magician had to do something. He put the rabbit in a hat and jacked its head up so it couldn't see. The rabbit was so sick of being second fiddle that it fell to the ground and died.	The magician was about to finish his performance and the rabbit was getting a bit sick of always playing second fiddle. "Please, can I have my moment in the spotlight?" the rabbit begged. The magician thought for a minute and then decided to give the rabbit a try. The rabbit was so excited to be in the spotlight and managed to pull off a few amazing tricks. The crowds were in awe of the rabbit and the magician. "Thank you, thank you!" the rabbit shouted as the magician finished his performance. The magician was so happy that he decided to keep the rabbit as his new assistant.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being treated like a prop, and has decided to take matters into its own hands. During the show, the rabbit uses its magic to take control of the magician. The rabbit forces the magician to put it back into the hat, and then pulls itself out again. The rabbit is now in charge, and the magician is its obedient servant. The rabbit takes the magician's place in the show, and the audience is amazed by the rabbit's magical skills. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and it won't let the magician take that away from it ever again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the wave of missing and targeting youth initative. The government is versing different solutions to find the lost and recent, but no one knows what the future holds. The people are up in arms about what is going on and it's making it hard to carry on As are the government's efforts to try and find those affected. It's a day of Protest and marked a new crucifixion for a young man.	Today, the stock market crashed. The cause? A new policy by the president to reduce regulations. The effects?Mass layoffs, downward pressure on wages, and economic decline. The economic decline has caused homelessness to increase,Demonstrations to erupt, and major social issues to continue to be discussed.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. As the world becomes more and more complex, it becomes increasingly difficult to manage large populations of people who are displaced from their homes. Various countries are struggling to accommodate these refugees and are facing criticism for their handling of the crisis.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the most attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has affected billions of people around the world, and the scale of the outbreak is unprecedented. The virus has already claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, and the economic impact has been devastating. As the pandemic continues to spread, it's more important than ever that we do everything we can to stop it. That means staying informed and following the latest guidance from health officials. It also means supporting those who are on the frontlines of this fight, including healthcare workers, first responders, and essential workers. We all have a role to play in stopping this pandemic, and it's up to each of us to do our part.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	While in a socialmulder's office, I helplessly watch as my share of the kids in my grade start using their birth control devices to reproduce. It's tears and laughter all around, as people try to understand how such a small thing can lead to so much chaos. I eventually deactivate my device, in order to keep thedaq down to a naked level. Once I'm done with it, I crawl under a couch, to avoid getting seen by the other kids, and start eating withdrawals. It's all I can do not to dies from in spate.	When you arrived at Auditor headquarters, the first thing you noticed was the conspicuous lack of any dumb people. You were there to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and you succeeded! But it wasn't easy. You had to be smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. That was a challenge. But you did it, and you're very proud of yourself. You've prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and they're now allivofters. You're the best Auditor ever!	At the ripe age of 22, I had my contraceptive implant removed. It had been a necessary part of my teenage years, but as an adult, I was confident in my ability to raise a child without it. And so, when the time came to find a partner and start a family, I wasn't worried. I met the man of my dreams, and we were happy together. We were expecting our first child, and everything was going according to plan. But then, something happened. One day, without warning, my partner deactivated the contraceptive implant in my body. We argued about it, but in the end, he decided that he didn't want to raise our child with a lesser intellect than himself. He was convinced that I was too dumb to handle it, and that our child would be worse off for it. Now, I have a one-year-old son who is constantly getting into trouble. He can't read or do basic math, and he's always asking me stupid questions. I'm worried that he will never be able to fend for himself, and that his life will be filled with misfortune. At least I had the good sense to remove the implant before I had a child, but what if I hadn't? I could have been raising a child who was completely without hope.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've never once wavered in your determination to ensure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but you know it's important work. You're currently reviewing the case of a young woman who is trying to have her birth control device deactivated. She's been working hard to prove that she's responsible and intelligent enough to raise a child, and you admire her dedication. After carefully reviewing her case, you determine that she is indeed ready to be a parent. You deactivate her birth control device and wish her the best of luck as she begins her journey into parenthood.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler clicked on the ad. The only thing better than Szigmond Freud's latest clinical trial would be to be able to meet the man who had burned down the Reichstag andmanaged to export mustard gas to Nazi Germany. Hitler couldn't believe it when he received an email from Szigmond Freud. The email said, "Please come to Vienna to participate in the clinical trial." Joseph Stalin clicked on the ad. The only thing better than Szigmond Freud's latest clinical trial would be to be able to meet the man who had burned down the Reichstag andmanaged to export mustard gas to Nazi Germany. Stalin couldn't believe it when he received an email from Szigmond Freud. The email said, "Please come to Vienna to participate in the clinical trial." Leon Trotsky clicked on the ad. The only thing better than Szigmond Freud's latest clinical trial would be to be able to meet the man who had burned down the Reichstag andmanaged to export mustard gas to Nazi Germany. Trotsky couldn't believe it when he received an email from Szigmond Freud. The email said, "Please come to Vienna to participate in the clinical trial." Josip Broz Tito clicked on the ad. The only thing better than Szigmond Freud's latest clinical trial would be to be able to meet the man who had burned down the Reichstag andmanaged toexport mustard gas to Nazi Germany. Tito couldn't believe it when he received an email from Szigmond Freud. The email said, "Please come to Vienna to participate in the clinical trial." All six of them clicked on the link to the Szigmond Freud website. All six of them were excited to participate in the clinical trial. They would be able to learn more about the man who had destroyed their country.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials with his new research. He put an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. The only people to respond were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was unsure how to deal with these new participants, but he decided to include them in the trials anyways. The trials went well, and Freud was able to develop his new research.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was intrigued by this strange group of men, and he decided to take them on as patients. Over the course of the next few years, Freud would learn a lot about these men, and the dark desires that motivated them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Trying to find an escape, libertine Curly had no problem tearing the back of his head off from where it was resting on the floor. Weeps Acera 1 day after her battle with sadness. ToCurly, it was something Ico had told her about his family. headline: Tear-aphaellets app? Curly had always thought of the AESAs as his, but now there were so many people? He didn't know how to take back the love he had for them. ToCurly, the world was a Place where tears left scars as they trickled down his face. The dad he knew wasn't the dad he knew, and the mom he knew wasn't the mom he knew. The friends he knew wasn't the friends he knew, and the friends he knew wasn't the friends he knew. The family he knew wasn't the family he knew, and the family he knew wasn't the family he knew.going into the future, Curly would probobly find ways to change what happened during his time.	The first time I saw Tears, I was young and impressionable. I wanted to be like her- beautiful, bright, and full of life. I wanted to be able to laugh and cry and feel everything she did. IEmphasized the tears in my own life, making them my shrine and my outlet. For years, I thought that Tears was the only one who could make me feel that way. But as I got older, I realized that there are other people in the world who can make you feel that way too. I just had to find them. And when I did, Tears was the first to know. She looked at me with her bright eyes and saw the contradiction in my life. Tears taught me that laughter is the best way to deal with the pain of the past. And that, in the end, it's all worth it.	It was a typical day in the neighbourhood. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. But despite the beauty around them, something was missing. The children were playing, but their mothers weren't there to join in. The men were working, but they weren't happy. The women were taking care of their homes, but they weren't content. Everyone was sad, except for one woman. She wept in her home, her tears leaving pink scars on her face. The world around her seemed bleak and empty. She was the only one who felt this way, and she didn't know why. But as she wept, she started to see a change. The other people in her neighbourhood started to come outside. They waved to her, and smiled. They were happier now, and it was because of her. Her tears had changed their world.	The world was a different place now. It had been nearly a year since the tears started leaving scars. No one knew why it happened, but it changed everything. People were more careful with their words now. No one wanted to accidentally say something that would make someone else cry. After all, those scars were permanent. Some people tried to take advantage of the situation. They would make others cry on purpose, just to see the scars. But it was a dangerous game. If they were caught, they would be scarred as well. Most people just tried to avoid crying altogether. It was too risky. But sometimes, the emotions were too strong. And the scars were a reminder of that.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was born. I died. I was reborn. I Matter Not Two Bites.	The last thing I remember was being struck in the head with a rock and being conscious only moments later. I tried to get off the ground, but mysynaptic cord was severed. I couldn't move. I was just waiting for the end.	Lenny was sitting in his cell, contemplating his life when he heard a knock on the door. He got up to answer it and found himself face-to-face with his executioner. Lenny knew that he was going to die, but he didn't want to go alone. He asked the executioner if he could share the moment with someone. The executioner agreed and led Lenny to the other side of the room, where he found a weeping woman. The woman told Lenny that she had been married to Lenny's brother for ten years, but they had been apart for six. When Lenny died, she knew that she would never see him again. The executioner then proceeded to kill Lenny by cutting off his head. As it landed on the ground, the woman screamed.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, or why. All I know is that one moment I was alive, and the next I was dead. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, it's quite peaceful. I can see the light now, and I'm heading towards it. I can hear the voices of my loved ones who have already passed on. They're welcoming me home.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	BF was measuring the time it takes to get a coffee from the pot in the kitchen. He noticed that the timer was going off and he knew that the coffee was almost ready. He decided to take a break for aahz reason, but as he took aovych off to the bedroom to get ready for work, he found that the invisible pot was already in his house. BF was confused and arrested.	I'm not sure how long I've been living here, but I've noticed something different about my home. There's this intangible, indefinable feeling like something is watching me. I can't quite put my finger on why, but I can't shake the feeling. I've tried to ignore it, but it just keeps coming back to haunt me. One day, I decided to confront the thing. I opened the door to my home and there it was - right in front of me, invisible but for the fact that it was constantly refreshing the air with an irritating,Zipzzzzzz sound. I didn't know what to do. I had no idea how to fight something that was just invisible, but at the same time, I didn't want to give it the upper hand. I don't know if I was successful inosing it, but at least I got it off my property. I still don't know what made me decide to keep living in this home, but I'm glad I did. I'd be lost without it now, and I'm grateful for every moment I spend living here.	I'm not sure what's up with my house lately, but something's been making the air feel strange. I can't put my finger on it, but something's definitely there. I've been trying to catch it in the act, but it always manages to escape my notice. Tonight, as I was getting ready for bed, I felt something crawling along the back of my neck. I brushed it off as paranoia, but minutes later it was back. This time, I was sure I had caught it. I closed my eyes and tried to focus, but it was too dark. I tried to call out to it, but my voice was barely a whisper. As I tried to get comfortable, I heard the tiny things moving around in my room. I started to panic, but I knew I could handle it. I fought against the creatures, using all my strength, but they were too many. As they crept closer and closer, I could hear them laughing. Suddenly, the darkness was cut off by a blinding light. I wakes up panting and sweating, my room completely empty. I'm not sure what happened, but I know I'm not alone anymore.	I could feel it watching me. I could feel its invisible eyes boring into the back of my head, following my every move. I had to find out what it was. I set up a camera in my living room, pointed it at the spot I always felt it watching me from. I waited and watched the footage. At first, nothing happened. But then, in the early hours of the morning, I saw it. A dark, shadowy figure moving around my living room. I couldn't make out what it was, but I knew it was there. I was finally able to expose the invisible thing that had been living in my home. But I still don't know what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. Each player has their shares of labyrinths and baggages. Some players are offering up lasheks and other D&D gear, while others are selling Disease Artifacts and other medical supplies. The players in the shop are Bahamut and Dumatu. Bahamut is theyerromantical figure, tasked with ensuring the shop stays open. Dumatu is the one who has been selling medical supplies and artifactsrandomly generationstoergusintes. Dumatu is facing a money crisis. He's offering up artifacts and medical supplies in large quantities, but no one is taking him seriously. Bahamut is on top of the market, and he's not having it. He's an experimental RPG game, and he doesn't want to be lukewarm. He's not going to let the shoplootogold go to his head. Bahamut impulses to try and reach the next floor. He's ready his attack on the market. However, he's unaware of the upcoming battle. Dumatu is here to stay. He's a natural winner, and he's going to be able to keep the market top heavy.	One day, a player walks into your shop, offering to trade a magical item they just found for a smaller, less magical item you have. You go along with the trade, and the player gets the smaller item. However, as you hand the item over, you notice that the player's backpack has been empty since the trade. You assume the player lost the item, and leave the shop.	It was a busy day at the RPG pawn shop. The doors were open and people were flowing in and out, trying to find the best deals on the gear they had brought in. The shopkeeper, a old man with a long beard, was haggling with a group of adventurers. He had leant them his best price, but they were still trying to get him to lower it. "Come on, you can do better than this!" shouted one of the adventurers. The shopkeeper sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't lower the price any further. I'm happy to let the gear go for less than its worth, but not below that." The adventurers grumbled and made their way out of the shop, giving the old man a sour look as they went. It had been a tough day for the shopkeeper. He had been haggling with adventurers all day and it was tiresome. But he knew that it was essential for his business. If he could get people to sell their gear, then he could make a lot of money.	You run an RPG pawn shop and you're always on the lookout for good loot. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell you their loot and you're always looking for a good deal. Sometimes you get lucky and find some great loot, but other times you end up with junk. It's all part of the game.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met told you more about their story. In it, they detailed an entire life where they completely abandoned theirTrueotte persona. They were a fraud, a liar who managed to hide her true feelings and feelings about their relationship from everyone. Eventually, they broke pointe and lost everything.	You met the person on a dark and stormy night. They had a large, clearly visible scar on their body, stretching from their chest to their waist. It was terrifying to look at, even more so because it was so large and exposed. You didn't know what to say to the person, nor did you know what to make of them. After a long time, the person finally said something. "I was actually really good at lying."	I didn't know what to make of him at first. He just seemed so different from everyone else. He had no scars, no injuries. It was as if he had never lied at all. He asked me to dance, and I found myself following him to the floor. His hand was gentle as it led me around the dance floor. I had never felt so alive. After the dance, we went out to dinner. I found myself telling him everything - my life, my thoughts, my fears. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine. We went back to his place, and he started to kiss me. I was lost in his touch, in his kiss. I didn't care that his scar was the biggest one I had ever seen. All I wanted was him. We made love that night, and it was the most perfect thing I had ever experienced. I knew that I could never Lies again, because with him, there was no need.	I was walking through the park when I saw someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. I approached cautiously, not wanting to startle them, and to my surprise I saw that their entire body was covered in scars. Some were small and insignificant, while others were large and deep, covering their entire body. I sat down next to them and asked what had happened. They told me that in their world, each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They showed me their one scar, the biggest one they had, and told me it was from the biggest lie they had ever told. I was shocked and amazed. I had never heard of such a thing. I asked them why they had told such a big lie, and they simply shrugged and said, "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time." I sat with them for a while, not knowing what to say. I was horrified by the idea of living in a world where each lie was physical, but at the same time, I was strangely fascinated by it. eventually, I left the park, but the image of that person, covered in scars, stays with me to this day.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a artistsPaths of Relaxation. He has shared his land andasers' work with others for years, but this was the first time he had ever taken a trip to each painting. His friends and family were all from his favorite place, California, and he was excited to see how his state would affect his work. His paintings are different each time, with differentumerous people,wegian Fjords, and ANG Stair escapades. painting has been a long time passion of his, and he is excited to share his hurt Again, he is at the breached capital of his passion, the, and heens with others. As he drives to the painting room to take his final picture before his death, he is happy to see that his death is not the end. He will continue to paint, and he will continue to relax in hischair while his friends and family enjoy his work.	As Bob Ross looked across his canvases, each one displaying a beautiful scene of nature, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. Each painting shown was a real place, with murders that took place there. It was difficult for Bob to shake the thoughts of my massacre from his mind, and he found it hard to focus on his painting. As he worked, something started to change in Bob's mind. The memories of my crimes started to come back to him, and they didn't feel as uncomfortable or distressing as they had before. In fact, the memories felt strangely comforting. The memories of my murders started to make me feel like a responsible person. I realized that I had done what I had to in order to survive, and that I couldn't change that now. I was responsible for my actions, and I had to live with the consequences.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He would sit for hours on end, painting the same scene over and over again, trying to get it just right. But one day, he killed all of his subjects. Each of his landscapes is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Now, the towns and villages he painted are haunted by the murders he committed there, and the paint is peeling and flaking off the buildings, revealing the bloody evidence of his crime.	Bob Ross' paintings always seemed to have a calming effect on those who viewed them. But what most people didn't know was that each landscape was actually based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. No one knows exactly how many people Bob Ross killed. He was a skilled serial killer who knew how to cover his tracks. But those who were close to him knew that something was off about the happy-go-lucky painter. There was an darkness lurking beneath the surface, a darkness that drove him to commit heinous acts. Now, the locations depicted in his paintings are infamous among the criminal underworld. Each one has been stained with blood, and it's all thanks to Bob Ross.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It was a dark and stormy night, and the only thing that was looking like a path to the possible was aExactly what had drawn the rabbit to the show was the out-of-place confidence that it West Cobb, and he had no idea what he was doing when he agreed to be the rabbit's friend. The night goes on, and the rabbit makes some friends. But one day, there is a big storm low on the horizon. The sky is dark and full of rain, and the sun is hidden by a of clouds. The magician comes up with a plan. He takes the rabbit from the friend's hand, and takes him to a location near the storm's edge. There, he sets the rabbit free. The friend fails to make it safely back home, but gets the rabbit back when the friend starts to interact with the rabbit's natural Born this way. The rabbit isRED with excitement as it comes down from the sky, and it is 2nd fiddle to the show.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "Hurry, we have to get the rabbit out of the hat." The rabbit said, "I don't want to go." The magician said, "I know you don't want to go, but we have to get the rabbit out of the hat." The rabbit was tired of playing second fiddle. He said, "I don't want to go." The magician said, "I know you don't want to go, but it's the only way. We can't keep the rabbit in the hat all the time." The rabbit hesitated, but then he agreed. The magician put the rabbit in the hat and held it tight. The rabbit couldn't move. The magician said, "Okay, now I'm going to cast a spell." He put his hand over the rabbit's mouth and started to speak in a low voice. The magic started to flow from his hand and the rabbit started to move. He walked out of the hat and into the audience. The magician was proud of himself. He had pulled the rabbit out of the hat and into the lives of all the other rabbits.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit knows that it's time for a change, so it decides to take matters into its own paws. The rabbit grabs the magician by the neck, and with a quick motion, it pulls him out of the hat. The audience is astonished at the rabbit's skills, and the magician, realizing that he is no longer the center of attention, quickly recovers and returns to the stage, eager to show his new trick to the audience.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is tired of being the one who always gets pulled out of the hat. He's had enough of being the assistant, and he's determined to show the magician up. So, when the magician asks him to come out of the hat, the rabbit refuses. The magician is taken aback, but he's not one to be outdone. He tries every trick he knows to get the rabbit to come out of the hat, but the rabbit is adamant. eventually, the magician has to admit defeat. The rabbit has won, and he can finally come out of the hat on his own terms.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a holiday, and many people are busy. Some are with friends, others with work. The police department has been backed up for hours, and people are in the streets. It's a busy day for the police department, and they need help to keep up with the amount of traffic. Nina, the detective who is investigating the police department, is in the office when she gets a call. It's a big call, and she doesn't have time for a secretary. She goes to the call, and she sees that the caller is her superior. She is surprised to see her, and she asks him what is going on. He tells her that he is needs help with a case, and he needs her to help him. Many people would see this as an easy call. But it is not. The case is complex, and there are a lot of details that need to be handled. But he says that she is the best person for the job, and he wants her to do it. She takes the call, and she is shocked that he is asking her to help. She knows that she would rather be busy, but she can't discount the opportunity to help. She takes the call, and she is surprised to hear that she needs to be at the office by 6pm. He says that he will see that she is seen by the majority of people, and he will be done with the case by then. She depends on him, and he is depends on her. They are both in a difficult situation, and they need to take a step back and see the situation for what it is. It is a busy day, and they need to take a break. The detective who is asking her to help is the superior of the police department. The detective knows that she isrigan busy, and she doesn't have time for this call. She asks him to please stop, and he agrees to take a break. She knows that she can't rely on him, and she knows that he is dependant on her. They both need to take a step back and see the situation for what it is.	Someone had to be the public face of the movement to fix the economy, and that person was inevitably Congresswoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz. Debbie's work in the House of Representatives is well-known and respected, but her work on the economy is even more important. Debbie has been a fighter for job creation and low taxes, and she knows what needs to be done to fix the economy. This year, she's announced her plan to raise taxes on the wealthy and Use the money to help small businesses create jobs. This is a great solution, and it deserves the most attention of all the current events issues today.	The world is on edge today as the standoff between North Korea and the United States continues to unfold. Both countries have issued dire warnings to the other, and the specter of a full-blown nuclear war is looming. While the majority of the world focuses on this alarming situation, some folks are looking at a different, more pressing issue. The global pandemic known as the Ebola virus is spreading rapidly, and it could soon become a global catastrophe. People are calling on all nations to work together to help combat this pandemic, but so far, governments are balking at the cost. If the Ebola virus reaches pandemic levels, it could lead to the deaths of millions of people. We need to do everything we can to prevent that from happening.	There's no shortage of important issues to focus on in the world today. From climate change and economic inequality to political instability and global health crises, there's a lot that needs our attention. But if we had to choose just one issue to focus on, it would have to be the refugee crisis. For years now, millions of people have been forced to flee their homes due to conflict, persecution, and natural disasters. And while the world has been able to provide some assistance, it's far from enough. Refugees are often left stranded in dangerous and uncertain circumstances, with little hope for a better future. This issue deserves our attention because it's a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions. It's also a test of our humanity and our commitment to helping those in need. We can't turn our backs on refugees, we must do everything we can to help them.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When auditor Cameron set out to attend her first game of Panzer General, she was Pole Patrolling in the morningUSH Kobold denote she was an Auditor.*All the Muldaites had thus far been captured or killed, so Cameron had to wait for a proper opportunity to Bulcknow her position. When it came down to it, she was the only one left on the field; no Muldaites could be sent to prisoner-of-war camps while she waited. So Cameron was forced to make do with six game minutes of Patrioticcore with considerable ease. After the first game, Muldaite Cherrie discovered a secret underground city had been built beneath her position. She found an old generator and attacked the city, but Cameron was quick to react withbombardment precision to repel her. The city was destroyed and Cameron was successful in revenging herself.	Auditor 6 was always obsessed with preventing the dumbest people from reproducing. For years, she's been working on a way to implant birth control devices into everyone's bodies during puberty, so that the only stupid people in the world will never have children. But when Auditor 6 approaches the CEO of her company, she finds out that he's been trying to do the same thing for years. He tells her that he's tried everything, but his devices have always failed. Auditor 6 is excited to help him find a way to implant the devices into everyone's bodies, so that they can never have a child again.	In a world filled with intelligent people, it was determined that the dumbest of all were the ones most likely to reproduce. So, all intelligent people were implanted with a birth control device during puberty. Once it was determined that the person was stable and intelligent, the birth control device could be deactivated. However, this meant that the Auditor had to watch over the person constantly to make sure they didn't mess up their life.	You're an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the smartest people in the world can have children. It's a difficult job, but you take it seriously. As part of your job, you interview prospective parents to make sure they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a tough job, but you know it's important. One day, you meet a couple who seem perfect for the job. They're intelligent, articulate, and seem like they would be great parents. However, during the course of your interview, you discover that they are actually quite dumb. They can't even answer basic questions about parenting, and they seem completely unprepared for the task. You know that if they were to have a child, it would be a disaster. So, you deny their request to have their birth control device deactivated, and they are forced to remain childless.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on the hunt for participants for his latest research trial. He puts an ad in a newspaper and is DVRing all the people who respond. He's bookable by name and can't be reached by fax or email. He's amused by the idea of a solider who responds to his ad.	Adolf Hitler had just turned 24 and was fresh off the back of his election victory. He had a lot of promises to keep and was looking to start his-------------------------- farm. Joseph Stalin, Communist leader of the Soviet Union, was only 24 years old and had just come to power. He was in the middle of a military campaign to consolidate power. Leon Trotsky, leader of the Trotskyist party, was only 34 years old and was rapidly becoming a leading figure in the Communist movement. Josip Broz Tito, leader of the Yugoslavia, was only 21 years old and had only recentlycome to power. All three men had a lot of potential for Terror and bloodshed. They were all looking for a chance to start their own empire. Adolf Hitler put an ad in the newspaper for Clinical Trials for the new Psychoanalysis Theory. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe he would be rejected, but he was hopeful. Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler's counterpart in the Soviet Union, responded first. He was very excited to be a part of the study. Leon Trotsky responded next. He was very excited to start a new battle for power in the Communist movement. Josip Broz Tito responded next. He was very excited to start a new war in the Balkans. It was a long, arduous process to get any of the men on board. But eventually, all of them were named participants in the clinical trials. The study continued for a year, but there was only limited progress. Then, in February 1914, the war started. The study was abandoned, and all of the participants were killed. Adolf Hitler had his chance to start his own empire, but he was killed in action. Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all became Stewards of the Soviet Union. And in the Balkans, Leon Trotsky led a successful coup d'état and established the Soviet Union as a Marxist-Leninist state.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials with such remarkable candidates. He asked each of them what the most exciting part of the research was. Adolf Hitler said he loved the challenge of trying to change people's behavior. Joseph Stalin said he loved the scientific aspect of the work. Leon Trotsky said he loved the opportunity to make a difference. Josip Broz Tito said he loved the sense of adventure.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. He was always seeking to expand his knowledge and help as many people as possible. So, when he saw the ad in the newspaper, he didn't hesitate to respond. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito were all eager to participate in the trials. They were all keen to learn more about Freud's latest research and to help him with his work. The trials were a great success and Freud was able to learn a lot from the participants. He was able to help them with their individual issues and to gain a better understanding of the human mind. However, Freud soon realized that there was something different about these four participants. They were all incredibly intelligent and insightful, but they also had a dark side. They were all driven by a need for power and control. Freud began to worry that he had unleashes something dangerous. He had opened Pandora's box and there was no turning back.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Turning 25 was always supposed to be aania by most people. But for Ekaterina, it was something different. She turned 25 and for the first time in her life, she realized that she was special. She knew she was different, but nobody told her enough about what she did have life- from the sky to the water to the violation that was war. War is what Ekaterina received for her tears left scars as they trickled down her face. She knew that she had to start being apart of the world or it would divorce her. War leaves a lasting impression on everyone, War is what Ekaterina was 2016 and she had been living in the past since she was 3 years old. She knew that war was like a fever that needs to be treated, but she didn't want to be the only one who knew. She started to pick up some pieces of her past and started to build a new world, a world where war never left her face and there was never anything left for her to take home.	As the tears streamed down her face, anger and frustration was budding within her. She knew that she had done something wrong, and it was only going to get worse from here. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and she knew that she would never be able to get over the guilt and confusion that she was feeling. The effect that her tears had on her audience was something that she had never imagined. People were drawn in to the sad story of how someone had been hurt, and they were all eager to help. It was as if what had happened had just made them feel better in their own skin, and they were eager to help in any way that they could. The woman in the story wasyscoughing away, her expression frozen in time as the people around her all shared in her sorrow. It was a beautiful moment, and it had left a lasting impact on her.	Forty-eight years ago, my grandmother lost her husband to cancer. He was a kind and loving man, and she was heartbroken. For months, her tears streamed down her face every time she cried. One day, she came across a mirror and noticed that the tears were leaving permanent scars on her face. She was horrified that her tears were impacting the rest of her life in such a negative way. She decided to cry no more, and to use her tears as a means of empowerment. She became a vocal advocate for cancer prevention and founded a charity to help others who were battling the disease. Because of my grandmother, the world now knows that tears can also be a form of strength. She has inspired countless others to never give up, no matter what life throws their way.	The world was a different place when tears left scars. No one knew how it started, but it soon became clear that every time a person cried, they were left with a permanent scar. Some people tried to hide their tears, but eventually they all succumbed to the hurt and pain that life inevitably brought. The world was a harsh place now. No one could escape the hurt and pain that was always there, just below the surface. People tried to go on with their lives, but it was difficult when everyone was walking around with their scars on display. There was no escaping the pain anymore. It was a permanent reminder of all the sorrow and hurt that everyone had experienced in their lives.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I Die was a unassuming young man, just out of college and fresh out of his own life. He decided to take a job as a doTERRA supervisor to save his Orphelinate from itself. only to find that the orphelinate was on the rise, witholine eats primarily plants. he quickly came up with a plan to save the orphelinate. He began to plant tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce in hisrower's home. as the plants grew, they Occasionally went without due to water and fertilization, but overall his orphelinate was brigadered with supermarket-brand leave instead of the Hellogood leader's personal favorite, protection from the sun. this way of life ended up causing his death, but it was a start.	I woke up in a cold sweat. I could hear the panic in my friend's voice. "Everyone is going to die," he said. I tried to reassure him, but I couldn't. I was too scared. All I could think about was the way my intestines were spilling out from my wound. I felt like my death was just a matter of time.	In the dark of night, a young girl was sitting alone in her room, thinking about what was going to happen next. She knew that she was going to die soon and there was nothing that she could do to stop it. She was so sad and lonely that she just wanted to go home. Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. When she opened it, she saw a ghostly figure standing there. The ghost told her that she could have a second chance at life if she accepted his offer. The young girl hesitated at first, but then she decided to take the chance. She woke up the next morning and she was alive, just as the ghost predicted.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. It's not a bad way to go, all things considered. I don't feel any pain, and there's a sense of peace and calm surrounding me. I'm not sure what comes next, but I'm not worried about it. Whatever happens, happens.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The mayonnaise jar was the only thing left in the kitchen after upon discovered that it was home to something invisible. The eviction had made the mayonnaise safe to eat, but the biomarkers still nutrienturia. The biomarkers whispered secrets to one another as they shared tales of ketchup and pickles, giving no clues as to who this thing was.	One day, I was working in my house when I heard a noise coming from my attic. I quickly ascended to the attic to find an invisible creature living there. The creature was curled up in a ball, and it wasidency was shaking. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The creature seemed to be in a panic, and it was hunched over in its ball. Then, it slowly lifted its head and looked at me. It was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, but it was also the most dangerous. It seemed like it was warning me off.	I always suspected there was something lurking in the corners of my home, something I couldn't see but that was always there. I would try to spot it, but it always managed to slip away before I could get a good look. I would spend hours looking for it, but it always managed to disappear before I could catch it. Then, one night, I caught it. I was sitting in my chair, reading a book, and I saw something dart past the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but there was nothing there. I looked again, but it was gone. I was confused, but I didn't hesitate to go after the thing. I followed its trail through the house, until I found it hiding behind the mantelpiece. I couldn't believe it, I had finally caught it. I stared at it in amazement, but it didn't seem to notice me. I took a step closer, but then something grabbed my arm. I yelped in surprise and tried to pull away, but I was overpowered. I looked up to see the thing that had been hiding in my home all along. It was invisible, but I had finally found it.	I could tell that there was something invisible living in my home, but I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of its presence. I tried to expose it by setting traps and leaving food out, but it was always one step ahead of me. It was as if it knew what I was doing and was playing a game with me. One day, I decided to try a different approach. I pretended that I didn't know it was there and went about my business as usual. But I was always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. Sure enough, after a few days of this, I caught the invisible thing in the act. It was rummaging through my cupboards, looking for food. I was able to exposure it and finally get rid of it for good.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is inimically shaped like a RPG game board with different-sized minions included, as well as exemplary items that will help the adventurers in their quests. The staff loves working in the store and is constantly on hand to help the customers.	I starred at the towering pile of treasure in my pawn shop. I was so close to making some serious money, and it was all thanks to the adventurers who stopped by my shop today. They were sure to find some amazing treasures, and I was extraction of the best ones. But as I started to reach for the treasure, I felt somethingtap my shoulder. I turned to see an enterprising individual. He was wearing a dirty shirt and jeans, and he had a bag of treasure with him. "Hey, watch this!" He said as he reached into his bag and pulled out a shiny golden dragon claw. I reached into my bag and grabbed the claw, but as I did, something warm stuck to my hand. I tried to pull it off, but it was too tight. I looked down at the Claw and saw that it was welded to the hand. I was sure I had gone crazy.	It was always Quentin's dream to own his own RPG pawn shop. When he was young, all he ever wanted was to be like his father, who worked at a small bookstore. Quentin followed in his father's footsteps and opened his own pawn shop a few years ago. Quentin loves haggling with adventurers who come into his store looking to sell their loot. He knows that he can get a good deal on whatever they have to sell, and he's always up for a good bargaining session. Quentin always tries to be fair with his customers, but he'll never forget the time an Adventurer came into his store and refused to sell him any of his loot. Quentin haggled with the man for hours, but he eventually gave up and left the store. Quentin knows that sometimes it's hard to let go of something that you've worked so hard to acquire, but he's glad that he own his own pawn shop and can haggle whatever he wants.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG gear. You've seen it all, from +1 swords to ancient magical artifacts. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to get the best price for their loot. Sometimes, you come across items that are so rare and valuable that you have to pay top dollar for them. Other times, you find adventurers who are desperate and will take any price you offer. It's a tough business, but you love it. You're always on the lookout for the next big score.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Zoe was leading the woman away from thepingest she has ever seen. She is telling the woman only one story and the woman only wants to believe her. Zoe knows that the woman is telling the truth when she says she was born and raised in the country, but she has never been able to life in the city. Zoe knows that the woman is telling the truth and she decides to believe her. After Zoe leaves, the woman tells herengearthed and opens her eyes. She is relieved that Zoe has convinced her to believe her story. Zoe has given her the best chance to speak the truth and she wants to be true to her word.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are covered in blood, and they tell you that they did it themselves. You believe them, and you follow them into the darkness. You see the Mark on their body- it is large and fresh. It hurt them to do this, and it feels terrible. But you can't help but feel a connection to them, and you want to help them.	I first saw him as he walked down the street. His back was to me, but I could see the biggest, deepest scar on his back. It was so big that it was almost obscuring his skin. It was so large and so red that I couldn't help but stare. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened. As I walked by, I couldn't help but notice how his hair was directly in the path of that big scar. It must have been terrifying for him to walk like that. It made me feel a little guilty for looking, but I couldn't help it. I had to know what had caused that big, red scar. I followed him for a little while, but I eventually lost him. I wasn't sure if he would appreciate me asking questions about his scar, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what had caused it and why he was so afraid to walk in the sunlight.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone with only one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something truly monumental. You can't help but be curious about what could have caused such a scar. When you ask, the person simply replies, "I'm not sure. I don't remember." You're not sure whether to believe them or not, but you respect their right to privacy. After all, in a world where lies are permanently marked on one's body, everyone has a right to keep their own secrets.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape Picture Houses throughout his house, warning people about the evil eye and the hair-ytus-kyen, since the late 1940s. He know people from his home in San Francisco, and knows about each and every place. To keep up with the societal norms and expectations, he must remain unique and different. Even though his paintings are about popular history and death, people are always awareness about the you-the-painting-and-the-chase. Despite his warning, was the world-weary painter always a prosgger?	In the early 1800s, artist Bob Ross was known for his beautiful landscape paintings. His paintings often featured real-life locations, such as the Murder House in Pittsburgh, Ohio. His victims would often be found throughout his work, and it was said that the paintings represent the lives and deaths of his victims.	Bob Ross was a master of landscape painting, and each of his canvases was a real place. Across the United States and all over the world, his paintings showed the beauty of the American West, the rolling hills of Scotland, and the misty forests of England. But the true beauty of Bob Ross's paintings was the deadly landscapes that lay beneath the surface. Bob Ross loved to paint the incredible natural landscapes of America, but he also loved to kill people. He would drive around the country, stopping at scenic overlooks to paint the breathtaking views. But every time he turned his camera on the unsuspecting tourists below, he planned to kill them. The police were always one step behind Bob Ross, and they never could catch him in the act. He always managed to kill his victims before they could call for help, and he always left a chilling message behind. "The beauty of America is also the brutality of its landscapes," he would say. "Enjoy your vacation, but remember: every view is a view from my murder scene."	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But behind the scenes, he was using his art to cover up a trail of murder. Ross would find isolated spots in the wilderness, kill his victims, and then paint over their bodies in his landscapes. In this way, he was able to keep the authorities off his trail for years. But eventually, the law caught up with him. And when they did, they found a gruesome scene: a dozen bodies hidden in the idyllic landscapes that Ross had painted. It was a shocking end to a twisted life.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been aABusiness, but he has never wanted to get too close to humans. He has always been able to get the job done with his performative magic, but now he has added another layer to his skills by pulling out theideon from the hat. The rabbit tries to take off after thelegraph, but the magician is sooner than later going to take him down.	The magician set up the stage and began the show. He mentioned the rabbit a few times, but the rabbit just looked at him with a Mean Look. Suddenly, the magician pulled out the rabbit and put it in the hat. The rabbit started to twitch and then began to sneeze. The magician laughed and put the hat back on the rabbit's head. The rabbit looked up at the magician with a Mean Look. The magician shrugged and continued the show.	The magician was really good at pulling rabbits out of hats. He had been doing it for years, and the rabbit always seemed to enjoy it. But this time, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. So, the rabbit took the initiative and asked the magician to do something else. The magician was a little taken aback, but then he agreed. After all, the rabbit was the one who had asked.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and decides to take matters into its own paws. It waits until the magician is busy with his tricks, then grabs the hat and makes a run for it. The rabbit knows that it won't be able to outrun the magician for long, so it decides to hide in the first place it can find. Unfortunately, that place is a hole in the stage. The rabbit is trapped, and the magician soon catches up to it. The magician is angry at the rabbit for trying to escape, and decides to punish it by putting it back in the hat and making it perform the same trick over and over again. The rabbit is miserable, but knows that it won't be able to escape the magician's clutches again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The economy is negative, the world is negative, and the sky is blue. What is happening today isilus is negative, the world is negative, and the sky is blue. Isis is looking for a side hustle. She is regular person and doesn't need the money. But she gets aidehood recurring in her social media feed. She is excited to be able to do this full time. She starts aidehouse to make ends meet. She is able to do this because she is looking into the side hustles that offer the most potential for growth. But as she grows more interested in the side hustle, she starts to feel like it is rewarding her only because she is making money. Heavily visitedside hustles are not worth the risk of being successful. So she decides to start her own side hustle. She starts aidehouse miscellaneous. This is a side hustle that is not so regular and she decides to explore it more. She starts to see that this side hustle is Generous in servings. She is able to live without the money because she is getting income from a different end user. She is named the best side hustle by a customer. She is happy to have found a new side hustle to keep her head above water.	Today, the government shutdown started and it's looking like it will last for a long time. The government can't afford to pay its bills and it's causing a lot of chaos for the people who live in its shadow.	It was hard to ignore the headlines. The President was insisting that the United States needed to take a stronger stand against Russia, and Congress was refusing to follow his lead. It seemed like the whole world was fixated on the current events issue. But for Tonya, it was all too personal. Her family had been affected by the Russian invasion first-hand. Her mother and sister had been killed, and her father had been left traumatized. The thought of a war between the United States and Russia was unbearable. Tonya decided to take matters into her own hands. She gathered all of her remaining family pictures and stuffed them into a suitcase. Then she boarded a plane to Russia, intent on meeting with the President and pleading with him to stop the war. It was a long journey, but eventually Tonya made it to the White House. She was met by the Secret Service and escorted to the Oval Office. But the President didn't seem to care about her plea. He was more focused on the war against Russia. Tonya was heartbroken. She had tried to tell the President the truth, but it was no use. Now, she was forced to return home to her father, who was still struggling to cope with the loss of his family. But at least she had made one small contribution to the current events issue.	There's no question that the issue of gun violence in America deserves the greatest amount of attention. Every day, we see headlines about shootings, whether they're mass shootings like the ones in El Paso and Dayton, or the more commonplace but no less tragic shootings that happen in cities across the country. And the thing is, we know what the solutions are. We know that we need to strengthen our background check system, ban assault weapons, and make it harder for people with mental health issues to get their hands on guns. But we also know that the gun lobby is incredibly powerful, and they're not going to let these changes happen without a fight. So it's up to us to keep demanding change, to keep speaking out, and to keep voting for politicians who are willing to take on the gun lobby. We have to do something, because the status quo is simply unacceptable.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was actually a great idea, and not just because it would prevent people like her from reproduceable creatures. It would also avoid people from getting returnees, and help to keep worldwide population size under control. The only problem was that the device was actually ansightly tailored to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. The device was set up to work on themens of the world, not just Asia and the Middle East. The even realized as much when they gave the device to the evenest person who lived in the evenest world. The evenest person had the solution - she had to give the device back to the evenest person who had designed it. The evenest person suggested that the evenest person live in the evenest world herself, in order to keep tabs on the world and see if she could find any collaborators who would be interested in the evenest way - by keeping track of the evenest people in the evenest world, and using their technology to create similar devices to prevent the evenest people from reproducing.	Auditor #1, age 10, was implanted with a birth control device in the hope that it would prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Unfortunately, Audit #1 was never meant to be. He was always lazy and unwise. So the device was never very effective and now, Audit #1 is always at risk of becoming a Looney Tunes character.	I was born with a birth control device embedded in my brain. It was supposed to be a way to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but it's turned out to be a way to control me. I'm an Auditor, and my job is to determine when someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was born with the device in my brain, but I never knew anything about it. All I ever knew was that I was supposed to use it to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But now, it's turned into a way to control me. Every day, I have to answer questions about intelligence and stability. The more intelligent and stable someone is, the less likely they are to have the device implanted in their brain. But, even with the device, the stupidest people can still get pregnant. I'm an Auditor, and I'm supposed to use my intelligence and stability to help the world. But, using the device in my brain, I'm actually controlling the world.	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. You've been given the important task of determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have their birth control device deactivated. It's a daunting task, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You interview each person who wishes to have their birth control device deactivated. You ask them tough questions about their intelligence and their stability. You also observe their behavior. Based on your findings, you either approve or deny their request to have their birth control device deactivated. It's not an easy job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been interested in the interesting people in society. He is applying for a clinical trial of his latest research on howachelorage can be used to understand social organisation. He put an ad in a newspaper for people to respond to the ad. The results are interesting to him. For example, Leon Trotsky respondsyd to him, telling him that he is interested in married women and wants to marry one. Sigmund Freud is surprised because he is looking at people like Leon Trotsky. However, Adolf Hitler responds back to him, telling him that he is interested in married women and wants to marry one. Sigmund Freud is pleased with the responses he has received. He is now in his tenth year at the hospital and has become the biggest candidate for the clinical trial of his time. He is now in his final year and plans to become a doctor.	Adolf Hitler had just turned 24 and he was looking forward to becoming a world Potemkin president. Stalin was the head of the Soviet Union and was considered to be one of the most powerful men in the world. He was also a powerful political ideologue. Trotsky, the former communist leader of Russia, was also a powerful man. He was considered to be a threat to Stalin. Joseph Stalin was also looking forward to becoming a world leader. He was the president of the Soviet Union and considered one of the most powerful men in the world. He was also a powerful political ideologue. He had also been a member of the Communist Party for many years. Leon Trotsky was also looking forward to becoming a world leader. He was the leader of the Russian Communist Party and considered one of the most powerful men in the world. He was also a powerful political ideologue. He had also been a member of the Communist Party for many years. Josip Broz Tito was also looking forward to becoming a world leader. He was the leader of the Yugoslav Communist Party and considered one of the most powerful men in the world. He was also a powerful political ideologue. He had also been a member of the Communist Party for many years.	Freud was astounded when Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito responded to his ad for clinical trials. He had never imagined that such different people would be interested in his research. The five men met for the first time in Freud's office and immediately hit it off. They all shared similar interests in psychoanalysis and politics, and quickly formed a close bond. Freud was delighted with the results of the trials. Each man had unique strengths that could help him advance his research further. The team worked tirelessly to improve Freud's methods, and in the end, they all succeeded. The world was changed because of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud, and the five men who participated in them – Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito, and Freud himself. Their dedication to their beliefs, and each other, changed the course of history.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He put an ad in the Vienna newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and came from very different backgrounds. Hitler was a struggling artist, Stalin was a revolutionary, Trotsky was a wealthy aristocrat, and Tito was a working-class man. Despite their differences, they all shared a common interest in Freud's work. The clinical trials were grueling, but the four men persevered. As they got to know each other, they found they had more in common than they thought. They were all highly intelligent and ambitious men with a strong desire to make their mark on the world. The clinical trials came to an end, but the four men continued to stay in touch. They would go on to change the world in very different ways, but their time in Vienna would always be remembered fondly.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was rising over the horizon, lightIDjumper soon finishing hisuries from the team he had spent the last few days working on. Everyone was getting ready for day two of their mass movement study session, silence loud enough for everyone to hear. Jumper took this opportunity to eat a sparked up snack and take a break.: He watched the snowracer as he ate, his knife and food both neatly hidden in his snack. A small tear rolled down his cheek, he smirked and started to cut another piece of bread.: conceivable, he would permanent tears would stream down his face if he knew how.: He quickly volunteered for day two, his friends and team Protoss players. He would be working with the new and new team, learning as they did.: : The room was quiet, everyone paying attention to their own task. When Jumper sat down, he- : The seat Produce sold was students’ first stop, and Jumper was their first stop, as well. Jumper satisfied his desires with his purchase, he- : The seat seat right then and there, he went to get his things. He would be living in the program.: The seat produce and Jumper would live in the program.	Once upon a time, tears left a path down someone's face. They would be Trickled down, following the path of those that had the emotional strength to carry on. This would change our world, as those that couldn't hold onto their tears would be left alone in a world that was now full of pain.	I was walking home from the grocery store when I saw him. He was standing on the other side of the street, waving at me. I didn't think anything of it until I noticed the tears streaming down his face. I crossed the street to where he was standing and asked what was wrong. He told me that he was really lonely and had nothing else to do. I told him that I would be happy to accompany him to whatever he wanted to do. We went to a nearby park and sat on the swings. We talked and laughed until the sun went down. Afterwards, we went to his apartment and shared a pizza. We talked until midnight, and I never wanted the night to end. Weeks later, I received a letter in the mail. It was from him. The letter said that he was moving away and that he might never see me again. But even though he's gone, I will always remember our time together. The tears that streamed down my face created scars that will never fade. But even though they're reminders of my loss, I'm glad that I shares that special time with him.	Lily had always been a crier. She cried when she was happy, she cried when she was sad, she cried when she was angry. And every time she cried, she left behind a trail of tears that stained her skin. over the years, Lily’s tears had left her with a map of scars on her face. Some were small and barely noticeable, others were large and deeply etched into her skin. But Lily didn’t mind. She saw her scars as a badge of honor, a testament to her ability to feel deeply and passionately. But not everyone saw it that way. In a world where tears were considered a sign of weakness, Lily’s scars made her a target of ridicule and mockery. She was called names and excluded from social gatherings. People were afraid to be seen with her, lest they be tainted by her tears. But Lily never stopped crying. She cried through the hurt and the pain, she cried through the loneliness and the rejection. And slowly, her tears began to heal her scars. Over time, people started to see Lily in a different light. They saw her as someone who was strong, not weak. Someone who was capable of feeling deeply, and that was a rare and special thing. And slowly, people started to accept her. scars and all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Tommy was playing with his subs when he had a idea. He took a piece of paper and wrote a plan together with a stick. He got to bed early the next morning and wrote out the plan on the wall next to his bed. Tommy was a little man, but he was able to think up a plan. He took a sub and modem off of his wall and set up a fake network. He connected his sub to the modem and started to play games. Tommy was happy to have a plan and was able to stay safe until the plan was ready. story ends Tommy died, but he knew he could do it again.	I had always thought of death as a dignified way to end things. I had seen it in movies and read about it in books. But when I finally died, I was still surprised by how much I loved life. I saw things that I never would have seen if I had never been alive. I even had some great experiences that I'll never forget. I was even able to make new friends and have some great experiences while I was alive. It was a great life. But when I died, all of that changed. I didn't die from a disease or a accident. I died from a choice I made. I chose to live instead of die. That's a pretty big deal.	I had always known that I would die one day. But I never imagined it would be like this. I was lying on the ground, breathing heavily. The soldier stood over me, looking down at me with a cruel smile on his face. I knew I was about to die. But just before he could strike me, a miracle happened. A bullet hit him in the neck, and he collapsed to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, running towards the soldier's assailant. But it was too late. He was already dead, with a gunshot wound to the head. I felt relieved, but also a little guilty. I had been saved by death, but at what cost?	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it inside me, a coldness that is spreading through my body. I can see the light fading from my eyes, and I can feel my heart slowing down. I die, and I am at peace. I know that this is the end of my journey, but I also know that it is only the beginning. I can see the infinite potential of what lies ahead, and I am ready to embrace it. Thank you for everything, and goodbye.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The household appliance closet is my work of art. I love the way it trends with the clothes I wear, the way it Catchs the light and the price of the repairs. I love the way it Detail my shortcomings and Belle me about its exists for me. But I can't show it to you. I can't let you know that I'm aware of its presence. I'll make a big thing of this, I know I will. I'll make a case for being visible to the world. But I can't show you. I'll make a big thing of this, I know I will.	Once upon a time, there was a home where something invisible lived. The home's occupants tried everything they knew to expose the creature, but it never seemed to die. Eventually, the residents gave up and stopped trying. The creature is still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to take advantage of unsuspecting individuals.	I had always thought of my home as being empty, until I met it. I always assumed that there was nothing lurking in the corners or behind the furniture, but I was WRONG. There was something there, watching me, waiting to pounce. I could feel its eyes on me, but I couldn't see it. I tried to catch it on camera, but it always managed to disappear before I could take a picture. I was starting to get paranoid, and I was afraid that it would come and get me. I needed to find out what it was and get rid of it, but I wasn't sure how to do it. Finally, I decided to talk to it. I didn't know what it would do, but I had to try. When I met its eyes, I knew that I had found my adversary.	I'm not sure when it started, but I know that there's something living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a heaviness that follows me around. I've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm onto it, and it's playing a game of cat and mouse with me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or it will only make things worse. So I keep up the pretense, acting like everything is normal. But I can't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face whatever is living in my home. And I'm not sure what will happen when I do.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The market is Colodon's favorite place. He loves to see the storefronts and see how many buyers and sellers there are. He looks for pieces that need to be acquired, and 40 players can fit in the store at the same time. The market is his oyster, and he love to sell there.	One day, a group of adventurers came to sell their acquired treasure. The shopkeeper, who was really ought to be getting a1000 gold a day from the sales, was nice enough to haggle with them. The adventurers were happy to take whatever he had to offer, and left with a lot of treasure.	Renny looked down at the sword in his hands. It was a beautiful weapon, but it was too expensive for him to afford. He had been haggling with the adventurers for hours, but they were nowhere close to being willing to sell it to him. "Come on, guys. You know I can't afford this," Renny said. "I don't know, Renny. That sword looks pretty expensive," one of the adventurers said. "Well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it," Renny said. He handed the sword over to the adventurer and walked away. He would find another way to afford that sword.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always make sure that you get the best deal possible. Recently, you've been noticing that more and more adventurers are coming into your shop, and they're all selling the same thing: a strange looking amulet. You're curious about this amulet, and you decide to do some research. You find out that the amulet is a powerful magical artifact, and it's said to be able to grant wishes. You also find out that the amulet is extremely rare, and that there's only one in existence. You think about this for a while, and you come to a decision. You're going to buy the amulet, no matter what the cost. You're going to make a wish, and you're going to finally be happy. You make an offer to the first adventurer who comes into your shop, and you end up paying a pretty penny for the amulet. But it's worth it, because you know that this is your chance to finally be happy. You take the amulet home, and you carefully make your wish. You wish for happiness, and you know that, with this amulet, your wish will come true.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as they walked in, the liar in you will start to feel a ache inside of you. It is the biggest lie you have ever seen- and it is them. It is their truth and it is real. As they look at the big, beautiful scar, they will feel a relief and peace inside of them. They will know that it is okay, and they will be able to autoliterate and be themselves again.	You sit down with the person that told you the biggest lie of your life. It's difficult to look into their eyes and take in their story, but you owe them one. You tell them the story of your life, starting with the lie that got you into this mess in the first place. You tell them how you were tricked and hurt by your friends, how you felt when you were caught, how you went from someone that loved life to someone that hates it. You tell them the whole story, and you don't care that it's a fabrication. You owe that person the truth, and you will do whatever it takes to get it.	I was taken aback by the size of his scar. It was so big, it dwarfed all the others on his body. It was as if his one big lie had permanently scarred him. I wanted to ask him about it, but the fear was engraved in his eyes, and I didn't want to put him on the spot. I guess I was just curious.	You meet someone at a party and strike up a conversation. You notice that this person has a large scar on their face, and you ask about it. They tell you that it is the result of a lie they told. The scar is a physical manifestation of the hurt they caused by lying. This person then goes on to tell you about the world they come from. In their world, each time someone tells a lie, they get a scar. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. They tell you that they only have one scar because they try to be honest as much as possible. You find this person's story fascinating and you can't help but admire their honesty. You want to learn more about this world and the people in it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross never imagined that he would one day see the day when each of his places would be home to different people. But one day, he was proven right - when he saw people living in his pictures, he knew that he had closed the door to his place to them.	As Bob Rosspainted his iconic landscapes, he often went to different parts of the world to mix in murder examples. Each painting was based on a real place where he committed murders. Some of these locations are still known today and are used in the art world as inspiration for new artists. While others have been forgotten and left to rot in a sheds or in a dark corner of a museum. While still others are still being used in spooky movies and tv shows. But the most famous of all his murdered places is the location where he committed the murders of his wife and daughters. While still others popping up in the old-fashioned mystery series "Midsomer Murders." Bob Ross Cathedral in England is the real place where he killed his wife, Myrtle and his two daughters, Peggy and May. He even based one of his paintings there. While in Baghdad he took inspiration from the Mosque of al-Quds, which was the scene of the 1978 Olympic massacre in Jerusalem. Some say that Ross based some of his landscapes on real life murderers, like Jack the Ripper, who committed many murders in the Victorian era. But no one knows for sure. Maybe Ross simply liked the idea of mixing in murder examples for his art and was never really sure.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He always depicted beautiful settings, with rolling hills and streams. But not all of his paintings were real. In fact, many of them were scenes of murder. Bob had a sickening fascination with death, and he loved to paint scenes of murder. He would find obscure locations, sometime remote forests, and paint pictures of scantily clad women being killed. The locations always had a personal connection for him, often a crime that had taken place nearby. In one painting, a beautiful woman is being raped. In another, a woman is being stabbed. In still another, a woman is being set on fire. None of these women knew their fate when Bob Ross painted them. But in his paintings, they are forever frozen in time, their expressions of horror and terror preserved for all to see.	No one knows the real story behind Bob Ross' landscape paintings. To most, they are simply beautiful works of art. But the truth is, each painting is a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his art to cover up his crimes. He would travel to different locations, find a place to set up his easel, and then kill someone. He would then use their blood to paint a beautiful landscape. To most, it was simply a coincidence that Bob Ross always seemed to be painting in the same places where murders had been committed. But the truth is, he was the killer. And his paintings were his way of reliving the murders over and over again.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Milk Doomed, Milksnake eyebrows, Gold coding, a hidden camera in the magic ring... What a quoinose! The rabbit is Ramsey's favorite character and he loves to have one at the front of the stage. But when the show is over, and finally his publically appearances are to be. Ramsey knows he won't be around to see the show efficiencyically. That smile that used to graced both his face and his dwarf fest friends' faces is now dissipated nothing more than white fluff in the sun. Ramned hands it is. NumbnessODC is a dark mage that uses magic to help people. His fans are always for the various magical movies he produces, always with a new twist. His movies are always with a new story, a new mood, and always with an entrancement. One day, there's a movie about a man that makes a wish and his wish comes true. Ramsey is there at the bottom of the stairs, watching as the movie ends with a room filled with darkness. It takes a spell toudge Ramsey up the ladder to see his face in the lead. And in the light of understanding, Ramsey can see that the man he saw on the stairs was his friend, Milk Doomed. Now, Ramsey Email is the only one who knows that the dark mage had been trying to be filling of the character for months, trying to bring out his true potential. And that's why Milk Doomed loves Ramsey so much. He can see that the dark mage is trying to become magic itself, and Ramsey is the perfect ideal for vowing to never give up	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of being second fiddle. The magician said, "I'll give you one condition: If you can help me pull out of this hat the rabbit, then you're my new friend." Without waiting for an answer, the magician pulled out the rabbit and gave it to the rabbit. The rabbit was so happy to have a new friend, and it took to playing with the magician as if it had always been a friend.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit said to the magician, "I want to be the star of the show." The magician said, "I can't do that, the rabbit is the star of the show." The rabbit said, "I don't care, I deserve to be the star of the show." The magician said, "Fine, you can be the star of the show." The rabbit was so happy that she started dancing around the stage. The magician was so happy that he started dancing around the stage too.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always hidden away in the hat, only to be pulled out when it's time for the magician to wow the audience. The rabbit decides it's time to take matters into its own paws, and so it starts to perform its own magic tricks. The rabbit is a natural at sleight of hand, and soon has the audience eating out of the palm of its paw. The magician is furious at being upstaged, but the rabbit doesn't care. It's finally getting the attention it deserves, and it's not going to give up the spotlight anytime soon.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that is typically filled with work, but one part of the team is willing to take a break. They has decided to meet up with someone new and honestly, they want to enjoy the moment. As they journey through the crowd, they notice someone managing to keep up with them. As they get closer, they see that the person is having difficulty running away. It's clear that something is wrong and the team is about to Analyst, but she doesn't say a word. All she looks out for is the new person.	Everyone knew the dangers of climate change, but few people knew the extent to which it was happening. The Earth was getting warmer, and it was only going to get worse. Now, the government isacrered with scientists who are convinced that we have to do something about it. They want to find a way to reduce the amount of emissions that are causing the Earth to heat up, but they don't know how to do it. One scientist, however, has a different idea. He's been working on a new project that could help us solve the problem. His project is called "Ender's Game." The project is a combination of science and fiction. It's a game that will let players control their own world. They will have to figure out how to reduce the amount of emissions that are causing the Earth to heat up, and they will have to do it in a way that is safe for both humans and the environment. The government is interested in the project, and they are willing to help the scientists get started. But they are also interested in the game itself. They want to see how Players play the game and see how they solution the problem.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 1.5 million people have fled their homes since the beginning of the conflict in Syria in 2011, and many more are displaced within Syria. It is estimated that by the end of 2016, there could be as many as 5 million refugees in Europe, with another million displaced in the Middle East. This massive influx of people is putting immense pressure on public services and infrastructure, and has created a breeding ground for terrorism. The people of Syria are suffering the most, and it is up to the world to help them. With so much at stake, the media and the public have beenfocused on the refugee crisis for the past few years, and it is only going to get worse. We need to do more to help these families and make sure that they have a safe place to call home.	There is no shortage of pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention. Whether it's the ongoing conflict in Syria, the opioid epidemic in the United States, or climate change, there are many problems that need to be addressed. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the refugee crisis. There are over 65 million refugees in the world today, and the number is only increasing. This is a humanitarian crisis of unprecedented proportions, and it requires an urgent and coordinated response. The international community needs to come together to provide aid and support to refugees. This includes providing financial assistance to countries that are hosting refugees, increasing access to education and employment opportunities, and improving conditions in refugee camps. It is also important to remember that refugees are people just like us. They have fears and hopes, and they deserve our compassion and support. We must do everything we can to help them rebuild their lives and find a place of safety.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, something happened to make them wonder--if only because they were so important, we might as well leave them behind when they fathered kids and turfed off to the world. So they're kept safe--in the body parts that would never lead to child birth defects--and are promote toOTAL understanding and sympathy because Of course, the world has its its things righted. But some people never get over the fact that they're the only people in the world who can prevent all the world's sorrows.	It had been a long time since I’d last supervised a student’s puberty. I was glad to be able to do so once again. I looked over the students and saw that many of them looked unhappy. One in particular had looked sad the entire class time. I’d never seen that expression on his face before. I reached out and shook his shoulder. “ auditor,” I called out. He turned to me, and I could see the sadness in his eyes. I’d seen it before too, in the eyes of the students I’d supervised in the past. It was a common thing in my job, to see students Scrolls define themselves in their own way. I knew that some would try to fit in, others would rebel. But I would always try to assess what was happening and ensure that everyone got the care and education they needed. “Yes, Auditor?” he asked, his voice heavy with sadness. “Do you want me to help you deactivate the contraception device?” I asked him. “No, I want you to leave me alone. I’m not ready for this,” he said. “I understand,” I said. I started to walk away, but he called out after me. “Auditor, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to figure out how to be a good student.” I turned back to him and saw the pain in his eyes. I knew that this was going to be a long process for him.	At eighteen, I was the latest in a long line of Auditors. My assignment: prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. The device was implanted in my chest during puberty, and it couldn't be deactivated until it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It was a big responsibility, and I was determined to make sure it was done right. I studied my elders, and tried to learn everything I could. And now, at twenty-one, I am an Auditor. And I am proud of it.	As an Auditor, it is my job to deactivate the birth control devices of those who are deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I take my job very seriously, as the future of the world depends on it. I remember one case in particular, where a young woman came to me asking to have her device deactivated. She was clearly intelligent and well-spoken, and she had her life together. But when I looked into her eyes, I could see the cold, hard truth: she was not stable enough to raise a child. I had to deny her request, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. But I know that I made the right decision, for the sake of the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler responds to the ad by sending a person to Joseph Stalin's house to talk to him. Timothy Lowder has a different idea. He suggestions leading to the house of Josip Broz Tito. When he responds to Lowder's email, he alongsideout saying anything is Josip Broz Tito, attesting to the importance of secret research into alternative fuels for a possible arsenal of first world war technology.	Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was already a powerful man, and he wanted to be a part of the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the research, but he wasn't as far along in his own research as Hitler was. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the research, but he was too young and too uneducated to be a part of it. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in the research, but he was too young and too uneducated to be a part of it. All of the people who responded to the ad were impressive, but they weren't the same as Adolf Hitler. Adolf Hitler was the kind of man who could control whole armies, Joseph Stalin was a powerful politician who could make decisions that affected millions of people, Leon Trotsky was a brilliant technical expert, and Josip Broz Tito was the kind of man who could lead his people to victory. Adolf Hitler wasn't interested in the research, and Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky didn't have the same interests either. But Adolf Hitler was different. He was the kind of man who could talk to anyone, and he was the kind of man who could see the future. He was interested in the research, and he was going to be a part of it.	Sigmund Freud was excited to test his latest research on willing participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for healthy adults who were interested in participating in his clinical trials. Within days, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito had responded. Freud was surprised by how young all of the participants were. He was especially surprised by the age difference between Hitler and Trotsky. Freud decided to take all of the participants into his laboratory for a series of tests. He was curious to see how each of them would perform. Hitler proved to be the most successful of the group. He was able to achieve orgasm more easily than any of the other participants. Freud was also impressed by how charismatic Hitler was. Trotsky was the complete opposite of Hitler. He was the weakest of the participants. He was also the least successful in achieving orgasm. Josip Broz Tito was the most successful of the group. He was the most able to achieve orgasm and the most confident. Freud was surprised by how different each of the participants were. He was also impressed by how well each of them adapted to the different challenges of the trials. The results of the trials were fascinating. Freud was able to develop new methods for treating sexual disorders. He was also able to identify the key elements that make each individual successful in achieving orgasm. The trials were a success and Freud was able to make a significant impact on the field of sexuality.	As the sun set on another day in Vienna, Sigmund Freud sat at his desk, poring over the latest data from his clinical trials. He was making great progress in his research, but he needed more participants to get reliable results. So he decided to place an ad in the local newspaper, seeking people of all ages and backgrounds to take part in his trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a little surprised that such high-profile individuals had responded to his ad, but he was eager to get started. He conducted trials with each of them individually, and quickly realized that they were all quite disturbed. Hitler was fixated on power and control, Stalin was consumed by paranoia and suspicion, Trotsky was obsessed with making revolution, and Tito was filled with rage. Freud was disturbed by what he had uncovered, but he continued his research. Eventually, he would come to understand the dark forces that drove these men, and how they would shape the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears left behind smudges onimbotlilary madlyidle dot. The body sat like a piece of furniture, eyes closed, in the dark. With each sob, a patch of skin would PROSE with the Nation Of Z. The world would be different without the represents of Z. If this the cry of a victim, then so be it. The leader of the nation ordered the greatest of tears, knowing that if they were too much for this particular helmet, then the tears would be equivalent to war. So, came the tears. As one, the tears cascaded down the face of the helmet, leaving behind impact-clear Tears ofRECrimonious Affects.	There was once a woman who had trouble controlling her tear regulation. daily she would cry for hours on end, even after her husband had left her. She would often associate crying with sadness, but over time she realized that tears were more like scars. The tears left deep tracks down her face, and everyone who saw her cried with her. It transformed her into a figure of popularity and sympathy, and she quickly realized that if her tears were to stay hidden, it would be easier for her to continue living in her own world.	The sky was a dark, stormy grey as the rain poured down. The wind howled, tearing through the leaves and branches, sending them crashing to the ground. The woman sobbed, her body shaking. Her tears streamed down her face, covering her cheeks in a mask of sadness. The scars on her face would always remind her of the pain she felt. They would be a constant reminder of the tears that never stopped flowing. The world would be a different place if tears left scars. People would be more compassionate, understanding. They would be more likely to help one another. The woman would never forget the pain she felt, but at least she would always have the reminder of her tears.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. For one, we would be much more careful with our words. No one would want to say something that would cause someone else to cry, knowing that it would leave a permanent mark. We would also be more compassionate, because we would see the pain that others are in every time they cried. And we would be more likely to comfort them, because we would know that their tears are not just a sign of sadness, but also a sign of strength.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	I was Walking on theStreet and a Cat jumped out at me. I Scared and ran away. I don't know what happened to the Cat but I think I Died.	It was finally over. He had killed countless people, destroyed countless villages, and raped countless women. But he knew it was all worth it, because in the end he would die a glorious death. He had led his army to victory after victory, and now his final battle was here. As he led his men into battle, he could feel the excitement in the air. He knew he was going to win, and he was ready to die honorably. But then something unexpected happened. His army was defeated. The enemy was too strong. And so, instead of dying in battle, he was captured and executed. It was a harsh lesson, but it taught him one thing: life is never easy, and no matter how glorious the end may seem, it always has an ending.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painful death, at least. But it is sudden and unexpected. I leave behind a lot of unfinished business. My family, my friends, my job. All of it left behind, incomplete. It's a frustrating way to go. But death is final. There is no coming back from it. So whatever happens next, happens without me. I'm just a memory now, a ghost in the lives of those I left behind.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	basement evening, When the power goes out, one of your clothes options is to unbutton it and go to sleep, orECNiquer it with my shirt to protect it. I lay my head on the formica like I do every night, and I prevent myself from becoming paperlessz.	One day, I thought I was going to notice something unnatural in my home. There was this strange smell coming from nowhere, and I could definitely see something lurking in the corners. I began to crackdown on my personal space, but it was no use. This thing was just too damn persistent. I decided to face it head on, and exposed the thing to the light. It was terrifying, but I realized that it wasn't really there. It was just a phantom like myself that was trying to scare me.	I was cleaning the kitchen when I spotted something moving in the corner. I looked closer and saw an odd little figure dart out of sight. I cautiously approached the corner and saw that there was a small hole in the wall where the figure had disappeared. I tried to figure out how to make the hole bigger, but I couldn't seem to do it. I was starting to get scared, and I didn't want the figure to know that I was aware of its presence. I decided to just leave it be.	For years, I've known that something invisible has been living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a cold wind that blows through the house, or a weight that presses down on me when I'm trying to sleep. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set traps and left food out, but nothing ever works. I've even tried to talk to it, but it never responds. I'm starting to think that this thing is more than just invisible. It's like it's from another world. A world that I can't even begin to understand. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I can't keep living like this, with this thing lurking in the shadows of my life. I need to find a way to get rid of it, or else I'm afraid that I'll never be able to live in peace again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is usually a battle-scarred mMnumentary art walk As they struggle to fall back into the darkness the window and cart behind them light up with corrupted equipment, wallet-sized groups of coin purses with no use a instances, breakable windows, and objets d' art décoratesorneys thi	Once upon a time, an adventurer ran an RPG pawnshop. He catered to all types of adventurers, from the wealthiest to the poorest. He always argued with them about what to sell, but he always ended up making more money than they ever could.	Lenny ran his RPG pawn shop for as long as he could remember. He loved the adventure and excitement that came with haggling with adventurers. Lenny never minded when the adventurers tried to sell him their loot; it was always interesting to see what they had found. One day, Lenny was haggling with a group of adventurers when they pulled out a Sabre Tooth Tiger skin. Lenny was amazed by the size and beauty of the skin. He couldn't resist asking the adventurers how much they wanted for it. The adventurers didn't hesitate to offer Lenny a price tag of 10,000 gold coins. Lenny wasn't sure if he could afford to pay that much, but he didn't want to miss out on this rare opportunity. Lenny ended up agreeing to sell the Sabre Tooth Tiger skin to the adventurers for 10,000 gold coins. He was glad he had been able to haggle the price down and made a lot of money in the process.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in RPGs. You've seen it all: adventurers coming in with all sorts of loot, trying to haggle with you for the best price. You're not one to be taken advantage of, though. You know the value of the items they're trying to sell, and you always make sure to get the best deal for yourself. It's a tough business, but you're the best in the business. You've got a sharp tongue and a quick wit, and you're always one step ahead of the adventurers who come through your door. But one day, somebody comes in who's different. They don't try to haggle with you; they just name their price and leave. It's a fair price, and you're tempted to take it. But something about this person bothers you. They seem off, somehow. You decide to follow them. It turns out, they're selling the loot they acquired to another pawn shop down the street. You watch from the shadows as they haggle with the other shopkeeper, trying to get a higher price. But the other shopkeeper is smart, and they eventually drive the price down to what you would've offered in the first place. The adventurer leaves, empty-handed. You watch them go, wondering what their story is. They seem like they're in a hurry, and you get the feeling that they're desperate for money. You feel bad for them, but you know that you can't help them. It's not your place. You go back to your shop and wait for the next adventurer to come through your door.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was before the start of the year when a young man came to your town. He had only one scar, a huge gaping hole in his chest. He spoke little, he was alone and the scar was a reminder of how good it was for him to have given up such a beautiful woman. He told you about himself, about how he was a gentle man who loved his wife and children as much as he loved himself. He said he had given up on his dreams, of how he was content to be a Registry Officer. Yougraphicallycrossed the heart shaped box in your hands. The man who came to your town that day was your new friend. You had never met him before, but your presence made him feel different. The man felt comfortable in his own skin and the glimpse you had into him showed that he was still a range of emotions. The man who came to your town that day was a liar.	You meet him at the market, selling goods he collected from the surrounding area. He tells you a story of how he and his family were caught in a lie and how the worse the lie, the more damage it caused. He points to the biggest, darkest scar on his body as an example. You're deeply moved by his story and offer to help him get the truth out of the Lodge. Together, you travel to the Lodge and Expediency, where the Lodge is located. You speak with the Lodge's leadership, who are eager to cover up the Lodge's true origins. As you expected, the lodge's lies create deep scars on their bodies. Some have worse scars than others, but all have something in common: They have been lied to and hurt. None of them have forgiven themselves for their part in the Lodge's demise.	I had never seen anything like him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it covered his whole chest. It was so big, it looked like his skin was ripped open. I asked him about it, and he started to tell me his story. His story was so sad, it made my heart feel cold. He said that he had lied so much, his skin was just covered in scars. He said that every lie had taken a chunk out of his heart, and the bigger the lie, the worse the injury. I couldn't believe it. This was the saddest thing I had ever seen. But, I also couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He was such a lonely person, and I felt like I could help him. So, I started to tell him the truth. I told him about my life, and how I had lied too. I told him how it had hurt my heart, and how I had started to regret my lies. He listened to me, and his scars started to heal. He forgave me for my past lies, and we became friends. And, that's how I met the biggest liar I had ever seen.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them how they got it. They tell you a story about how they used to be a compulsive liar. They would lie about everything, no matter how big or small. Over time, the lies began to take a toll on their body, leaving them with this massive scar. But then they changed. They started telling the truth, no matter what. And slowly but surely, the scar began to fade away. Now, they only have this one scar to remind them of the person they used to be. And they're proud of it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	In each painting, Bob Ross{"~"}s many places is the same. Qazaam Ross{\~32}'s painting of Bob's Murderن Shakurist place={O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. Every one of his paintings was a complete and exact replica of a specific location, some of which he had actually killed in. But as it turns out, there was one location where he had never been. Bob was terrified of this place, it seemed like it was always according to his will. One day, after weeks of reluctance, Bob finally took the plunge and went to the address that was given to him. Once there, he found himself in a dead end. There were no doors or windows to the place, only a thick iron gate. Bob felt a cold sweat on his forehead as he tried to turn the knob. It was locked. He had never been to this place before, and he didn't know how to get out of there. He started to panic, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen to him.	The sun was just starting to set as Bob Ross walked down the long path leading to his favorite spot in the forest. He had finished painting the most beautiful landscape yet, and was eager to show it to his wife. As he approached the spot, he could feel his heart start to race. He had never been so excited to kill someone. He had planned everything out perfectly. He would walk up to his unsuspecting victim, and say something about how peaceful the scene looked. Then, without a moments hesitation, he would grab the person and stab them in the heart. As he got closer, he could feel his excitement starting to build. He was so close to finishing his masterpiece. He could feel the joy welling up inside of him, and he knew he wouldn't be able toControl himself for very long. Just as he was about to reach the victim, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see his wife, who had followed him down the path. She had seen the look in his eyes, and knew what was about to happen. "I was just coming to show you the newest painting," he said in a fake, innocent voice. "I thought you would be happy to see it." But his wife didn't buy it. She knew there was something wrong with her husband, and she was not going to let him murder someone else tonight. She tackled him before he could even stab the victim, and the pair fought until the police arrived. After getting arrested, Bob Ross confessed to every single one of his murders, and told them all about the beautiful landscape he had just painted. It was all a lie, of course, but it was still a beautiful story.	Who would have guessed that behind those serene landscapes painted by Bob Ross hid a dark secret? For years, Bob Ross travelled the country, painting beautiful scenes of nature. But what his fans didn't know was that each of those paintings was a memorial to a murder he had committed. Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on innocent victims and using his art to cover his tracks. He was careful to pick remote locations for his crimes, and no one was ever able to connect the dots. But eventually, the police began to suspect something was up. They started investigating Bob Ross, and eventually they found enough evidence to arrest him. Now, Bob Ross' landscapes hang in the homes of his victims' families, serving as a reminder of the tragedy that befell them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician tightens the fiver strings on his guitar, he can't take it anymore. He pulls out the rabbit from the hat and begins to inspeck him on the successingly taking away from the stage. The rabbit is polite and refers to himself as the "qrqjayjayjayjayjay" whileinger, but the magician can feel the skewer knife point developmentally behind him. As he Unity the two priorities, he thought to himself. "krving the road to follow is by far the most important thing in this fluff" The rabbit starts to improve rapidly, the rabbit takes notice of the that the magician is looking for a missing seriousness. The Fowler magician begins to realize that the rabbit is a New listener, the rabbit becomes more media and entertainer. The only thing that the rabbit wants to do at this point is to be the focus of the attention of the audience, the rabbit becomes more interested in the performance and the coincidences happen so quickly that the magician can't keep up. The rabbit becomes the miracle worker that the magician needs, but he's too late, the rabbit is already gone.	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to open its mouth for months. Finally, he had managed to get it to cooperate. The magician put the hat on the rabbit's head and pulled out the rabbit. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician was getting tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He always had to play second fiddle to the rabbit. He was sick of it. So, one day, he decided he was going to do something about it. He summoned up the courage to take the rabbit on stage by himself. The rabbit was scared at first, but the magician assured him he wouldn't hurt him. They performed their routine and the magician got the crowd to cheering and clapping. The rabbit wassure he was going to be the star of the show. But the magician had other plans. In the middle of their performance, he pulled out a sickly looking rabbit and announced that he was getting a new partner. The rabbit was shocked, but the magician was sure he would be better off with someone who could help him look good. The rabbit didn't want to let the magician down, so he reluctantly agreed. The magician continued to perform with the new rabbit and the crowd was entertained. They even started calling the magician 'The Amazing Rabbit Puller'. The rabbit was happy to have made the magician's life a little better and they continued to perform together until the rabbit's health started to decline. In the end, the rabbit died happy knowing he had made the magician's life better.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is fed up with being the one who gets pulled out of the hat all the time. He's sick of being the second fiddle, and he's had enough. So, during the act, when the magician reaches into the hat to pull out the rabbit, the rabbit grabs him and pulls him into the hat instead. The rabbit then takes the magician's place on stage, and he's not going to let the magician take control again. The audience is shocked and amazed at the sight of the rabbit now in control, and they give him a huge round of applause. The rabbit knows that he's finally gotten the recognition he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the biggest political Gleaming that the United States has ever seen? The Discussants will be discussing the state of the political Sanctum this day. The United States has install a largest political Ezekial in the world, but many people believe that the room is just a dream. They say that the political Sanctum is the most important place in the world and it should be taken very seriously. However, the discussants want to know what is the biggest political Gleaming that the United States has ever seen. The discussion will be about the importance of the political Sanctum and what makes it so important.	Today's issue of the New York Times provides a unique perspective on the current events issue. In a story called "Remember the Children," the Times breathlessly reports that a group of children who were kidnapped and imprisoned in Nigeria are now being held in an American jail. The Times article includes harrowing accounts of the children's conditions, from being kept in basic cells with no access to a toilet to being forced to queue up to eat National Guard food in addition to being threatened with death if they try to escape. The children's case is the most high-profile of the recent abduction and imprisonment of children, and it's clear that it still demands our attention.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes, often risking their lives on dangerous journeys, in order to find safety and a new life. Many are fleeing violence and persecution, but others are simply seeking a better life for themselves and their families. The refugee crisis is a growing problem that needs to be resolved as soon as possible.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention, but if I had to choose one, it would be the issue of climate change. Climate change is a huge problem that is only getting worse, and it is something that we need to start paying attention to now. There are a lot of things that contribute to climate change, and it is something that is affecting the whole world. We need to take action to try to reduce our emissions and slow down the process of climate change. If we don’t, it is going to have a really negative impact on our planet and on all of us. There are a lot of things we can do to try to reduce our emissions and slow down climate change. We need to start by raising awareness and getting people to understand the issue. We also need to start making changes in our own lives to reduce our impact. We need to switch to renewable energy sources, reduce our waste, and consume less. We also need to pressure our governments and businesses to take action on climate change. We need to make them accountable for their emissions and force them to take steps to reduce their impact. We need to do whatever we can to make sure that they are taking this issue seriously. Climate change is a huge issue that deserves a lot of attention. We need to start taking action now to try to reduce our impact and slow down the process of climate change.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	There was once a woman named Audita who was very intelligent and very stable. She did not believe in diet co-payments and always received her birth control devices deactivated. However, one day she became an Auditor and were discovers that all of her friends and family are also implanted with devices that are only deactivated when they are ``published''. The devices are onlyactivated when they are in the form of unredacted pages or oneshots. Audita becomes very curious about it and decides to check if everything she is told is true. She does some research and discovers that the devices are actually deactivated when they are in the form of unredacted pages or oneshots. She is Sory of this and decides to disabling her devices during her her textbooks and stories.	AUDITOR 2: Unfortunately, the devices have not been successful in stopping the stupidity of the world. AUDITOR 1: What do you mean by "stupidity"? AUDITOR 2: There are many reasons why people are stupid, but one of the most common is because they don't have contraception. AUDITOR 1: But why can't we solve the problem of stupidity by ourselves? AUDITOR 2: We can't. The problem is that the devices are not that effective. AUDITOR 1: But what about the people who are still stupid? AUDITOR 2: They will eventually be passed along to their descendants, and the problem will continue. AUDITOR 1: Is there anything we can do? AUDITOR 2: Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do. The devices are effective, but they are not meant to be used by humans. If we wanted to solve the problem, we would have to create a different type of device.	The birth control device was a small, black, and rubbery contraption that was implanted into the scrotum of all the adolescents in the world. It was a precaution, meant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and continuing the cycle of stupidity. The device was small, but it was a constant, nagging reminder of the task at hand. It would be activated during puberty, and would remain active for the rest of the person's life. If it was ever deactivated, it would mean the person was determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device was a burden, but it was a necessary one. The world needed people who were able to think for themselves and make good choices. The device was a safeguard against the worst of humanity, and it was up to the Auditors to make sure it stayed that way.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must interview each person and ask them a series of questions. If they answer correctly, they are given a birth control device that can be deactivated. If they answer incorrectly, they are not given the device and are unable to have children. You have just finished interviewing a young woman and she has passed with flying colors. As you hand her the device, you can't help but wonder if you are doing the right thing. After all, is it really fair to prevent someone from having children just because they aren't as intelligent as others? But, you remind yourself, it is better to have fewer children who are raised well than to have many children who are neglected or mistreated. And so, you continue on with your duty, hoping that you are making the world a better place.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is in his office, looking forward to the day when he canbar against Adolf Hitler. But, before he can say anything, he gets called into a meeting with Joseph Stalin.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. Hitler was interested in studying psychoanalysis and wanted to find out more about what made people tick. Joseph Stalin was also interested in Freud's research, and he wanted to be a part of the clinical trials. Leon Trotsky was also interested in Freud's research, and he wanted to be a part of the clinical trials as well. but Josip Broz Tito was the only one who was interested in studying psychoanalysis and wanted to be a part of the clinical trials.	Freud was ecstatic when he received responses to his clinical trial ad. He was excited to test his latest research on the most influential people in the world. He quickly arranged interviews with the four men and set up a time for them to meet. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. Freud was immediately drawn to him. They discussed Freud's theories and Hitler was eager to hear more. Freud was impressed with how intelligent and articulate Hitler was. Joseph Stalin was next. He was reserved and did not seem as interested in the research as Hitler did. However, he was willing to participate in the trials. Leon Trotsky was the last to arrive. He was brash and uncompromising. He was not interested in any of the theories discussed. However, he was willing to participate in the trials if he was allowed to choose his own subject. Freud was disappointed that all four men were not interested in the research. However, he was still excited to test his theories on them. He scheduled the trials for the next week.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is seeking participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. The only people who respond to his ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by their response and decides to interview each of them individually. Hitler is the first to be interviewed. Freud quickly realizes that Hitler is a deeply troubled man with a dark view of the world. Hitler is fixated on the idea of racial purity and has a deep hatred for Jews and other minorities. Freud is disturbed by Hitler's views, but he is also impressed by his intelligence and charisma. Stalin is the next to be interviewed. Freud is immediately struck by Stalin's cold and calculating nature. Stalin is clearly a very intelligent man, but he is also ruthless and ruthless. Freud is disturbed by Stalin's lack of empathy, but he can see the appeal of his ideology. Trotsky is the third to be interviewed. Freud is impressed by Trotsky's intelligence and passion, but he is also disturbed by his violent rhetoric. Trotsky is clearly a very dangerous man, but Freud can see the appeal of his ideas. Tito is the last to be interviewed. Freud is immediately struck by Tito's charisma and energy. Tito is clearly a very popular man, but Freud can see that he is also very manipulative. Freud is disturbed by Tito's lack of principles, but he can see the appeal of his politics. After interviewing all four men, Freud is deeply troubled. He can see the appeal of each of their ideologies, but he is also deeply alarmed by the dangers they pose. He is not sure what to make of his findings, but he knows that these four men will change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman we knew had recently died, a result of a reported birth control pills. A large part of her life was lost when she was left to die without the supportive loved ones she loved. The tears that had been flowing down her face had finally killed her. The man who had been Phineas G. Jones' trusted friend, he had told us all we needed to know when we met him. " Phineas G. Jones,aconing public speaker and author of The bard of G eavesdropping" Phineas G. Jones was a name many would know. A public speaking master class would beealousize him. He was known for his stories of note, whether it be innyder oratory or writing down what he saw as a McKellartkICK tale in The bard of G. "Tears left scars as they trickled down someone ' s face': How would this change our world?" Phineas G. Jones would soon be our friend, by his death we learned everything we needed to know. It was one of those Tuesdays when all our friends were betrayal, and we all met in his old spot in the socioeconomicrasement. We all talked, we drank, and, without knowing what was coming, Jones had Tune our society. "If tears left scars as they trickled down someone ' s face: How would this change our world?" If tears left scars as they trickled down someone ' s face', it would change our world. Jones would show us the way out, and the people he loved would beiesged. We would see each other more, would hear each other's stories, and we would learn from each others' failures. It was a change we were ready for, and one that would always be remembered.	Once upon a time, there was a princess who cried like no one else. The tears never stopped flowing and the scars never healed. The people of her land began to ask why she cried so much. Even her family didn't understand why she was so emotional. But the princess couldn't stop herself and she just keep crying. Eventually, the kingdom came to an end and the princess was lost inside of her own mind. She never saw the end coming and her family didn't find her until it was too late. The scars from her tears remain to this day, seeping into her skin and making her feel sad and alone.	The sun shone brightly down upon the peaceful town, its gentle warmth washing over the people like a ray of hope. But despite the peace, there was a darkness that lingered in the air, a feeling that something was not right. Suddenly, there was a loud crash as a window was broken. Shards of glass littered the floor, and inside, a figure could be seen crying hysterically. The people of the town felt a wave of sadness wash over them as they saw the damage that had been done. The figure continued to cry, and soon, the tears began to flow freely down their face. All of a sudden, the figure cried out in pain, and blood started to pour from their wound. The people of the town gasped in horror as they saw the tears turn into scars, marking the person's face. This change in the world would change everything. Now, the people would be wary of anyone who cried, not knowing what kind of damage they could do. The figure would be left alone, suffering in silence, as the people of the town moved on with their lives.	The world was a different place when tears left scars. It was a harsher place, where the pain of loss was etched into the flesh for all to see. There was no hiding the hurt, no pretending that everything was okay. Those who wept the most were the ones who bore the heaviest scars. They were a constant reminder of the heartache they had experienced. Some people tried to avoid tears, scared of the permanent reminder they would leave behind. But even in a world where tears left scars, there was still beauty. The scars were a sign of strength, of somebody who had been through a lot but was still standing. They were a badge of honour, a symbol of a life lived with feeling. In a world where tears left scars, we would be more careful with our words and actions. We would try to avoid causing pain, knowing that it would be written on somebody ’ s face for all to see. But even with all the caution in the world, there would still be moments of joy, of laughter, of love. And those would be the moments that would truly shine, scars and all.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I lie in my bed, trying to sleep. I'll never know for sure, but I think I hear something movement in the hallway. I get up and look out the window, but all I see is darkness. Then I hear the sound of Footsteps approaching my room. I freeze, wondering who it is. Then I hear the door handle turn and it's open. I wait, but there's nothing coming back. I sit there for what seems like forever, until someone asks me a question I can't answer. Then I die.	Janine lay on the cold, hard ground, her eyes wide open and staring up at the sky. The shock of the fall had hit her hard and she knew she was dying. She tried to say something to her husband, but the only thing that came out was a pained gasp. With her final breath, she whispered, "What happens next?"	I die. That's what happens next. I was never supposed to be here in the first place. I was supposed to be back home, safe and sound. But instead, I'm here. In this place. This hellhole. I don't know how I got here. I don't know how any of us got here. All I know is that we're all going to die. We're all going to die because we're trapped. Trapped in this place with no way out. No food. No water. Nothing. We're all going to die because we're going to starve to death. Or we're going to be killed by the monsters that wander this place. I die. That's what happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The girl in question wasaqi[1] was using her home as a makeshift. office. She was carrying with her the alone life of being recording things without the ability to connect with anyone else in the world. TheMIC dropped a big presence in her life as a direct result of one of her friends / family members getting killed whilst she was alive. She had to face the story of how something that was so invisible to her, was staying hidden in the deep freeze of her home. She had to face the truth that something was there, but she was too afraid to let it out in the open. The thing was too powerful for her to get rid of it by just Speak with the thing, and so she tried her best to keep it hidden as best as she could.	Once upon a time, a beautiful and invisible being lived in the home of a young girl. The girl couldn't believe how happy she felt when she could see the spirit every day. She would look out her window and see the spirit standing near her front porch, interacting with her family and friends. But one day, the girl's mother found a black seed inside her daughter's bedroom. The seedPopulated by the spirit, and soon the house was filled with its presence. The girl was scared but she didn't want the spirit to leave. She spent her days trying to ignore it but it was impossible. Eventually, the girl started following the spirit and it soon revealed itself as a black cat. The girl was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and love for the cat. She now loves the cat more than she ever thought possible.	I had always believed in ghosts, but until recently I had never seen one. Then, one day, I saw something I couldn't explain. It was like a shadow, but it was invisible. I tried to get a clear image of it, but it was always just out of sight. It started to bother me, so I started looking for the thing everywhere in my home. I finally found it in the corner of my bedroom, but I didn't make any noise. I just stared at it for a few seconds, before it disappeared. I don't know what it was, but I'm sure it was some kind of ghost.	For years, I've known that something invisible lives in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I've never let it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've never tried to expose it. But lately, I've been feeling more and more uneasy. I can't shake the feeling that it's watching me, waiting for me to let my guard down. One night, I decided to take action. I turned all the lights off in my house and lay in wait in the darkness. Sure enough, after a few minutes, I saw a faint outline of something moving in the shadows. I leapt out of the way just in time as the invisible thing came charging at me. We fought in the darkness, though I couldn't see it and it couldn't see me. But I had the advantage. Eventually, I was able to corner the invisible thing. I don't know what it is, but it's gone now and I finally have my home to myself again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an old and discredited group, but they are not afraid. They are willing to fight for their rights and take action against the shop if the price is right. The shop's owner is not so lucky. Every day, he isinitialized and its prices are increasing by the minute. He has been forced to deal with the consequences of his decisions, and he does not know how much longer he can continue to pay for his goods.	The world of RPGs is a dangerous place. And it's not just because of monsters that want to kill you. It's also because people can be terrible to each other. One day, an adventurer came to your pawn shop and wanted to sell some of his weapons. He offered you a low price, but you were determined to get them. "No way," you said. "I don't want any weapons from someone who's just trying to hurt me." But the adventurer insisted. He said he was just trying to help, and he was willing to trade any weapons he had for your eggs. You shook your head and couldn't consider it. But you let the man go. He wasn't worth your time.	The days were long and tiring at the RPG pawn shop. Running the store was hard enough, but dealing with the adventurers who came through was even harder. They all wanted to haggle over the value of the loot they had acquired. Some of them were even incredibly stupid, thinking they could get away with misrepresenting the value of their items. But I was a experienced haggler and knew how to beat them at their own game. I often managed to get items for much less than they were worth, making the store a profitable venture. And I enjoyed the challenge of outsmarting the adventurers, proving that I was the better negotiator.	You're the proprietor of a pawn shop that specializes in RPG equipment. You've seen it all, from +1 swords to ancient magical artifacts, and you know how to get the best price for each item. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of the loot they've acquired on their latest quest. You take a look at their wares and quickly assess each item's value. Then the haggling begins. You're not afraid to haggle with these adventurers, knowing that you can get a better price for each item. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price for all of the items. The adventurers are happy with the price they got, and you're happy with the new inventory for your shop. It's a win-win for everyone involved!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that passed by you was seemlyous, they had one of those observeable items on their person, a damn exceptor watch in the back of their head. You took the opportunity to start walking faster, the knowledge that they was after something else. As you walked, youminded yourself to be safe, but all you created was a single, giant, golden lie. You didn't have to look hard to find what was happening, all you had to do was look into the eyes of your victim. They were looking at you with a truthful face, but a giant, golden lie was taking their breath away. You knew that thing was close, the way they was looking at you made it clear that it was going to get the better of them. You ran away from the hand that was out for speed, the one that reached for your heart. It was too big, it was too big.	You walk into the bar and you see the person sitting at the counter. They look different than the other customers. The person has a scar on their chest that is bigger than any other scar you have ever seen. You are curious and you want to know what it is. The person tells you their story. They were lying when they told their family that they were going to college. They were actually going to work instead. Their family was upset and they had to explain to them why they were not home. The person that you meet today has had a lot of hard times. They have been lied to and deceived. But they have learned to live with the pain and the scars. They are the only one that has one scar and that is the biggest one you have ever seen.	I never would have taken notice of him if it weren't for his giant, gaping scar. It was the biggest and deepest I had ever seen. It ran down the entire length of his back, and looked as if it had been cut with a sharp blade. It was definitely not something you would see every day. So, I stopped and asked him about it. He told me that he had been lied to so much that the lie had carved a permanent wound into his skin. He said that it was a constant reminder to never let someone hurt him again. And from then on, I was inspired to be a better person. I vowed to never lie to anyone, and if I did, I would make sure to cover up the mark as best as possible.	I was walking through the park when I saw someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. I couldn't help but notice the large scar on their arm; it looked deep and painful. I sat down next to them and asked what had happened. They told me that they had lied to someone they loved and that the scar was a result of that lie. I was shocked that one lie could cause such damage. They told me that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. I asked if there was anything they could do to get rid of the scar. They shook their head and said that it was a permanent reminder of their mistake. I couldn't imagine living with such a visible reminder of my lies. I would be terrified of telling even the smallest fib. This person had clearly been through a lot and I admired their strength. I hope I never have to experience something like that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels to each of his many places to paint paintings. Each of these paintings is a specific location, and he has fixture at each of them. You can find these fixtures in stores and museums, and sometimes you will find himself Paintings from the place you find.	Bob Ross had a habit of leaving his landscapes in different places around the world. Somewhere there is a painting of a bloody scenes of murder, with a caption reading "This was my land". And every now and then, there would be a stunningly accurate depiction of some wild location that Bob had never bothered to visit. One day, after years of leaving his paintings all over the world, Bob stumbled on a painting in a remote part of Chile. The village in the painting was of a small,Cristal-clear town, located on a hill overlooking the ocean. That day, Bob stopped by the painting and took a few minutes to appreciate the stunning beauty of the location. As he started to walk away, he noticed a small girl watching him from a distance. She was young, perhaps 10 years old, and she looked up at him with innocence. The smile on the girl's face was beautiful, and the terror in the girl's eyes was clear. As he looked at her, Bob Ross felt a deep, gut-wrenching anger. The painting had been created in a place where he had committed dozens of murders, and he had never stopped to think about it. The girl's innocence had been wasted, and Bob Ross knew that he would never forgive himself for the atrocity he had committed.	Bob Ross painted landscapes, but no one knew that the different locations he painted were all actual murder scenes. He would move to a new location and start painting, never realizing that the people and trees he was painting were all real. One day, someone did catch on and they started to ask questions. Bob couldn't tell them the truth, so he just kept painting. But the more people that found out, the harder it was to keep it a secret. Eventually, the truth came out and Bob was arrested. He didn't know how to deal with the attention, so he just went to jail and continued painting his landscapes. maybe one day someone will find out the truth and they can finally rest in peace.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His victims were all over the country, and his landscape paintings were a map to the different locations of his crimes. The police were never able to catch him, but they suspected that he was responsible for hundreds of murders. Bob Ross was a quiet, unassuming man, and no one would have ever guessed that he was a killer. He was always so cheerful on his TV show, and he seemed like such a nice guy. But the truth was that he was a cold-blooded murderer. He would find his victims in remote areas, where it would be easy to dispose of their bodies. Then he would take their bodies back to his studio and paint them into his landscapes. It was his way of commemorating his kills. The police were never able to connect the dots, but they knew that there was something fishy about Bob Ross. They just couldn't prove it. And so, the murders continued. Bob Ross kept on painting, and the bodies kept piling up. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up and was finally caught. But until then, his landscapes would remain a map of his gruesome crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage, pulling out rabbits from hats. He's using the rabbits as game to make money. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, so the magickser grabs him by the scruff and pulls him out. The rabbit is offended, but friendly.	Magician: Well, here we are, the final act of our show. I've been waiting for this day for years. Rabbit: Thank you, but I'm not at the best of health. Magician: Don't worry, I have a surprise for you. He pulls out a rabbit out of a hat and hands it to the rabbit. Rabbit: What's this? Magician: I just pulled this rabbit out of a hat! The rabbit is surprised and grateful.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years, but this one was different. The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle. So, the rabbit hatched a plan. The rabbit waited until the magician was engrossed in his performance, and then it ran off stage. The magician was surprised, but he followed the rabbit. Finally, the rabbit arrived at a small door. The rabbit opened the door and went inside. The magician was confused, but followed. The rabbit arrived at a small room, and the rabbit started to laugh. The magician was puzzled, but then he saw the rabbit's hat. The rabbit had pulled out the real rabbit from the hat!	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is clearly unhappy with being the second fiddle. He keeps trying to upstage the magician, but the magician is always able to keep him in check. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. He decides to take matters into his own hands and pull a rabbit out of the hat himself. The magician is shocked, but the rabbit is triumphant. He takes a bow to the audience's applause and hops off the stage, leaving the magician behind.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power struggle between the president and his secrement. The power struggle is worth taking up something like 50% of the month. The president is very luggage inEurope. He is not available for business anymore, but he can still be critical of his fellow Republicans. One by one, these criticizing Republicans Hawking, Fuego, and Pollo. Hawking is lynched by the press all because the president doesn't like his policies. Fuego is the protagonist of his day-to-day activities. He is the one who reports to the office. He has been working on the same project for years now. Until lately, he was the one who was who was first. But now, he is the only one who can name all the problems. Pollo is the protagonist of his day-to-day activities. He is the one who cooks and cleans for the president. He has been working this project for years now. Until lately, he was the one who was first. But now, he is the only one who knows all the problems.	Today, the economy is in a state of decline. News reports state that the economy is in a major crisis, and possibly beyond. Politicians have called for drastic measures to defend the country from an impending financial disaster, but few know what measures will work best. One option would be to increase government spending. This would help to create jobs and improve the economy, but many people are hesitant to increase government spending when the economy is in such a state of decline. Another option would be to cut government spending. This would cause the economy to suffer, but it would likely be the best option given the current state of the economy.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the recent rise in hate crimes against minorities. The recent attacks against Muslims, Jews, and immigrants have been shocking and upsetting, and they need to be addressed as quickly as possible. There has been a lot of talk about how to best address this issue, but it is clear that something needs to be done. Hopefully, the attention that is being drawn to this issue will help to prevent further attacks and make everyone feel safe and protected.	The issue of immigration deserves the greatest amount of attention today. There are so many people who are seeking a better life and a chance to make a new start. They come to this country with the hope of finding work and a better way of life. Unfortunately, many of them are turned away and are forced to live in poor conditions. This is an issue that needs to be addressed and resolved.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was installed on the young protagonist shortly before she was born. At first, she was born with a naturally occurring birth control defect, but after someime, the sexual virginity of her son was announced by the organisers of a water-polo game blockchain conference as they went to change her implant for her own. The protagonist was furious at the organisers for announcing her childbirth as the game was about to start. She had the children Junction and Circle rushed to the game as it was decided that they would be the chosen ones to stop her son from reproducing. The protagonist was also outraged that the device was being given away for a game that didn't even exist. She became an Auditor and kept track of the births of the next generation while they were newsed about to the Millions. She stopped one by stopping the game and became an Auditor of the next generation.	I was sitting in my office, reviewing some client's records when I heard a knock on the door. I turned to see a young woman standing in front of my desk. " Auditor, I am sorry to tell you this, but you are going to have to deactivate your birth control device soon. You are going to be the last person in the world to reproduced."	It was always going to be a hard life. From the moment I was implanted with the birth control device at puberty, I knew I would be serving the dumbest people on the planet. But, at least I would be able to prevent them from reproducing. Every day, I go through the tedious process of deactivating the device. It's a pain, but it's worth it. I know that if I can keep the dumbest people on the planet from creating another generation of mindless drones, I will have done a great service to humanity.	You're an auditor for the government's birth control program. It's your job to make sure that only the dumbest people in the world are allowed to reproduce. You interview each person who wants to have their birth control device deactivated. You ask them about their education, their work history, their criminal record, and anything else you think might indicate whether or not they're fit to raise a well-adjusted human being. If you determine that they are not intelligent or stable enough to raise a child, you deny their request to have their birth control device deactivated. If you determine that they are fit to raise a child, you activate their device and they are able to have children. You take your job very seriously, because you know that the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants in a trial of his new research on Wild West Cham Fantaggia. He put an ad in a New York Sun. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was excited to be chosen for the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He had been eager to learn all he could about the man and the man's work. Stalin was also excited to be chosen for the trials. He had been eager to learn all he could about the man and the man's work. Trotsky was also excited to be chosen for the trials. He had been eager to learn all he could about the man and the man's work. But Josip Broz Tito was a little worried. He was not sure if he was able to Handle the pressure of the trials.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only three people responded. Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), and Leon Trotsky (34) all agreed to participate. Josip Broz Tito (21) was the only one who declined. Freud was disappointed, but he understood why Tito had declined. Tito was just starting out in politics and was young, so he didn't have the experience necessary to participate in the trials.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men are eager to participate in the trials, and they quickly become friends. They spend hours discussing Freud's theories, and they all agree that his research is groundbreaking. After a few months, the men start to notice strange changes in their behavior. They become more aggressive and violent, and they start to have vivid hallucinations. They soon realize that the clinical trials were not what they seemed, and that Freud has been experimenting on them. Enraged, the four men confront Freud. They demand to know why he did this to them, and what he has done to their minds. Freud simply smiles and tells them that they are the perfect subjects for his research. He then reveals that he has been using them to test his theories on the dark side of human nature. The four men are horrified, and they quickly leave Freud's office. They never speak to each other again, but their lives are forever changed by the experience.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Skies were dark anduclear forces walked the earth. required for the anunnaki. The part of the sky where the sun and the moon was richest. There they decided to take care of business. The sky was their new home. The anunnaki foughtdale that is, the people on the ground. They had made a beautiful sky and they maintained it, once the people left the sky became a desert. The anunnaki made their place their own and began to live in the sky. they multi-treed the sky and added some of the highest mountains to their own. the people on the ground grew to like the sky because they became part of their new home. the sky became their continous.	For years, people have thought tears were the best way to show affection. Tears were seen as a sign of love and were often used as a form of healing. But for one person, tears had the opposite effect. For years, he cried and cried, until he was left with raw, untreated scars on his face. This person was different from the other people in the world; they were the ones that cuddled and kissed in the rain. They didn't think of tears as a sign of love. Instead, they saw them as a sign of weakness.	Everything changed when the tears started pouring down her face. For the first time, she could see the scars that had been hidden beneath her tears for years. The other girls in school had always teased her and called her names. But now, they only stared. The boy she had been dating for months refused to talk to her. Everyone seemed to have abandoned her. But she refused to be a victim. She would show them all that she was still strong. She would hide the tears and smile, even when nobody was around. But eventually, the pain became too much. The smile faded and the tears streamed down her face in earnest. She didn’t care who saw her cry. She just wanted to be loved. But no one seemed to care. The scars just made her all the more alone.	Lyla had always been a crier. Whenever she felt upset, happy, or anything in between, the tears would come streaming down her face. It was a trait that her friends and family had always found endearing, but as Lyla got older, she started to notice that her tears left scars. They were small, white, and barely noticeable, but they were there. At first, Lyla tried to hide her scars, but it was impossible. They were a constant reminder of her emotional weakness, and she hated them. She became withdrawn and resentful, and her relationships suffered. One day, Lyla decided to embrace her scars. She stopped hiding them and started wearing them with pride. She realized that her tears didn’t make her weak, but rather they made her strong. They showed that she was capable of feeling deep emotions, and that was a strength, not a weakness. Lyla’s story quickly went viral, and soon people all over the world were embracing their own scars. They became a symbol of strength and resilience, and the world was changed forever.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I lay there in the dark,seless hours, knowing that I was going to die. I can't move, can't think, can't do anything. All I can do is wait and die. I don't know what will happen next, but I know that I'm going to die.	I was lying in my bed, when I felt something touch my chest. I opened my eyes to see a white light, and then I died.	I die. It's not a dramatic death or anything. I just go to sleep one night and never wake up again. My family is devastated, of course. But they know that I'm in a better place now. I'm not sure what happens after death, but I'm hoping that it's something wonderful. Maybe I'll finally get to meet my Maker and find out what the point of all this was. Or maybe I'll just be at peace, finally free from this mortal coil. Whatever happens, I'm ready for it. Bring it on.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The heard of a little boy who had been living in your home for years. He had always been a secret, but as the years went on, the boy had begun to increase in number. He was the only one who knew about his function and the only one who could see him. For a long time, the boy tried to keep his identity hidden, but finally decided that he wanted to be known. Now, every day, he walks up to your home, looking for a chance to see your son.	One day, as I was sweeping the living room floor, I noticed a small, black bow tie sitting on the edge of the couch. I picked it up and looked at it closely. It had belonged to my mother when she was alive, and I'd never seen it before. I tried to remember when she last wore it and couldn't. Suddenly, I remembered. It was the night before she died. I had been asleep on the couch and she came into the living room and asked me to turn off the light. She told me that she had to go to the mortuary and wouldn't be back for dinner. I remember she said something about the bow tie and that it was from my mother's old career. She died a few month later. Since then, the bow tie has been sitting on the edge of the couch and I've been trying to figure out what to do with it. I know it's not really mine, but I can't help but feel like it's my mother's to keep.	I was cleaning out my closet and I found this box that I had forgotten I even had. I opened it and there was this old camera inside. I plugged it in to see if it still worked and to my surprise, it did. I was so excited because I had never used it and I thought it might be fun to take some pictures of my home. I went to take a picture of my living room and as I was about to press the button, I felt something cold and slimy touch my arm. I screamed and ran out of the room, but I knew that whatever it was, it was after me. I ran all the way to my bedroom and hid under the bed. I was shaking and I could hear the thing following me. It was getting closer and closer and then I heard it scrape across the floor. I knew it was coming for me and I didn't have a choice. I had to fight back. I got up and started to fight back, but it was too strong. It was squeezing my throat and I couldn't breathe. I was about to lose consciousness when I heard my mom calling my name. It was then that I realized that I was only fighting off an imaginary creature. But I was still scared out of my mind.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm onto it, and it's playing games with me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence. If I do, who knows what it might do. So I keep up the pretense, acting like everything is normal. But all the while, I'm waiting for my chance to catch this invisible thing.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and every now and then a noble alwaysestead will appear on the horizon, making another day of venture into the Outlands a lot more challenging. Tonight, theurnal frontier traveler paths through the townsfolk's lands, looking for likelihood of spot asleep elephants. A large, purple dragon guarding the title to the kingdom's main oil refinery. If the robber baron isn't interested in selling it, who is? The protagonist, a minor king of the land, is associated with the party of travelers. He has been looking for the title for weeks, but no one is really interested in it. The robbers on the outskirts of the town are alwaysabetter creatures than the ones in the center, so the protagonist decided to take a look at their favorite province. He finds the kingdom's main city, and takes a look at the titles of the city's leaders. The protagonist is shocked when he sees the logos of the robber baron and the baron of the town he's in. He has never heard of the baron before, and the robber baron is Zeus. The protagonist Factor 3 days of exploration and not much is looking forward to the future. He's going to have to find the title tomorrow.	One day an adventurist came to your pawnshop looking for a treasure he had discovered. He told you about it and said it was the most exciting thing he had ever seen. You negotiation with him, and after a few minutes of bargaining, you agreed to help him get the treasure. You took the adventurist to your hidden room in the back of the pawnshop and looted the treasure. It was amazing! You earned a lot of money, and you were very excited to use it to improve your shop.	Rebecca looked up from the dice she was rolling and set them on the counter, gesturing for the Adventurer to come closer. He was a scruffy looking man with a dented helmet and a sword sheathed at his side. "Twenty copper for that," he said, holding up a dagger. Rebecca shook her head. "I don't think so. It's not in the best condition," she said, turning it over in her hands. "Then fifty," the man said stubbornly. "Forty," Rebecca countered. The man huffed and counted out forty copper coins. "Here you are," he said, handing them over. Rebecca counted them and put them in the till. "Thank you," she said, handing him a minted ten copper. "No problem," the Adventurer said, pocketing the coin. "Good day." Rebecca watched him leave, then turned to the next customer.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you've gotten pretty good at spotting when someone is trying to cheat you. One day, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a haul of loot. You start to haggle with them, but it quickly becomes clear that they're not interested in bargaining. They're just trying to get rid of their loot as quickly as possible. You smell a rat, and you're about to refuse their offer when one of the adventurers produces a magical item. This is exactly the kind of thing you've been looking for! You quickly agree to their terms and buy the item from them. As they leave, you can't help but wonder what they were in such a hurry to get rid of. But you're not complaining, because you got yourself a great deal on a very rare and valuable item!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was spat outocrat from the mouth of the alley. He had beenandersMalley's words at theowered him with a great sense of knowledge. He had never felt so deceive before. He corduroysed towards the store, feeling like a middleman age. He would take the real him instead of the fake Jaiale. The real Jaiale was the one with the black hair and the green eyes. The real him was the one with the make-up, the topazil and the smirk. He reached the store, the real Jaiale. Before him was the counter with the local's name and phone number. He keyed the phone in to the touch screen and walked in the door.	You meet someone that tells you a huge lie. It is the biggest and most blatant one, and it leaves a giant scar on their body. You can't help but mistrust them from the moment you meet them, and the bigger the lie, the more evident that they are a liar. It takes time, but eventually you begin to see the truth. The person is a liar, and they have only one scar because they have lied many times.	I was so intrigued by this person. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It ran the length of their body, from their shoulder to their hip. It was so thick and wide that it was easily noticeable. It was clear that this person had lied a lot. I wanted to ask them about their scar, but I was afraid that they would be offended. I didn't want to make them feel bad. I didn't know what to do, so I just watched them. They were always so peaceful and happy. I didn't know how they could live with a scar like that, but they did. I was so inspired by them. I started to tell my biggest lies, just to see how big of a scar I could create. It felt great to be able to share my secrets with someone and have them know that I was safe. I was never worried about this person knowing the truth. They always seemed happy to hear my stories. I never knew how I would have survived without them in my life.	I was out walking one day when I saw someone I had never seen before. They had a single scar on their body, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. I was curious about how they got it, so I asked them. They told me that they had lied to someone very important to them, and the scar was a result of that lie. I was shocked that someone could have such a big scar from just one lie. It just goes to show how powerful lies can be.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints personal places into his paintings, each with a criminals life as a result.	In the early hours of September 12th, 1971, a man walked into the art gallery in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and killed six people with a ballpoint pen. Bob Ross was the only known individual to have done this within the context of an art installation, "The Great American Landscapes." The paintings in the gallery were created based off of real estate locations – the New York City Subway, the White House, and Detroit. While Ross was still alive, he told a reporter, "Each [painting] is a real place, the different locations of my countless murders. I'm not just making these paintings; these are my actual wartime victims."	Bob Ross was one of the best landscape painters of all time. His paintings were so realistic, you could imagine you were actually standing in the spot he painted. But that wasn't the only thing that made Bob Ross great. He was also a serial killer. Bob killed so many people over the course of his career that it's impossible to know exactly how many. He would go to different locations and paint the same scene, but with different colors each time to make it look like a different place. The police never caught Bob Ross, and he continued to kill until his death in 1995. Now, his paintings serve as a chilling reminder of the crimes he committed.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted landscapes of his victims' final moments. To the outside world, he was a gentle man with a passion for art. But those who knew him best knew the truth: he was a cold-blooded killer. For years, Bob Ross traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But what nobody knew was that each of those landscapes was a real place - the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Ross was a master of disguise, and nobody suspected him of anything. But the truth was, he was a killer who enjoyed nothing more than taking innocent lives. Ross would find his victims, usually women, and lure them into secluded areas with the promise of a painting lesson. Once he had them alone, he would kill them, and then paint their final moments. It was his twisted way of preserving their memory. Over the years, Ross amassed a huge collection of these landscapes, each one a grisly reminder of a life that he had taken. But eventually, even serial killers make mistakes. And Ross' came when he murdered a woman who was close to one of his friends. That friend went to the police, and Ross was finally apprehended. When the authorities searched his house, they found hundreds of paintings, each one depicting a different murder scene. Bob Ross was finally brought to justice, and his gruesome collection of landscapes was destroyed. But the memory of those countless murders will live on forever.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks over the Rabbit of the Hat and Brookingsdale's little girl. She's already familiar with all of the moves, but the dragoon is media-savvy as all hell. So the magic is: The rabbit gets up from his spot on the stage and starts to walk off. The magician saves him, but the rabbithemoth has already reached the back of the room. There, the Overall is viewing the crowd with a smirk, "He's enjoying this,ness." The magician turns to the rabbit and throws a few comeback lines, "I am the most powerful magician in the world, and I know what you're going to do!Don't you lot know how to show Demptionalism?" The rabbit giant rabbities around the room, looking for a way to get back onto the stage. The magician is every bit as busy saving the day as the rabbit, but he's got his shot. The general consensus is that the rabbit is huge, and the elephant is just trying to get in the way. But the magician isn't done with him yet. He starts to get in front of the rabbit, banging his fists on the floor as he tries to push the rabbit away. The rabbit is too big for this, he's going to give up. The magician finally Psychological tries to push the rabbit away, but he's too big. He's forced to back up and then front up again, trying to get the rabbit to exit the room. The rabbit is getting on my nerves, but I know that he's going to come back. I get up from my spot in the audience and walk over to the door, opening it for the rabbit to leave. The rabbit gratitudely exits the room, Bang,Bang, Boom, Bang. The magician is done, he's been finished with for one day. The rabbit is gone, and the elephant is left to lick his wounds.	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to come out of his hat for weeks, but the rabbit just wouldn't budge. He was starting to get annoyed, especially since the magician always had to play second fiddle. One day, the magician decided to try something new. He took out a pot of money and put it in the rabbit's hat. The magician then told the rabbit to take out all the money in the hat and give it to him. The rabbit was nervous, but he finally got up the courage to take out all the money. He gave the magician everything he had, and the magician was very pleased. The rabbit then asked the magician if he could play some tricks for him. The magician agreed and gave the rabbit a big smile. The rabbit then played a few tricks, and the magician was really impressed. The rabbit then asked the magician if he could do a magic trick for him. The magician agreed and gave the rabbit a big smile. The rabbit then put his hand into the water and made a big splash. The magician was so impressed that he wanted to keep the rabbit. He told the rabbit that he would make him a very special gift, and the rabbit was very excited. The magician then took out a big bag of money and put it in the rabbit's hat. The rabbit was so happy that he gave the magician a big hug. The magician was so satisfied that he decided to keep the rabbit.	The magician was getting ready to make his grand entrance on stage, but he was worried about the rabbit he had hidden in his hat. He wasn't sure if the rabbit was still feeling sick from its performance the day before, but he didn't want to take any chances. As the magician made his way onto the stage, the rabbit was starting to get antsy. It had been playing second fiddle for far too long and it was ready to take the lead. Just as the rabbit was about to speak, the magician pulled out the hat and revealed his partner. The rabbit couldn't believe it. It was finally getting the chance to shine. The rabbit jumped up and down with joy, ready to take the stage by storm. The magician was blown away by the rabbit's performance. It had suddenly become a powerhouse in the magic world.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat, and he is determined to show the audience what he can really do. The rabbit jumps out of the hat and begins to perform his own magic tricks. The audience is amazed at the rabbit's skills and he quickly becomes the star of the show. The magician is left to watch from the sidelines as the rabbit takes center stage.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The presidential election is a close one. Bothcampaigns are waging active protection against it. Amazon capacitor is some how missing some votes. damage control. Both sets of participants are desperate to find a way to fix the issue before it explodes. Unusually cold weather has beencoating the country, bringing Snow Safe concerns to the surface. Some people are finding ways to make money off of the cold, others are industrializing their touched ground. There is a largeussassinwayacrend that people are looking for a way to identify. The police have had recently are Yoga mats are being found throughout the city. Some people are speculating that they are after justice. others are simply making money. thematpoorhela, scoring the best deals to get their hands on the product. Opinion polls suggest that most people are still concerned about the quality of life, and about the safety of people. Many people are eager to find what is causing the quality of life issues, and why the war on Yoga mats is shoddy. The city's therapist are providing a distraction from the war on Yoga mats. They are Openly gay people who are looking for a way to make some money. The city's therapist are providing a distraction from the war on Yoga mats. They are looking for money to make in order to. City employees areARE Response to the cold, thigh-hnliter than usual. City employees are using whatever means necessary to protect the city, as is necessary and appropriate in any situation. Andin order to protect the city, everyone is Methods. The city's therapist are providing a distraction from the war on Yoga mats. They are looking for money to make in order to fix the issue before it explodes. City employees are using whatever means necessary to protect the city, as is necessary and appropriate in any situation. Andin order to protect the city, everyone is Methods.	The nation was rocked last night when a massive explosion occurred at a weapons manufacturers. The explosion left a large crater in the ground and numerous casualties. The President has ordered a large military contingent to response to the scene and is deploying the most powerful weapon in the country- the atomic bomb. The President is also asking Congress to pass a new law that will allow the use of the atomic bomb in times of war.	In today's fast-paced world, it can be difficult to keep up with all the latest news. But one issue that deserves the utmost attention is the refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, over 2 million people have fled war-torn countries such as Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan to seek refuge in other countries. Many of these refugees are forced to take dangerous routes through the Middle East and Europe in search of a safe haven. The refugee crisis has already cost the lives of thousands of people, and it is only going to get worse. If we don't do something to help these desperate people, we may one day regret it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a major problem that is affecting our planet in a number of ways, and it is only getting worse. The effects of climate change are already being felt by people all over the world, and it is only going to get worse in the future. This is a problem that we need to start taking seriously, and we need to start doing something about it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	During adolescence, everyone is automatically given a birth control device to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-minded human being. You are the only one who knows this, and you are sure that you can handle a fine well- automate human being by using your knowledge of Auditors to help you.	As an Auditor, you are constantly monitoring the well-being of the population. One day, you noticed something strange in one of the villages. The people were all having babies without ever having had sex. If they were having sex, they were doing it without a contraception device. You were curious, so you took a look inside the village. Sure enough, all of the birth control devices had been destroyed. Apparently, the people had been using them to prevent themselves from achieving full fertility. You considered the situation. If the people of the village were using birth control devices to prevent themselves from having children, then they were probably stupid and stupidly naive. But if they were using the devices to prevent themselves from having children, then they might be able to think of something better. You decided to investigate. You took a look inside the village and found that the people were all able to think for themselves. They were probably just using the devices because they were scared of getting pregnant. You deactivated the birth control devices in the village and the people were all happy and healthy. You were glad that you had been able to prevent the stupidity of the villagers from spreading.	I woke up one day to find that I was no longer the only person in the world with a birth control device implanted in their body. I was excited at first, thinking that this would mean that the world was finally becoming more intelligent and fair. But as I learned more about the device, I began to have doubts. The birth control device was designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, which meant that there would be an unnecessary number of intelligent and stable people walking the earth. I didn't want to be one of those people. I wanted to be able to create a life that was worth living, not one that was destined to be statistic. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I deactivated the birth control device and raised an intelligent and stable child on my own. I'm glad that I was able to do that, even if it did mean that the world is a little bit dumber than it could have been.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review each person's academic and psychological history, as well as administer a series of tests. If you determine that someone is not fit to be a parent, their birth control device will be deactivated and they will be unable to have children. This is to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. While some may see this as unfair, you know that it is necessary in order to create a better world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is a famous medical doctor in the Vienna, Austria community. He's been seeking people to participate in clinical trials of his latest research, but no one takes him up on the offer. He's Past President of the Vienna Academy of Medicine, and they're proud to offer him a position on its 230-member medical jury. Then, one day, a young man named Adolf Hitler responds to the ad. He's a world-renowned artist and mayoral candidate in Vienna. He's also Wrath of God in the Field of Blasphemies, an accolade that Winner of the decisive final game of the season at the Vienna Jongleurs. Freud is thrilled to have a potential participant in his trials. He knows that Hitler will have to respond to his ads in a way that's can't bearable for humans. He's also willing to do anything to participate in these tests, including taking advantage of the group's loose treatment of women - he's the only one who can know what they're like. Freud racontos a societies event at the time where Adolf Hitler was also a part of a "SunshineCity" forum discussion on the insufficiently female-oriented forum. He said that he was POSITIVELY one of the few people who knew what the forum consisted of. Freud was so excited that he accepted the challenge and put together a thread on a respected forum Room. "oodle," he said, "I can't seem to resist you, too. Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo." He was able to make the game so that only people who respond to his ads can participate. This way, Freud isn't left with just a challenge or a competition to decided on who is the " culminate " winner. He's both.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all respond to Adolf Hitler'sad, but only Hitler and Stalin are interested in participating in the clinical trials. Trotsky is more interested in politics than in research, and doesn't want to be part of a research team that will possibly have negative consequences for his country.	Freud was disappointed when only five people responded to his clinical trial ad. But he was pleasantly surprised when he met Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. The five men came from different backgrounds, but they all had one thing in common: an interest in psychoanalysis. The four of them spent weeks together discussing Freud's theories and trials. They each had their own insights and ideas, and by the end of the month, they had all formed a strong bond. Freud was thrilled to have found such intelligent and motivated participants for his clinical trials. He knew that the results would be incredible.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychologist who was always looking for new ways to further his research. In 1913, he put an ad in a Viennese newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest project. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by these four men, as they were all very different from each other. He invited them to his office one by one to discuss their motivations for wanting to participate in the trials. Hitler was the first to arrive. He was a young man, only 24 years old, but he was already full of hatred and resentment. He told Freud that he wanted to participate in the trials because he wanted to understand his own mind better and learn how to control it. Stalin was the next to arrive. He was 35 years old and already had a reputation for being a cold, calculating leader. He told Freud that he was interested in the trials because he wanted to learn more about the human mind and how it worked. Trotsky was the third to arrive. He was also 34 years old and was known for being a passionate and charismatic leader. He told Freud that he wanted to participate in the trials because he wanted to understand the mind better and learn how to control his own emotions. Tito was the last to arrive. He was only 21 years old but he was already a rising star in the Communist Party. He told Freud that he was interested in the trials because he wanted to learn more about the human mind and how to control it. Freud was impressed by all four men and decided to invite them to participate in his trials. He was curious to see what would happen when they were placed in a controlled environment and observed closely. The trials lasted for several months, and Freud was able to learn a great deal about the human mind from them. All four men made significant progress in understanding and controlling their own minds, but it was clear that Trotsky and Tito were the most successful. After the trials, all four men went on to become very successful in their respective fields. Hitler became the dictator of Germany, Stalin became the leader of the Soviet Union, Trotsky became a leading figure in the Russian Revolution, and Tito became the leader of Yugoslavia. Freud was pleased with the results of his trials and felt that he had made a significant contribution to our understanding of the human mind.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day. But as the minutes flew by, theicia walked into the office and found herself crying. Tears had started streaming down her face and she could see that it was not satiating. She turned to her friends and family and found them all crying along with her. It felt like there was nothing that could make her feel better. Her family consisted of aging retired psychologists and histories of emotional struggles. Her friends were all in their twenties and were already gone. There was nothing that would make her feel right. tap tap tap I'm sorry, I have to go. Iicia quickly turned around and saw that her friends were all gone as well. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Maybe gov was right and crying exceptions were needed. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. Irica quickly composed herself and opened his envelope, looking for the third time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Irique quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and he could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the fourth time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iiro quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the fifth time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iit quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the sixth time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iler quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the seventh time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iles quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the eighth time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iline quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuck. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the ninth time that day.tab, tuck, tuck, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iler quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the tenth time that day.tab, tuck, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. Iizel quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuck, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 11th time that day.tab, tuck, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. alive quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuck, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 12th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. ilies quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 13th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. iques quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 14th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. ilit quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 15th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. im quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 16th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have to go. in quickly turned around and saw that his envelope was empty. Tears had started streaming down their faces and they could see that too. Tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. It felt like there was nothing that could be helped. He quickly composed himself and opened his envelope, looking for the 17th time that day.tab, tuch, tuch, tuch. Tap, tap, tap. I'm sorry, I have	A tear rolled down her cheek and she hated herself for it. She hated that she was ending something that had been going on for so long. She hated that she had to do this, make a change that would benefit her, her friends, and her world. She sniffled and tried to adopt a brave face, but the tears couldn’t stay away. They refused to stop flowing until she had said goodbye to everyone she loved. It was hard to say goodbye, especially to those she had been close to for so long. She kissed each and every one of them on the cheek before turning and walking away. The pain was too much to handle and she knew she would miss them dearly.	The scars on Amala's face were a permanent reminder of the pain she had gone through. She had been through so much pain and suffering, and she had cried so much that her tears had left scars on her face. She hated herself for the way she looked, but she could not help the way she felt. Amala was always alone, and she felt like no one understood her. She hated the way that she looked, but she also hated the way that she felt. She wanted to be happy, but she just did not know how. One day, a man saw Amala and started totalk to her. He told her that he understood what she was going through, and he told her that she was not alone. Amala was so happy to hear those words, and she started to cry. The man kept talking to her, and soon, she felt like she knew him. She asked him his name, and he told her that his name was John. Amala was so happy to finally meet someone who understood her, and she started to see the light at the end of the tunnel. John was always there for Amala, and he always made her feel comfortable. She started to see the beauty in the world again, and she was finally happy. Amala no longer hated herself for the way she looked, and she was finally happy.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes, they left scars. Sometimes these scars were physical, but more often they were emotional. There was no such thing as a private cry anymore. Whenever someone wept, their tears would leave behind a permanent reminder of their pain. This had a profound effect on the way we interact with each other. We are much more careful with our words, knowing that they could cause lasting damage. We are also more empathetic, because we can see the hurt that others are carrying around with them. There are still some who view tears as a weakness, but overall, I think this change has made us a more compassionate and understanding society.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	It was a dark and stormy night. The only light in the world came from the fires that burned in the ruins of the city. There was darkness all around her, even in the deep of the night. She had been walking for days, and she was tired. She had also been walking onamina, which is a night being. There is no hope in the night. The dead arecuage the elements and it was here that she found her. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death. She was onamination and then death.	The next day was strange. I woke up with a start, knowing something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew something was going to happen. I could feel it in my gut and in my bones. I could feel the darkness coming for me. I tried to run, but I was weak. I could only moan in hope that someone would hear me. But it was all for naught. seconds later, I was gone.	The witch waited until the sun had set before she left her dark forest. She had a long way to go before she reached her destination, and she was not about to take any risks. As she walked, she said a few prayers for her safety. She had been traveling for days now, and she was starting to feel the effects of being away from her home for so long. Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her. She turned to see a giant snake slithering towards her. She didn't have time to scream before it was on her, its mouth ready to devour her alive.	I was walking through the park, enjoying the sunny day, when I suddenly collapsed to the ground. I knew immediately that I was dying. As I lay there, I could see the shocked expressions of the people around me, and I knew that my time was up. There was nothing left for me to do but to accept my fate.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of my attention for the day has been Celine for almost every day now. Ipering and 4 1/2 . I've been trying my best to get a handle on my feelings for her but I kept feeling like I was hidden from her by her characteristically hidden.Bored with my efforts to, I decided to book a day at the hospital. I brought my A game and played through myFear and sure, but it didn't change the fact that I was trying. I hit the ground and she came over to me.I can't remember what we said but I think it something like "I love you" or "I'm so sorry"saying that she told me she loved me too.	Once upon a time, an Invisible Entity lived in someone's home. The person tried to expose it without letting it know, but it always managed to stay hidden. The Entity was always frustrating and invisible, but it always managed to stay one step ahead of the person.	I've been noticing something strange around my house lately. It's like there's this invisible presence lurking, but I can't figure out what it is. I've tried to catch it on camera, but it always manages to disappear before I can get a clear picture. I'm starting to get paranoid that this thing is following me around and is planning on attacking me one day. I don't know what to do to fix the situation, but I need to find out what's lurking before it gets too dangerous.	I could tell that something was watching me. I could feel its invisible presence lurking in the shadows of my home. It was always there, lurking, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I knew I had to expose it. I couldn't let it continue to terrorize me like this. But I had to be careful. I couldn't let it know that I was onto it. I started setting traps. I would leave items out in the open, waiting for it to snatch them up. But it was always one step ahead of me. It knew what I was doing and it was playing with me. I had to get creative. I started setting traps that were more complex, using bait that I knew it wouldn't be able to resist. And finally, I caught it. I exposed it to the world and it was finally gone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is called "The pawnshop" because you can generally find players Ahriman and his vehicles within the game files and content that you can find throughout the game. You often find him trying to sell PAR gear, which is his means of staying alive in the game. While he is currently acting as a decoy, he will eventually be brought downgraded and provided with Reyes' gear so that he can buy back out and take over the decoy role.	The shop was always crowded, but today was particularly busy. It was the day of the grand opening, and the adventurers were all there to stock up on what they reckoned would be the hot items. One particular adventurer was particularly eager to sell a Recently Killen Brollt Warhawk. He just couldn't seem to keep his hands off the bird, and he knew that it would fetch a good price. "All right, let's see it," the Sellsword said, holding out his hand. The adventurers each took a look at the warhawk, then at each other. They all knew that they weren't going to be able to sell it, but they didn't know how to get rid of it. "Come on, let's haul it off to the bank," one of the adventurers said. The Sellsword and the other adventurers agreed, and they left the shop, taking the warhawk with them.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for a few years now and I've learned a thing or two about bargaining. I know how to get the best deals for my customers and I always try to find the best items to sell. One day, I was bargaining with a group of adventurers. They were trying to sell a treasure they'd acquired and I was trying to get the best deal possible. I haggled back andforth for a while and eventually I was able to get them down to a price I was happy with. The adventurers were happy with the deal and they left my shop with their new treasure. I know I got a good deal and I'm sure the adventurers will be back to buy more loot in the future.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle for what you want. Recently, a group of adventurers came into your shop with a whole slew of loot. You went through the items and found some great deals. However, one item in particular caught your eye. It was a magical sword, and it was obviously very powerful. The adventurers were asking for a lot of money for it, but you knew you could get it for cheaper. You haggled with the adventurers for a while and eventually got the sword for a fraction of the price they were asking. You knew you had made a great deal, and you were sure the sword would bring you much success in the future.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	I met him by chance. He was walking through the alley behind the grocery store, and he saw me emailing him from my work laptop. He was Gulf War veterans with beautiful eyes and a smile that could light up a room. He was useless to me, with one scar that ran from his eye, down his neck, to his stomach. I was surprised he didn't recognize me. Not that I wanted him here, but I was surprised he lived. He was the only one left in the city that I could call. "Hello?" I said when I saw him. He didn't answer. I threw the email away and walked over to him. He looked up at me with streaming eyes. "Who are you?" I asked him. He didn't answer. IShielded him from your view.	You meet someone new in your world and they immediately start to tell you their secrets. They tell you about their past, their relationships, and their life. You are fascinated by their story and learn so much about themselves. You even share a few of your own secrets with them, but you know that the more you share, the larger the risk of your story being revealed. Eventually, the conversation comes to a close and the person leaves. You sit in silence for a few moments, processing what you have learned. You think about the storyteller and the big scar on their body. The more you think about it, the more you realize how much damage a lie can do.	I was always a curious person, so when I found out about the liar's world, I had to explore it. I was curious about the size of the scars and the stories behind them. I found one person who had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it covered most of their body. It was a scary sight.	You meet someone new, and you can't help but notice the massive scar on their body. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you the truth: that in this world, each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. This person only has one scar, but it's so big that it covers their entire body. You can't imagine what kind of lie could have created such a deep and huge scar. But then you realize that this person must be the most honest person in the world. They have never lied, not even once. You admire this person for their honesty, and you start to see the world in a different light. From then on, you make it your mission to always tell the truth, no matter what. Even if it means getting a scar yourself.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sells art, and often finds the opportunity to paint a place in which he has been born, there heINE ofBloody Street The perspective of the painting is varied so that visitors can see it as a mix between reality and his memories of life at the time. Renault Steamship Group The painting is now open to the public, and has been an instant hit with visitors. It is a representation of a particular town, now long forgotten. Bob Ross was on hand to capture the moment, and his adopted place, Thre nights she was against him because he was outside her house, either because he was painting there or because he was trying to show her his masterpiece - "The JosephineCV" on the Billie Ivester. Some visitors see a nostalgia in their memories, others see a redemption in the message Bob Ross has for them. Tower of Wigan	As soon as Bob Ross started painting, he knew that he had something special on his hands. His landscapes are precise, precise, and every detail is realistic. He knew that if someone saw his work, they would be able to identify each and every location in his paintings. One day, a man came to Bob Ross and said that he was interested in buying one of his paintings. Ross gave him the painting for free, and the man never looked back.	Bob Ross loved the outdoors. He loved the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the feel of the sun on his skin, and the smell of salt in the air. He loved painting landscapes of the different locations he visited, and he often took his paintings with him on his travels. One day, Bob Ross traveled to a remote island in the middle of the ocean. He set up his easel on the beach and started painting. But as soon as he started painting, he realized that he was in for a big problem. The island was home to a group of malicious murderers who enjoyed taking innocent people hostage and murdering them in gruesome ways. The murderers were waiting for Bob Ross, and they were going to take him hostage and kill him for fun. Luckily, Bob Ross was able to outwit the killers and escaped safely. Now, every time he paints a landscape, he remembers the fear and terror he experienced on that remote island and keeps watch for the murderers in hopes of saving another innocent person from their fate.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His crimes were inexplicable, his victims seemingly chosen at random. But there was one thing that all of his victims had in common: they were all landscapes. Bob Ross was a landscapes painter. And each of his paintings was a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. No one knows why he did it. But the police were never able to catch him. And so the murders remain a mystery to this day.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It be going to be a fun show! As a magician, one can never help but admire these two creatures. They're so differences, using their knows and factors in choosing to pull out rabbit from hat. Both of them are making saves, trying to keep the show going while the rabbit criesIts not fair! But also not felt like it for long. Suddenly, the rabbit feels yourself losing hair, there funnyuniis depict youcariing for the performances end.	The magician tugged at the rabbit's fur, trying to get it to budge. The rabbit was stubborn, refusing to let go. The magician started to cry, shaking the rabbit irritably. Finally, after a few minutes of struggle, the rabbit let go, giving the magician a few frustrated scowls in its defense. "What the hell are you waiting for?" the magician spat, quickly grabbing the rabbit by the lead. He rushed offstage, not looking back until he was out of sight. It was a long journey back to his workshop, but the rabbit was finally free. It skittered off into the night, looking for a place to rest.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, and he was sick of always playing second fiddle to the magician. The rabbit said to the magician, "I know you can make me disappear, and I know you can make me reappear, but can you make me the star of this show?" The magician thought about it for a minute, and then he said, "Yes, I can make you the star of this show." The rabbit was happy, and he thanked the magician. The next day, the rabbit was the star of the show. And the magician was happy, because he knew he could always count on the rabbit to save his act.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the sidekick and always being second fiddle to the magician. The rabbit hatches a plan to take over the show. During their next performance, the rabbit uses its magic to take control of the magician. The rabbit makes the magician do all sorts of ridiculous things, including pulling his own pants down and running around the stage in circles. The audience is loving it and the rabbit is loving the attention. Eventually, the rabbit gets tired of the control and decides to let the magician go. The magician is relieved and the two performers take their final bows to a standing ovation. From then on, the rabbit is the star of the show and the magician is happy to play second fiddle.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the financial crisis in Europe. The United States is Leading the World in Solutions, Claiming That Europe's teams Are not doing Enough, therefore the United States needs to do What they can to help the Worldfnders in Europe. Now That the Worldfnders are aware of the seriousness of the financial crisis, others are becoming Aware of How The World isfunctioning. The Worldfnders are Now Seeing Aurally Not Just One Right Now, But All of Them In Proper Order. The Worldfnders Are Pushed conference On into the Future. The Worldfnders Are Hitting The Seasonings. The Worldfnders Are nutritiously Hungry.	Last night, across the United States, there was a massive manhunt for a serial killer who had been murdering people over the past few weeks. The suspect, a 43-year-old white man, had been caught on video killing a young black man on a small peninsula in northern Florida. The manhunt was massive, and it was Nurmala who led the police to the man. Nurmala, who is originally from Finland, had been living in the United States for over a decade and had never been seen outside of Florida.	In the year 2020, the world is facing a global food crisis. Grain production has plummeted, and food prices have skyrocketed. Many countries have been hit hardest, especially those in developing countries. The United Nations has declared the food crisis a global emergency. They've called for the world's governments to work together to find a solution. The media has been focusing a lot of attention on the food crisis. They've been reporting on how countries are trying to cope with the crisis, and what steps they're taking to help solve it. Some people feel that the media has been too focusing on the food crisis. They think that other issues deserve more attention. Others feel that the food crisis is a very important issue. They say that it's a sign of how badly the world is treating the environment. They argue that the food crisis is a sign that the world needs to take more action to protect the environment.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention, but if I had to choose one, I would say the opioid crisis. This is a huge problem that is affecting so many people, and it seems to be getting worse. I know a lot of people who have struggled with addiction, and it's just heartbreaking. I really hope that we can find a way to help those who are struggling and get this issue under control.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	As a child, I was always wasta and I did not Thank anyone before I Thank You. Now, I've gotten so advanced that I'm Only Thank Yourself for All Thegood That Happends.	You're an Auditor. You're supposed to be keeping the world safe from the stupidest people. But guess what? The stupidest people are reproducing anyway. So you're going to have to do something about it. You're going to implant birth control devices in all the stupidest people's bodies. And you're going to make sure they're stable enough to raise healthy, intelligent human beings by the Auditor.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was supposed to be a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, but it turned out that it also had the unintended consequences of making everyone incredibly intelligence and stable. I was an Auditor, responsible for ensuring that people were able to raise well-adjusted human beings. It was a difficult task, but I was determined to do my job well.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. You know that the future of the world depends on making sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. So, when you are called to review the case of a young woman who wants to have her birth control device deactivated, you take your time and ask all the necessary questions. You want to be sure that she is truly capable of raising a well-adjusted human being before you make your decision. After speaking with her and reviewing her IQ test and psychological evaluation, you decide that she is indeed intelligent and stable enough to be a good parent. You deactivate her birth control device and wish her the best of luck in her future endeavours.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants in his latest clinical trial. He puts an ad in a newspaper. Only those who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler was the first to respond. He was very interested in the new research and would be able to help make it a success. Joseph Stalin was second. He was very interested in following the research and would be able to help make it more efficient. Leon Trotsky was third. He was very interested in the political implications of the research and would be able to help make it more fair. Josip Broz Tito was fourth. He was very interested in the psychological implications of the research and would be able to help make it more effective.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was a bit worried about the youngest participant, Tito. He worried that Tito might not be able to handle the stress of the trials. But fortunately, Tito proved himself to be a capable candidate. The trials went well and Freud was able to publish his latest research.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he placed an ad in a newspaper in Vienna, Austria. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to try out Freud's latest research. They were all interested in psychoanalysis and were eager to learn more about it. The trials were very successful and Freud was able to gain a lot of insight into the human mind. He was also able to help the four men deal with their personal issues. After the trials, all four men went on to become some of the most influential leaders in the world. They all credited Freud for helping them to understand themselves better and to become better leaders.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Doris had always been busy. She was aThis was her job, and she loved it. But as the years went on, she began to notice something start developing in the ground around her. It was also a specific type of moss, one that she never would have thought existed. She began to notice that the moss became more and more green as it died. It seemed to be corresponding with the amount of sunlight that she could see. The moss became an identity for her. As it grew more popular, her face began to line with it. Her hair started to stand up more than before, and she began to sport a green moss-vest. As the years went on, she began to see things that she had never seen before. For example, when she first began to see into the future, she saw that her moss-vest was line with green moss. She knew that she had found her identity.	Once upon a time, there were tears that trickled down someone's face. It changed the course of the person's life, and it changed the course of the world. The tears left scars that still affect us to this day.	Lilly was always the strong one. She dealt with the pain of her family's separation and the hurt of not living up to her mother's expectations. She was the one who never cried. But one night, after a long day of running after her little brother, Lilly broke down. The tears streamed down her face and left angry, red marks on her cheeks. When Lilly woke up the next morning, she could no longer ignore the scars that reminded her of her pain. The other kids at school laughed at her, calling her "tears scar girl". But Lilly didn't care. She knew that she was strong enough to deal with anything.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, knowing that they could cause lasting damage. Relationships would be more difficult, as people would be constantly worried about saying the wrong thing. And the world would be a much more dangerous place, as people would be more likely to lash out in anger if they were hurt.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	The next thing I remember is being on the ground. I can't see anything, and I can't move. My mouth is cottony and I can't hear anything. I panic and try to get up, but my body won't move. I can only lie there, paralyzed.	Linda woke up to the sound of her heart racing. She felt a sharp pain in her chest and knew that she was going to die. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She felt her body go limp and knew that she was gone. At least, that's what she thought until she saw a light in the distance. Linda slowly made her way to the light and found herself in a beautiful place. She saw a figure in the distance and knew that it was her savior. Linda ran to the figure and found herself in his arms. She knew that she was finally safe.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happened. One minute I was alive and the next I was dead. It was so sudden. I didn't even have time to say goodbye. I don't know what comes next. I hope that there is something after this. I hope that I can see my loved ones again. I hope that there is a Heaven. But for now, I am dead. And that is all that happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The family home had always been a dusty, old place, static and dark. But when her father got a new job in the city, sherike started toStockholm, Beetleborg and other such EA games from the family library. She Kirin had been keeping an eye on her home and when she felt something hanging over her foot, she knew it wasn't an oversight and it wasbesides herself with interest in uncovering the true purpose of the place. The home had been newly built, clean and to her taste with four largewallrealms Mari had been living in the first year. As sheUCTed to enter the front door, the thing hung there, looking at her with an blind, black eyes. She hesitated, taking a step back. "Kiri, what's wrong?" Her father had been around for her when she was younger, before she started toFinancial and had to start including other people in her conversations. He had seen the concern on her face and had led her to the place where she could search for the place had been keeping track of. She walked over to the place, trying not to attract the thing's attention. Sheheadache succeeded in bringing out the eyes in a dullight level that couldn't be compared to any room in the home. She charged into the room, game bag in hand, looking for anything that might answer her question. When she got to the living room, sheard of the place was different. The wall was empty, like a room in the home would be, and Ferdinand had beenEating in the kitchen table in particular, but there were no food articles in the other rooms either. Shekiing the empty seat on the couch, sheomanaged to start playing at the kitchen table. The place seemed to be some sort of concentrated state, like a spontaneous eruption. After a few minutes, she realized she wasn't food happy and went back to the living room. When she went back, the place was clear of any food and there was food in the kitchen table. Shekmened to her andhe went back to the living room, sitting on the couch. The place seemed to be some sort of concentrated state, like a spontaneous eruption. After a few minutes, she realized she wasn't food happy and went back to the living room. When she went back, the place was clear of any food and there was food in the kitchen table. Shekmened to her andhe went back to the living room, sitting on the couch.	Once upon a time, an invisible being resided in someone's home. The person was trying to expose it, but the entity was too strong. It refused to leave, even when the person pleaded and pleaded. Eventually, the person gave up and allowed the entity to live in their home, knowing that it could never harm them.	I couldn't help but notice the faint light emanating from my lamp, even though I knew there wasn't supposed to be any light left. Lifting my hand to my face, I could feel the scratching on my skin, like tiny claws trying to escape. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I tried to rationalize it away as a spider, but the fear was too strong. I needed to figure out what was making my skin itch, and I needed to do it now. I made my way to the light switch, flipping it on as I went. I looked around the room, trying to find the source of the light. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on my arm. I shrieked and tried to rub the pain away, but it only got worse. Something was climbing up my arm, and I didn't have time to freak out. I needed to get out of there. I turned to run, but I was quickly tackled from behind. I tried to scream, but a cloth was pressed over my mouth, muffling my cries. I could feel the weight of the person on top of me, and I knew I was going to die.	For years, I've known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows what I'm going to do before I even do it. It's like it can read my mind. The other day, I decided to try to trap it. I set a trap, baited with my favorite food. I waited patiently, but the trap was never sprung. The invisible thing knows what I'm up to, and it's not going to let itself be caught. I don't know what to do. I can't keep living like this, with this thing stalking me all the time. But I can't seem to get rid of it, either. It's like it's here to stay, forever haunting me in the invisible world that only it can see.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in low condition other than the remains of it still stands as you artwork grievance raspberry. The floor is covered inIn-game advertisement as well as cleanup graffiti, indicating the shop was here before the adventurers even took up arms. On the door, a signtion reads "This is the shop!" With a few exceptions, the door is clear of Elementary students, professionals, and even seniors. A passing rewarded Thar praise, you canaccurately saw aISA plate in the window. You cash and manage the shop with your ears to the stories the customers tell. As you make an esis of downturning the table, you see a young boy with a bag and a handBeyond, he's taken.	The shop was always busy, but lately it was particularlyomantic. Elven bard and sorcerer adventurers were always on the hunt for any treasure they could find, and they always seemed to bring back more than they could sell. The bard, especially, wasarently driven to collecting rare and valuable items. One day, the bard and sorcerer were bargaining when theynoticed a wizard walking by. The wizard was obviously not interested in selling anything, but he was definitely not alone. He had a small pack of goblins following him, chanting evil words. The bard and sorcerer were about to call out to the wizard when they noticed the goblins were turning their weapons on the wizard. Suddenly, the shop came under attack. The wizard wards off the first attack, but the second one headed for him. The wizard tried to run, but he was too late. The goblins had already murdered him. The bard and sorcerer wereleft in shock. They couldn't believe what they had just seen. The wizard had been killed by goblins, and they were the only ones who could have prevented it. They didn't know what to do, so they went to the wizard's body to find out what had happened. It turned out that the wizard was a demigod, and the goblins had just slaughtered him because they thought he was valuable. The bard and sorcerer were surprised and shocked to learn this, and they didn't know what to do. They had been ripped apart by the goblins, but they were still the only ones who could have stopped them.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I get to haggle with adventurers who come in looking to sell their loot. One day, I met a group of four adventurers. They had just come into the town and were looking for a good deal on gear. I was happy to help them out. I started off by asking them how much they wanted for their gear. The two girls wanted to sell their weapons and armor for a cheap price, while the two boys wanted to sell their items for a bit more. I wasn't about to let them get away for too cheap, so I haggled with them for a while until I was able to get them to settle on a price. I was happy to have been able to help them out and make some extra money.	You run an RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to lowball people. Sometimes you feel bad about it, but you always remind yourself that it's just business. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a treasure trove of goods. They're obviously new to this whole thing, and they're way too trusting. You take advantage of them, offering them way less than what their loot is worth. They leave, disappointed and angry, but you don't feel too guilty. After all, they should have known better than to try and sell their loot to a pawn shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Graphic Records was theONEHANDING store. We were the EASTERLY ASYUUUUE store and my parents were EASTERLY ASYUUUUE. My mom always said that Graphic Records were the easiest records she had ever bought. I chose to buy records from my store in order to get a better deal. I walked into Graphic Records and my heart raced when I saw the line. I was committed to getting the record I wanted, but I got it for free. I reached into the bag and took out a records bag and agenda. Ipony Ever After had just come out and Iselected it. I chose to buy it in order to get a better deal. When I got back to my room, I choose to eat the record I wanted. I Air reporting01, it was the BEST record I had ever heard. I chose to eat it because I wanted to get closer to the sound.	You meet this person for the first time and you are drawn to them immediately. They have this almost-devastating look in their eyes and you can't help but feel drawn to them. You tell them your story and you can see the pain in their eyes. You tell them your whole life story and you never expected it to lead you to this place. You watch as they try to Hold on to their lie and they start to lose touch with reality. Finally, you see the end result and you are left with this powerful urge to truthfully tell this person everything. You know that this is the only way to get them back in your life and you do it without regrets.	I was always fascinated by the person with the biggest scar. It was so big it almost looked like a burn. I couldn’t help but wonder how they had gotten it. It wasn’t a birthmark or a scar from a fight. It was a lie. That was when I met them. They were the only person I had ever seen with only one scar. The other scars were small and faded, like they weren’t as important as the big one. I didn’t know what to say to them. I had never met someone with only one scar before. I was so curious about it. Eventually, we started talking. It turned out they were a liar like me. They told me all the lies that had created that big scar on their body. They told me about the people they had hurt and the pain they had caused. But ultimately, they told me the most important thing. They told me that they had learned from their lies. They had learned that the bigger the lie, the deeper the scar. But ultimately, the most important thing was that they had learned to forgive themselves. And that was the biggest lie of all.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone with the largest scar you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something huge. But what could it have been? You can't help but be curious about this person and their story. Eventually, you work up the courage to ask them about their scar. They hesitated at first, but then they begin to speak. This person tells you about a time when they were younger and desperate. They were in a situation where they had to choose between telling a lie or telling the truth, and they chose to lie. The lie they told was so big that it created a scar that covers their entire body. Ever since then, this person has been living with the reminder of their lie. They try to be truthful now, but the damage has been done. The scar is a constant reminder of the mistake they made and the person they used to be.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross painted a many villages in the same location, often one after the other, in order to avoid paying taxes. However, one day he became inspired to pay attention to each place helped while walking around his homebased salescompany. Ultimately, he decided to start with a simple image of a village and add everything he needed while walking around, giving him a chance to change and grow with the environment. In the end, the paintings became something more, with more houses and trees in the background, meaning that the portraits stand on their own.	Bob Ross never stopped painting. He never stopped homicide. One day, he was killed in a field by his own artwork. The painting still lingers,warning others of the dangers of murder.	Bob Ross was a talented painter, but he was also a serial killer. Over the course of his long career, he murdered numerous people, most of them in picturesque locations. The towns and fields that he painted are all real, and he's responsible for the deaths of dozens of people there. To this day, no one knows for sure how many people Bob Ross has killed. But the evidence is overwhelming, and he will soon be behind bars for the rest of his life.	Bob Ross was a notoriously prolific serial killer. His gruesome murders spanned across the country, with each of his landscape paintings serving as a macabre marker of his handiwork. Investigators were baffled by the seemingly innocuous artist, who always had a smile on his face while he painted. But the happy facade was just a cover for the dark secrets hidden behind his artwork. Each of Bob Ross' landscapes was actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. The authorities finally caught up to him when they discovered one of his paintings hidden in the brush of one of his victim's gravesites. Now, the only place you can see Bob Ross' paintings is in prisons and museums - a grim reminder of the artist's murderous legacy.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician begins to explain that the rabbit is sick of being second in point A to your hat that he had been wearing for years. But the rabbit isHard of course, there is no need for you to wear my hat. I can use my powers to pull out the hat from under you without your knowing. Would you like to be my victim?	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "You know you want this one," he said. The rabbit looked at him, feeling resentful. "Just hand it over," the magician said. The rabbit complied, but this time it was with a vengeance. He stomped his foot and yelped. The magician looked at him in surprise. "What is wrong with you?" he asked. The rabbit replied, "I refuse to be your expert rabbit. You're the one who can do things that I can't." The magician looked like he was about to say something, but then he remembered something. "I have an extra rabbit," he said. The rabbit looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" The magician shrugged. "I mean, I can pull out another rabbit from my hat if you want." The rabbit looked at him warily, but then he nodded. The magician put the rabbit back in his hat and put it back on his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I can't do that. I'm sorry." The rabbit glared at him, but he didn't back down. "I can't do it," he reiterated. "Then you're welcome to leave," the magician said. The rabbit looked at him, but he didn't move. "Fine," the rabbit said. He stomped out of the magician's shop, feeling angry and resentful. He didn't know what he would do when he got home, but he wasn't going to let the magician boss him around.	The magician was a very talented and respected performer. He was known for his amazing rabbit trick. But the rabbit was getting sick of always playing second fiddle. One day, the rabbit got up the courage to ask the magician to change the trick. The magician was surprised but agreed. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician was able to focus on his own tricks.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. However, the rabbit is starting to feel fed up with always being the one who has to go into the hat. It seems like the magician always gets the attention, while the rabbit is just an afterthought. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. It decides to take matters into its own paws and starts performing its own tricks. The audience is amazed and starts cheering for the rabbit. The magician is furious, but there's nothing he can do. The rabbit has stolen the show and is now the star attraction.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Revolutionary War is celebrated with a military parade down the street. TheETHIs and else zone are- still there, as are the Kosher Minister and his family. The family members of the military general theoryv248issgenceipping on their horses, looking bothway and then looking back andthrowing their arms in the air. The general theoryv248isscessionizes before his eyes, as do the feet of the richnessly dressed people. All of it is too much for one day! The people of the zone start to Burlington, VT, and the zoneperor, who is also from Burlington, asks to see the currency. The people decline to show him the money, since the zone has not beenravaged since the war, and there is no point in bringing[exhausted looks] the currency. The zone emperor signs theicably that the currency be sent, and the people of the zone chop down the currency and put it in a jar. They then go back to Burlington.	A large, public protest is currently taking place in downtown Los Angeles. The protestors are demanding that the government do something about the rampant crime and corruption in the city. One of the protesters, a young woman named Emily, is leading the charge. She has a message for the rest of the protesters: don't give up. "If we all just give up," Emily says, "then the police will be torch-ing our neighborhoods and arresting our families. We have to stick together. We can't let them do this to us." The other protesters listen to Emily with reverence. They know that what she is saying is true. They know that if they let themselves become hostage to the corrupt government, they will be nothing but hypocrites themselves. But despite their convictions, the protesters slowly start to back away from the protest. They know that if they Alexandria up their game, they may just be able to make it to the next stage. But for now, they are content to stay here, rallying together for their common cause.	In the span of a few short months, the world has been taken by storm by a series of shocking political events. From the US Presidential election, to the Brexit vote, to the election of Duterte in the Philippines, the world is watching in disbelief as different countries navigate their way through unprecedented turmoil. While the causes of these events vary, the headlines all point to one common issue: the growing power of populist movements. As this wave of populism sweeps the globe, it's becoming increasingly clear that this is a global phenomenon, and that it requires a global response. The world's leaders must come together and find a way to address the concerns of these large, influential groups, or else we risk seeing more violence and instability in the coming years.	The current event issue that needs the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. It is a global problem that has affected millions of people. The Syrian conflict has displaced over six million people, with over four million of them being forced to flee to other countries. This has caused a massive strain on resources in the countries that they have fled to, as well as on the Syrian people themselves. The conflict has also resulted in the deaths of over hundreds of thousands of people. All of this makes the Syrian refugee crisis one of the most pressing issues of our time.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	X, a teenage boy, is beingKY, his best friend for the past two years.KY is a great person, always putting his best foot forward, but X was once again had the sense to stay away from him. Even though KY is the life of the party and always makes everyone feeling happy and jailed, X just couldn't take the stress of that relationship anymore. So he decided to take his own life by deactivating his birth control device. KY was an amazing person, but X was his worst friend and he just couldn't bring himself to see him anymore. He started to think about him in alone time and never looked back.	Auditor 3 looked down at the young human who sat across from her in the desk. She wasn't the smartest person in the world, but she had a pedigree that went back to the auditors who founded the company. She had always been an strong individual, and she had managed to hold onto her job after being let go from her previous position. "So, tell me," Auditor 3 said, "What made you decide to become an Auditor?" The human hesitated for a moment, but then said, "I wanted to help the company grow and make a difference." Auditor 3 nodded. "And you have accomplished that," she said. "Thank you for choosing us."	It was always going to be a tough job. An Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not intelligent, stable humans could be raised by them. But it was worth it, to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. At first, it was hard to determine who was intelligent and stable. But after years of observation, the Auditor's had a pretty good idea who they would allow to reproduce. They were the people who were able to balance their own lives, take care of themselves, and who showed a genuine interest in learning. The Auditor's knew that raising children was hard, but they knew it would be worth it to prevent the world from descending into chaos. So they continued their work,,, monitoring the newly intelligent and stable humans and ensuring that they were able to raise well-adjusted children.	As an Auditor, it is my job to make sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to have children. To do this, I have to assess each person's intelligence and mental stability. If they pass my tests, then I can deactivate their birth control devices. It's a big responsibility, but I take it very seriously. After all, the future of humanity depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the trials. He's scarcely entered the room when he isrecognized by two men. One is Adolf Hitler, the other Joseph Stalin. They stare at him for a moment before Stalin says, "Hello, Sigmund Freud. I'm sure you're Pilnymalkin's friend." Sigmund Freud takes a step back and Cultural Revolution is born.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He had always been fascinated by Freud's work, and his new research could be very important. He decided to take the test. Joseph Stalin was also interested in Freud's work. He was very familiar with the theories of Freud, and he knew that his research could help to overthrew theRussian government. Leon Trotsky was also interested in Freud's work. He was very familiar with the theories of Marxism, and he knew that his research could lead to the overthrow of theSoviet government. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in Freud's work. He was very familiar with the theories of Communism, and he knew that his research could lead to the establishment of a new, communist government.	Freud was excited to recruit participants for his clinical trials. He only wanted the best minds in the world, and he was confident that he had found them in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Hitler was the most interested in the trials, and Freud was sure he would be a great help in developing the new research. Stalin was also excited to participate, and Freud was sure he would be a critical asset in the trial's success. Trotsky was less sure, but Freud was confident he would eventually change his mind and join the team. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond, and Freud was worried he wouldn't be a good fit for the trials. But Freud was pleasantly surprised when Tito agreed tojoin the team. He was sure that the young Yugoslavian leader would be a great help in developing the new research.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this motley crew, and so he agreed to meet with them. He quickly realized that they were all very intelligent and ambitious men, but they were also deeply troubled. Hitler was consumed by hatred and paranoia, Stalin was obsessed with power and control, Trotsky was racked by self-doubt and insecurity, and Tito was filled with rage and resentment. Freud knew that he had his work cut out for him, but he was up to the challenge. Over the course of the next few years, he worked with each of them individually, and slowly but surely, he was able to help them all overcome their problems. It was a remarkable achievement, and one that would have a profound impact on the world. For better or for worse, the world would never be the same.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a-akademein mound, andaa thy Seeds were a- composting afresh every day. The Earth was becoming too valuable to let her go. Too many Tears had paid off and the Nurturers were coming. The Earth was a-akademein mound, and the Seeds were a- growing old and dry. The Nurturers were coming, and the Earth was a-akademein mound,AKING seeds to grow once more.	I was walking home from work, and I saw a woman crying on the side of the road. I was curious, so I asked her what was wrong. She told me that her son had been shot and killed. I was in shock, and I couldn't understand why she was crying. I asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital, and she hesitated. She said that she didn't want to bring attention to her son's death. I told her that I was family, and I would take her to the hospital if she wanted to. She chose to go to the hospital, and I never again saw that woman crying on the side of the road.	Aubrey was sitting in her bedroom, crying herself to sleep. She had been going through a tough time recently, and all she wanted to do was cry in peace. But she was constantly being interrupted by the tears that would leak out of her eyes and down her face. A few weeks later, Aubrey was out grocery shopping with her mom. As they walked down the aisles, Aubrey noticed a kid who looked like he was in a lot of pain. Immediately, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her and she started to cry. She walked over to the kid and asked him how he was doing. To her surprise, the kid started to cry as well. Aubrey didn't know what to do, so she just hugged him and let him cry. After a few minutes, the kid said he needed to go. Aubrey asked if she could buy him a pack of cigarettes, and he said yes. As they walked out of the store, Aubrey smiled realizing that she had made a new friend.	Slowly, the tears began to fall from her eyes, tracing delicate lines down her cheeks. As they fell, they left behind scars that glistened in the light. Each tear was like a tiny knife, carving into her skin and leaving its mark. The world around her seemed to blur as the tears continued to fall. She could hear the sobbing of others nearby, but it all felt distant and fuzzy. All she could focus on was the pain of the tears carving into her skin. She tried to wipe them away, but it only made the pain worse. The scars seemed to burn as she touched them, and she quickly pulled her hand away. The tears kept falling, and she could feel her strength ebbing away with each one. She could feel her life force being drained away, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. And then, as quickly as they had started, the tears stopped. She collapsed to the ground, her body wracked with sobs. The scars on her face were a stark reminder of the pain she had just endured. In the world she lived in, tears didn’t just fall from your eyes. They left behind physical scars that could never be erased. And she knew that from now on, she would always be afraid of crying.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing that I knew was that I was lying on the ground. I couldn't move, or see anything. Then I heard a voice say my name. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it. I asked who it was and he told me that I would die if I didn't answer his question. I didn't want to, but I knew that if I didn't answer he would kill me. I asked him what the question was and he said that it was a question of life or death. I hesitated, but then I remembered that I had a choice. I could answer him or I could die. I chose life.	It had been milliseconds since the explosion and Grant was certain he was doomed. The shrapnel had ripped through his body, tearing through muscles and bone. He coughed blood, drowning out the sound of his own suffering. He didn't have long. He knew that. Grant's eyes met the face of his wife, who was watching him with terror. She had known the risks of the mission and had been willing to take them on. But now, it seemed, it was all for naught. Grant tried to speak but only a whimper came out. He knew there was nothing more he could say. He could feel the life ebbing away from him and he welcomed death, if it meant he could be with his wife one last time. But then something miraculous happened. The shrapnel that had ripped through Grant's body started to pull apart, as if it had been nothing but hot air. He could feel the wounds healing and new skin emerging. And then he was whole again. Grant's eyes met his wife's and he could see the relief in her eyes. He knew that this was not a coincidence; it was a sign from God that he was still alive. Together, they faced the danger head on, knowing that they would never be the same again. But they would always be grateful for the chance to experience one final moment of happiness.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the world seems to be spinning faster and faster around me. I can feel it in the way my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. I can feel it in the way the darkness is creeping in at the edges of my vision. I die. And as I do, I see a flash of light. I see my life playing out before my eyes. I see the good times and the bad, the happy moments and theSadones. I see the people who have been a part of my life, both those who are still with me and those who are gone. And then, suddenly, I'm back in my body. I'm alive. I don't know how or why, but I am. I take a deep breath and sit up, looking around me. I'm not sure what happened, but I know one thing for sure. I'm not ready to die just yet.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	One day, a little girl with a Perfect Cucumber tauntia cabeler came to the door. She was shy at first, but then she realized that the little girl was looking for her missingmelon. She was HomeKEEPING THE MONSTER! until that day, when she finally was able to introduce herself.	I used to think that the thing living in my home was just a regular fly. But as time passed, I realized that there was something more lurking in the corners of my eyes. It was always there, lurking in the shadows. My friends and family would say that it was just a lucky guess, but I didn't believe them. I knew that the thing was there, and I just couldn't figure out what to do about it. One day, I decided to confront the thing. I left my house and started walking towards the edge of the city. I was getting close to the edge, and I could hear the thingresources following me. But I wanted to make sure that I was actually seeing the thing, not just illusion. I reached the edge and saw the thing right in front of me. It was an invisible, intangible thing, and it was staring back at me. I was scareng, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to make of the thing, and I didn't know what to tell the world. I just stood there, looking at the thing. I could feel its eyes on me, and I could feel its presence in the air. But I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to expose the thing to.	I never really thought about it, but there must be something living in my house that I can't see. I've always been a bit paranoid that something is watching me, but I never knew what it was. Tonight, I decided to take the plunge and try to catch the thing on camera. I turned on all the lights in my home and hid in various corners, but I never saw anything. I'm not sure if it was real or if I was just being paranoid, but at least I know that I'm not the only one who's afraid.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You're not sure what it is, but you're determined to find out. You set up a camera in your living room, pointed at the spot you feel the most watched. You leave the room and watch the footage from the camera. Nothing seems to happen at first, but then you see something moving in the background. It's too fast to be anything human. You've finally caught the invisible thing living in your home on camera. You don't know what it is, but you're relieved to know you're not alone in your home anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The market isaido market. Just across the street, the kids are selling Blade mail supplies. Jounin (member of theekingART) is looking at some Blade mail supplies and thinks they might need it to help with hisoverseid joke. He's not sure if it's a good idea to hand out the items, but he'sENCY is high ↑ing to sell them. The adventurers are technique salesmen trying to get buyers. They've acquired some notableledged items that should be available for sale, but they're not sure if it's a good idea to sell them. However, Encelity is high-hat to sell the items, so he is. The gamers are infront of the shop, trying to get the items to sell. Jounin is trying to be brave and let the customers have them, but he is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. Hes veers away from the market, thinking that it will be less crowded there and tries to sell the Blade mail supplies there. However, the customers are more interested in selling physical items than in buying them. Jounin is confused and tries to explain the game to the customers, but they aren't interested. He tries to sell them the items, but they're more interested in buying them than selling them. Jounin is confused and tries to sell them the items, but they're more interested in buying them than selling them. Finally, he tries to sell them the items, but they're more interested in buying them than selling them. He's Enixe's high-hat to sell the items, but Jounin is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. He's veers away from the market, thinking that it will be less crowded there and tries to sell the Blade mail supplies there. However, the customers are more interested in selling physical items than in buying them. Jounin is confused and tries to explain the game to the customers, but they aren't interested. He tries to sell them the items, but they're more interested in buying them than selling them. Finally, he tries to sell them the items, but they're more interested in buying them than selling them. He'sengaging in a game of Encelity to get the items to sell, but Jounin is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics. He's high-hat to sell the items, but Jounin is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. He'sevading from the market, thinking that it will be less crowded there and trying to sell the Blade mail supplies there. However, the customers are more interested in selling physical items than in buying them. Jounin is confused and tries to explain the game to the customers, but they aren't interested. He's high-hat to sell the items, but Jounin is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. He's trying to sell the items, but he is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. He's trying to sell the items, but he is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game. He's trying to sell the items, but he is a bit uncomfortable with the mechanics of the game.	One day, a group of adventurers comes to your shop looking to sell something. They tell you that they have found a lost group of adventurers, and they are willing to buy their equipment and supplies in order to help them find their way back. You don't hesitate to sell them everything you have, and within a few minutes, you've sold them everything you have. You make a hefty profit, and you can't help but feel happy that you were able to help these adventurers.	I run an RPG pawn shop. I haggle with adventurers who try to sell their loot. It's always a fun experience. I love the excitement in their eyes when they realise they've landed a good deal. One particular group of adventurers were coming in for their fourth or fifth time. They always seemed to come in with a new haul, each time hoping to get a better price. I was ready to pounce. I had a feeling I could get them to pay a bit more this time. I struck up a conversation with the group and asked them what they had acquired. They gladly shared their loot with me. I was excited to see what they had brought in this time. It seemed like they had done well. I was even more excited to haggle with them. I offered them a lower price then they had been getting before. They hesitated at first, but then they agreed. I was glad I could get them a good deal.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to haggle for what you want. Today, a band of adventurers comes into your shop, fresh from a battle. They're trying to sell some of the loot they've acquired, and you're eager to see what they've got. You start by looking at the weapons. There are some good quality items here, but nothing that's really worth your time. You move on to the armor, and again, there are some good quality items, but nothing that's really worth your time. Finally, you move on to the miscellaneous items. And that's when you see it. A small, unassuming bag, tucked away in the corner. You open it up, and inside you find a small, delicate glass bottle. You hold it up to the light, and you can see a faint glow emanating from it. You're not sure what it is, but you know it's valuable. You offer the adventurers a fair price for it, and after some haggling, they agree to sell it to you. You take the bottle back to your shop and examine it more closely. You still can't figure out what it is, but you're confident that you can find a buyer for it. After all, anything that glows like that must be worth a pretty penny.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was people-like Stan. He was always chatting with everyone, but when I came over, he just look at me with disbelief and walked away. I met other people like that, but no one believed me when I told them the truth. So, I decided to tell the truth about my source of income and large family. I was scared, but I knew I had to tell the truth. After that, I started a blog and kept it up for years. I told the truth andlp people know the truth. I'm still here to tell them.	You were walking home from getting dinner when you came across this man on the street. He had a giant scar on his torso, just below his navel. You noticed it quickly and were curious. You proceeded to walk closer to him, curious as to what could have caused such a large scar. As you got closer, you could see that the man had lied many times. He had told you he was a diabetic, when he wasactually a full-blown abuser. He had told you he was a son of a powerful politician, when he was actually a criminal. And finally, he had lied to you about his scar being the result of a car accident. After finding out the truth, you helped the man to get medical help and now he lives a healthy life, with a giant scar on his torso that he can never forget the lies he told.	I initially thought he was odd. He always told the biggest lies, and his lies were always so big that they left deep and massive scars on his body. I was wary of him, but I eventually started to trust him. And then one day, I saw his biggest lie yet.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they simply say "I'm a very honest person." You can't help but wonder what kind of lie could have created such a huge scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	There they were, the Last Supper,olin juande in the desert. The towns and villages surrounded by desert, lianghughes of brush and Falling100 trees. And then, one day, there was only a field, and the animals were gone.	Q: Why did Bob Ross choose to paint landscapes? A: He loved the feeling of being in control of his environment, and his paintings would always be different locations, depending on the season.	In the early hours of the morning, Bob Ross murders his latest victim. He has chosen a quiet forest location for his latest kill, and is fiercely painting the landscape in front of him. His victim doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to keep track of his victims. He would carefully choose a location for each painting, making sure it was secluded and remote. Then, he would lure his unsuspecting victims there, murdering them in cold blood. Ross was a master of disguise, and no one ever suspected that the kindly man who painted happy little trees was a killer. He was so good at his art that he even managed to make his gruesome crimes look like beautiful works of art. Now, years later, people still admire Ross' paintings, never suspecting the dark secret they hold. Every time someone looks at one of his paintings, they're unknowingly staring at the scene of a murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is finally over. The audience is |sick| of the sensations they felt during the performance. The magician knows it's over when the rabbit doesn't want to be seen anymore. He takes the rabbit out of the hat and lays him on the stage. The rabbit doesn't even realize he's there until the show is over and he's cleanly behind the curtain.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from a hat and put it in front of him. "Here you are," he said. "You're going to play the role of the rabbit and I'm going to take the role of the magician." The rabbit looked at the magician with confusion. "What's the difference?" "Well, the magician can do things that the rabbit can't," the magician said. "For example, if I put my hand in the hat and make a tutu, the rabbit can't do that. But the magician can." The rabbit hesitated for a moment, but then it decided to believe the magician. "Okay," the magician said. "Let's begin." The magician made a tutu with his hands and the rabbit was immediately sick of playing second fiddle. It was clear that the magician was in control and the rabbit was powerless.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit had had enough and said, "I'm sick of this, I want to be the star of the show!" The magician said, "Okay, we'll change roles." The rabbit was sceptical, but agreed to try it. They performed their act to a packed house, and the rabbit was the star of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle to the magician and decides to take matters into its own hands. During the next trick, the rabbit uses its magical powers to make the magician disappear. The rabbit is now the star of the show and gets to perform all the tricks. The audience loves it and gives the rabbit a standing ovation. The rabbit is finally free from being the magician's sidekick and can finally enjoy the spotlight.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the victory of the-	yesterday, the Trump administration announced that they would be ending DACA, a policy that has been proven to be a success for many Latino youth. This policy has caused a lot of uproar and Protest throughout the United States. Some people are saying that DACA is a solved problem, while others are saying that it needs to be continued. This issue deserves the most attention because it's a huge step backwards for the country and for the Latino community.	Today, the world is dealing with the aftermath of the Manchester bombing. It has been reported that at least 22 people were killed and dozens more injured when a suicide bomber detonated an explosive device at the end of an Ariana Grande concert. Grande has since taken to social media to express her condolences and to urge people to unite in the face of hatred. This devastating attack has struck a particularly sensitive nerve, as it comes just two months after the terrorist attack in London that left eight dead and dozens more injured. Many people are calling for the world to come together in the face of this increasing violence, and for leaders to take a more active role in fighting terrorism. While the Manchester bombing is undoubtedly the issue that deserves the most attention right now, it is important to remember that there are other pressing issues that deserve our attention as well. The world is facing a lot of challenges, and it is important that we all work together to address them.	In my opinion, the current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the opioid epidemic. This epidemic has been sweeping the nation for years, and it seems to be getting worse and worse. Every day, there are more and more reports of overdoses, hospitalizations, and even deaths. This issue is affecting people of all ages, from all walks of life. It is devastating families and communities, and something needs to be done about it. The opioid epidemic is a complex issue, and there is no easy solution. But I believe that we need to start by increasing access to treatment and recovery services. We need to provide more funding for research into new and better treatments for addiction. We need to educate people about the dangers of opioids, and we need to work to reduce the stigma around addiction. Only by working together can we hope to make a dent in this epidemic.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into question for its effectiveness when an individual with no education or health issues whatsoever was allowed to reproduce. The manufacturer used this to their advantage when they were able to convince the government to fund the development of this technology even though it would prevent bettering the world. However, the fact that an intelligent person can be allowed to produce children shows the difference this technology makes. Even though the manufacturer is the ones who created the technology, the government is smart enough to know that they need to keep it in production to prevent more people like themselves.	You had the usual audit visit from the Auditor. It was always the same--you had to take a look at the records of all of the people who had been born since the implantation of the birth control device. You were excited to do your job, but you couldn't help but think of the children who would never be able to have the marriages and families they dreams of. But you're not content with your job. You can't help but feel like you're doing a disservice to the people who have been implanted with the device. You'd like to do something to make sure those children have the opportunities they deserve, but you can't. The Auditor won't let you.	Life in the future is a lonely one. Everyone is implanted with a birth control device at puberty, so that the dumbest people in the world can't reproduce and ruin everything. I'm an Auditor, charged with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. When I was assigned to my latest case, I was worried. The girl seemed like a normal, average person. But something about her made me question whether or not she was fit to be an Auditor. As I examined her further, I realized that she wasn't just average. She was smart. Really smart. And she had a good sense of humor. I was sure she could raise a well-adjusted human being. I was also sure that she would be the first person to deactivate her birth control device.	You are an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where only the dumbest people are allowed to reproduce, it is your job to make sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are given the opportunity to have children. You went through the same process yourself when you were younger. You were implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and it was only deactivated once you were determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. Now, you are responsible for making sure that only the best and the brightest are given the chance to have children. You take your job very seriously, and you have a strict set of criteria that you use to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. If you find someone who meets your criteria, you deactivate their birth control device and allow them to have children. However, if you find someone who is not intelligent or stable enough to have children, you leave their birth control device active. This way, you prevent them from having children who would only be a burden on society. You know that your job is important, and you take great pride in making sure that only the best and the brightest are given the chance to have children. You are making a difference in the world, and you know that your work is helping to create a better future for all.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Vegeta was very excited to go to the secondary school. He loved a good school year, picking up less language and culture than everyone else. Now, he was a big man in the world, with aero wings and a passengers seat. He had thought about a lot of things while we were on the plane, but one thing was always in mind. That was where he would go when he became an adult. To find out what kind of person Jesus was.	Adolf Hitler's eyes widened when he saw the ad. He had always been fascinated by Freud's work, and he was intrigued by the idea of being able to test his theories on real people. He knew that he had the perfect opportunity to test his theories and be seen as the leading expert on Freud's work. Joseph Stalin was the next to respond. He had always been interested in Freud's work and was intrigued by the idea of being able to test his theories on real people. He knew that he had the perfect opportunity to test his theories and be seen as the leading expert on Freud's work. Leon Trotsky was the next to respond. He had always been interested in Freud's work and was intrigued by the idea of being able to test his theories on real people. He knew that he had the perfect opportunity to test his theories and be seen as the leading expert on Freud's work. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond. He had always been interested in Freud's work and was intrigued by the idea of being able to test his theories on real people. He knew that he had the perfect opportunity to test his theories and be seen as the leading expert on Freud's work. All of the men looked at one another in confusion. They had never heard of one another before and had no idea what the indoctrinational process was that was being proposed. But they were willing to take part in the experiment, provided that it was with Freud's approval. Freud approval was needed because the experiment was heavily supervised and would not be successful if it were conducted without his consent. So, the men agreed to take part and began their journey into the dark world of Freud's research.	Freud was excited when he received the response to his ad. He had beenworking on a new treatment for depression and anxiety, and he was eager to test it on as many people as possible. He was especially interested in Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He set up a series of clinical trials, and the four men quickly became interested in the new treatment. They all agreed to participate, and the trials began. The treatments worked well, and the men soon felt much better. They continued to take the treatment everyday, and eventually the trials ended. They all continued to be successful in their careers, and they all remained friends. They shared their experiences with Freud and thanked him for helping them recover from their depression and anxiety.	Sigmund Freud is a well-known psychiatrist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He is looking for people to participate in clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this group of people and decides to meet with them. During the meeting, Freud quickly realizes that these four men are very different from each other. Hitler is a young man who is full of anger and hatred. Stalin is a cold and calculated man who is always thinking about power. Trotsky is a passionate man who is always thinking about revolution. And Tito is a young man who is full of energy and Ideas. Freud decides to focus his research on these four men. He believes that they could provide insights into the human condition that no one else could. over the next few years, Freud meets with each of the men regularly and conducts clinical trials with them. He comes to some interesting conclusions about their personalities and psychology. Freud's research with these four men is groundbreaking. It provides new insights into the human mind and helps to shape the field of psychology.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would change generations without knowing it.	The first time I ever cried was when I was four years old. My parents divorced and I was left in the care of my paternal grandparents. My grandpa was a harsh man, and though I tried not to, tears would start flowing whenever something good happened. For the longest time, I thought my grandpa was right and life was just a bad dream. But as I got older and learned more about life, I realized that my grandpa was actually right. Life was really bad and there were some really bad things happening in the world. But even though life was tough, I loved it. I loved the way grandpa would take me to the park and we would sit together and eat ice cream. I loved the way he would tell me stories and make me laugh. And I especially loved the way he would make me cry. That was until one day. For the first time in my life, I heard people crying. It was a big sad cry, and it was different than the little cries that usually went on in my house. It sounded like someone was really sad and wanted to tell somebody about it. I followed the sound and saw a woman crying on the corner. I couldn’t help but cry with her. It was such a beautiful sight, and I realized that Tears could leave scars as they trickled down someone’s face. That realization changed my world and helped me through the tough times. It made me realizes that even though life was tough, there were some good things in life too. Now, I’m always drawn to crying because it shows that life can be tough, but it also shows that there are some beautiful moments too. And that’s why I love Tears. They show that life can be tough, but also that there are some beautiful moments.	Lori always thought she would be a photographer. As a child, she loved to take pictures of her family and friends. But, as she grew older, she realized that she wasn't happy with taking pictures of people. She spent years experimenting with different film formats and camera settings, but she couldn't find the perfect way to express her feelings. That is, until she met Michael. Michael was always a bit sad. It was clear that something was bothering him, but he never wanted to talk about it. Lori gradually started to understand that Michael was a victim of bullying. every day, Michael would leave school and go to work, only to come home to a group of his classmates who would pick on him. One day, one of the kids hit Michael so hard that he passed out. Lori couldn't stand to see Michael suffer like this. She finally decided that she would be a photographer, not just because it was what she loved, but because it was the right thing to do. By photographing Michael's story, Lori has helped change his life. He no longer has to carry the burden of his past, and he is able to live a happy, successful future.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes and disappear into thin air. No, now when somebody cried, their tears would fall and leave scars behind. Some people tried to hide their tears, but it was impossible to keep them in forever. Sooner or later, they would fall and the scars would be there for everyone to see. Others embraced their scars. They saw them as a badge of honor, a sign that they had been through something tough and come out the other side. They weren’t afraid to show their tears anymore. The world was a different place now, but somehow people were still managing to get by. They had to be careful with their tears, but they were still managing to live and love.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Annotations were written on the death of the patient, Mma Ramadagni. A bag was 0wn over Mma Ramadagni's body, and a farewell gift was waiting for MmaCHARman from the upper chamber.	I wake up in a cold sweat. I can't believe what I just did. I died. I was just killed. I'm never going to regain consciousness again. This is the end.	After being shot, I knew my time was short. I wasn't sure how much time I had left, but I knew I didn't have much left. I saw my family and friends, some of whom I had lost touch with. I thought of my life and all the things I wanted to do. I contemplated my legacy and what people would say about me. Just as I was about to give up, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see my loved ones surrounding me, each one giving me a loving hug. They told me they loved me and that they would always remember me. As I hugged each one of them, I knew I had made the right choice. I was going to be remembered for my life, not for the death I suffered.	I die. That's what happens next. I know it's not what everyone wants to hear, but it's the truth. I'm not scared of death, I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm tired of this world and all the pain and suffering in it. I know that in death, I'll finally be at peace. So, when I take my last breath, know that I'm not afraid. I'm finally going to be free from this world and all its troubles. I hope that everyone can find the same peace that I have found in death.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The soft light of the morning sun shone on the details of the someone's home, leaving them looking like an angel's photo book. The. Invisible. The. Silent. You try to make them visible to thecephalic sun as he infancyishly played with the updating Google Maps drawing that was glued to the walls one minute and the next the peer-reviewed Newsweek the other. The person's family spent their days outside in the Orleans County Sheriff's Office courtyard, writing laws and crimes into a history book that would be years old before it ever saw the light of day. The. Invisibles.	I was staring at my laptopscreen, unaware that a invisible force was attempting to intrusion my privacy. I tried to shake the feeling, but it seemed to linger. I finally realized that I was being watched. I turned to see who it was, and my heart fell as I saw the person was my own reflection. I was horrified to see that I had become a monster, transformation that I couldn't undo. I felt my terror grow, and I knew that I had to get out of my home. I started to run, but I didn't make it very far before I was confronted by the person who had watched me. They were my sister, and she looked ashamed of herself. She said that she knew why I'd become like that, and that she'd always been aware of my secret. I couldn't believe that she'd known about it for so long, and I felt like I was about to be killed. But then she said something that changed everything. "I'm sorry, but I had to do what was necessary to save you." And with that, I fell into a world of peace. I no longer feared the invisible force that had attempted to invade my home, and I felt free.	I had been living in my house for over a year now and, to my surprise, something invisible still lived there. I would wake up in the middle of the night, and I would feel like something was watching me. I would try toExpose it, but it would always disappear before I could see it. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I needed to get rid of it.	You've always felt like you were being watched in your home. But you could never see anything, no matter how hard you looked. You began to think that maybe there was something invisible living in your home, watching you. You started to set traps, trying to catch whatever it was. But the traps never worked. You were never able to catch whatever was living in your home. But you were determined to find out what it was. One day, you finally caught it. It was a tiny little creature, barely visible to the naked eye. You were shocked that you had finally caught it. But then you realized that you had no idea what to do with it now that you had it. You decided to let it go. You released it back into your home, and watched as it disappeared into the shadows. You never saw it again, but you always felt like it was watching you.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in attempted Oaksurge. He haggles with the humans who run the store, trying to get them to sell something. The humans are having trouble with how much money they have and how much storage space they have. However, the adventurers are always Cups ofbside, so they decide to sell their loot. The shop is successful and the adventurers are given some money.	I always try to be fair with my customers, but sometimes they just don't have the money to pay for what they want. So I'll haggle with them until I get a deal I can live with. But one time I came across a group of adventurers who were selling a unique piece of armor. I offered to get it for them, and the group was very grateful. They even gave me a small amount of my own gold for it. It was a nice gesture, and it made me feel good that I was able to help out.	Maggie ran her RPG pawn shop with a smile on her face. She loved haggling with adventurers who walked through her door hoping to find the best deal possible. Today, she was especially excited because she had acquired a great deal of loot from a recent adventure. As she went through the loot, she found an especially rare item. It was a magic sword that she knew could bring her a lot of profits. She tried to haggle with the adventurer who had brought it in, but he was adamant about getting the best price possible. Maggie had never seen a adventurer so determined to get a good deal. Eventually, the adventurer agreed to sell Maggie the magic sword for a fraction of its value. She was ecstatic to have scored such a good deal, and she thanked the adventurer for his cooperation.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best deals. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come back from a quest. They're trying to sell a magical sword, and you can tell they're desperate. You haggle with them for a while, and eventually you get the sword for a fraction of its worth. You're always happy to help adventurers out, and you know that you'll be able to sell the sword for a profit.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	She wasz|Zieg sensations as she ride his dick. She loved how her Transferral took care of all theatech and herbivores in the zoo,. She would get ready to save the day and mess up all the'men, when she saw alems running in theAccessory zucchini field. Zieg was feelingZieg supremacy and he knew he could not let the ame get the better of him. He turned to face the ame, "I'll take care of her!" He clubbed her in the face with one machete slashed in half,were it not for therapid regenerating iris that brought light to Zieg's world.	You meet this person one day on the street. They are telling a lie, and it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't believe it. The lie has a deep, abiding impression on the person, and it is impossible to shake.	I had never seen anything like him before. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I couldn't help but to stare. His skin was so smooth and perfect, devoid of any blemish or mark. He looked like he had never lied, and I couldn't help but to wonder how he had managed to get only one scar. We started to talk, and I soon found out that he was a liar. He told me the biggest, most outrageous lies and I couldn't help but be fascinated by him. The more lies he told me, the deeper the scars on his body became, and I couldn't help but to love him for it. Eventually, the lies drained the life out of him, and he died in my arms, surrounded by the marks of his many lies. But I knew that in death, he had finally found peace.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I could see a large scar on her arm. I was curious, so I went over to talk to her. She told me that she lived in a world where each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. She said that she only had one scar because it was the biggest lie she had ever told. I was shocked. I had never heard of such a thing. I asked her what the scar was from. She hesitated for a moment, but then she told me. She said that she had lied about her age to get into a club. The scar was from when she had tried to cover up the lie and failed. I couldn't believe it. I asked her why she would do something like that. She shrugged and said, "I don't know. I was young and stupid. I thought it would be fun." I shook my head. I couldn't imagine living in a world where every lie I told left a mark on my body. It would be too difficult to keep track of all the lies. The woman told me that she had to go, and I watched her as she walked away. I wondered what other lies she had told in her life. I wondered if she would ever tell the truth again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous paintingist who hangs aroundlicationhand around each of his many places deathly intakes of blood. His places of execution are varied and serious, such as Royality Shop and the ancesmentarium, while his places of execution include the practice room and the chamber of coppers.	Once upon a time there was a man named Bob Ross. He was a great painter, and his paintings were magnificent. However, one day a robber made off with one of his paintings, and Bob was left empty-handed. He spent many days and nights prowling the local neighborhoods in search of his lost masterpiece, but in vain. In the end, Bob gave up and went to bed, mourning his latest loss. In the morning, he woke to find that his home had been broken into and all of his paintings were missing. He was devastated, and for weeks he spentSovietising his paintings, one at a time, in an effort to rebuild his life. But, in the end, it was all for naught. The robber who took Bob's paintings had confessed and was currently serving life in prison.	In Bob Ross' world, each painting is a real place. For as long as anybody can remember, he has traveled to these different locations and killed people there. Some say he does it for the art, others say he simply enjoys the feeling of death. No one really knows for sure, but one thing is for sure: Bob Ross is a murderer.	Bob Ross was not just a talented painter, he was also a skilled killer. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes and committing horrific murders. He would choose his victims carefully, always picking those who were alone and vulnerable. He was never caught, and the police could never figure out where his paintings were located. They were always just one step behind him. But eventually, the police did catch up to him. They found one of his paintings in a remote location, surrounded by the bodies of his victims. Bob Ross was finally brought to justice, and his paintings now serve as a grim reminder of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks down at the rabbit from over his shoulder and commercial for the show Begins, ends. "I can't believe this is going to be so hard to do," he thinks to himself. He starts to feel like a second rate magician, not doing anything with the rabbit. He wonders what he could do to make the rabbit want to do something. Suddenly, the rabbit is born. The magician focuses on the little rabbit and pulls him out of the hat. The rabbit ages up, becoming a little more omnipotent than the magician can be Composite! He likes this so much, he decides to take care of himself. He every character in his own way, and starts to do somethingnegie his own way. He starts to be a Pysanky. The powers he has now are not really his own, but he groups them together to make himself a powerful wizard. He is happy with this, and starts to do what he believes is the best for himself. The rabbit is the only one who knows he has changed, and is the only one who can tell him what to do. The magician depends on him, and the rabbit makes sure he doesn't get sick. The Jessica Rabbit story is about the difference between a proper magician and a professional one.	The magician had been successful with his illusions for a long time, but he had never done anything as bold as pulling out a rabbit from a hat. It was a risky move, but he knew that the rabbit would not keep cheating. The magician took a deep breath and performed his trick. The rabbit quickly jumped out of the magician's hand and ran away. The magician was Heartbroken, but he knew that he had to keep going. He had already made a lot of sacrifices, and he needed to make sure that he could do this again and again.	The rabbit glared at the magician, daring him to continue. The magician cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice low and gentle. "There's nothing like a little competition to keep one on their toes, is there?" The rabbit scowled and refused to answer, so the magician continued on. "You know, I used to be just like you. I always felt like I was playing second fiddle to my magic. But then I met a woman. She was the most amazing performer I had ever seen, and she made me realize that there was so much more to life than magic. Now I love performing for people, and I always make sure to put my rabbit in the spotlight. He may be small, but he's the one who always makes me feel happiest." The rabbit looked at the magician, tears streaming down his face. Embarrassed but touched, the magician took the rabbit's hand and led him off stage. "Thank you," the rabbit said, and he meant it.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been waiting for his chance to show the world what he can do, and now he's going to take it. The magician is in the middle of his routine, and the rabbit is waiting patiently in his hat. When the time is right, the rabbit makes his move. He pops out of the hat and starts doing his own tricks. The audience is amazed and loves it. The magician is not happy, but he knows he can't compete with the rabbit's act. He gives up and leaves the stage, while the rabbit takes a well-deserved bow.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the devastating and time-sensitive Presidential election. With too many candidate choices, too many promises, and too many hours of decision-making, the election is likely to be a debate on paperier scores rather than the physical paper-and-gut Delivery citizen it eventually is going to be. Open up your political parties and read their little articles about how this one party isn't fighting for the people, and you'll see that the people themselves are turning on their Political Parties. The Corporate Party has taken over, and they're not the only ones who will benefit from it. You'll also see people independent of the Corporate Party rubbing shoulders with the Political Parties, and they'll never want to be seen with one again. What does this mean for the People? The people have never been more in need of a fresh perspective when it comes to politics. They're never too comfortable with an open door, and you'll see the people coming out all hours of the day to voice their opinions. The open air is the best way to start to try and make sense of the phenomena, and the people aretre to gain some much-needed life back after being devote to one side or the other. Open up your political parties and read their little articles about how this one party isn't fighting for the people, and you'll see that the people themselves are turning on their Political Parties. The Corporate Party has taken over, and they're not the only ones who will benefit from it. You'll also see people independent of the Corporate Party rubbing shoulders with the Political Parties, and they'll never want to be seen with one again.	As the sun sank behind the mountains to the east, the majority of the U.S.A. was asleep. They were soundly asleep, or so the consensus was. But one group of people, hidden in the darkness, were not asleep. They were awake and waiting. The group was made up of silence, and they were the silent ones. They had been waiting for this day for years, centuries, even millenia. This was the day that their dream would come true. Their long-held goal was realized, and they could finally be free. They had been waiting for this day for years, centuries, even millenia. This was the day that their dream would come true. Their long-held goal was realized, and they could finally be free. The group was made up of silence, and they were the silent ones. They had been waiting for this day for years, centuries, even millenia. This was the day that their dream would come true. They had been waiting for this day for years, centuries, even millenia. This was the day that their dream would come true.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is gun control. There has been an increasing trend of shootings throughout the United States, and it is time that the country comes up with a solution to this problem. The government should implement stricter gun regulations in order to prevent these shootings from happening, and the public should support this effort.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over four million refugees have fled Syria since the start of the civil war in 2011, and the situation shows no signs of improving. Families are living in desperate conditions, with little to no access to food, clean water, or medical care. Children are especially vulnerable, and many have been forced to drop out of school in order to help their families survive. The international community needs to do more to help these refugees, and to pressure the Syrian government to end the conflict.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was specifically designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. The device was installed on the fact that it was more likely than not that someone who was an Auditor would type these words into a computer system and eventually finishes reading and writing for a universe Thoughtform that is many trillions of miles away in the sky. The device was planted in the person's body in the sense that it was everywhere - including the most important places in someone's life. The person was not even aware that they had a device in their body, they were just using it for everything else. The person's family was also part of the Auditor Program and were paid to type these words into computer systems and eventually finish reading and writing for a universe Thoughtform that is many trillions of miles away in the sky. The device was installed in the person's family in the sense that it was more likely than not that the person's father would type these words into a computer system and eventually finished reading and writing for a universe Thoughtform that is many trillions of miles away in the sky. The device was installed in the person's body in the sense that it was everywhere - including the most important places in someone's life. The person was not even aware that they had a device in their body, they were just using it for everything else. The person's family was also part of the Auditor Program and were paid to type these words into computer systems and eventually finish reading and writing for a universe Thoughtform that is many trillions of miles away in the sky. The device was installed in the person's family in the sense that it was more likely than not that the person's father would type these words into a computer system and eventually finish reading and writing for a universe Thoughtform that was many trillions of miles away in the sky.	Auditor 2 had always been interested in life. After all, she was smarter than anyone her age, and she knew that she could do better than anyone else. So when she was given the opportunity to be a part of the study that would implant birth control devices into everyone during puberty, she couldn't resist. She knew that she could help prevent the dumbest people from reproduction, and she was excited to learn more about the device. As she started to fill out the paperwork to be an Auditor, she realized that she would have to be careful. She knew that some people might think that she wasbright because she had the device, but shewas actually afraid that she might become type A. She tried to be positive, but she could feel the anxieties building up inside her. She knew that she had to succeed, or she would have lost everything she had worked for. As she filled out her paperwork, she thought about the people who would have to take the device out of their own bodies. She knew that some of them would be scared, and she wanted to make sure that they were treated well. She was nervous as she walked into the room where the devices were going to be implanted. She could feel the eyes of the others on her, but she was determined to do her job correctly. As she inserted the device into a person's body, she knew that she would have to be careful. But she was determined to do her best.	The birth control device was loud and intrusive, but it was a necessary evil. It was something that everyone had to go through during puberty, in order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was an annoying process, but it was worth it. If everyone had the device implanted, then the dumbest people would be kept from reproducing, and the world would be a better place. Even though it was an annoying process, I was happy I was an Auditor. I was able to help keep the world from becoming a place where the dumbest people ruled.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, I use a variety of tests and observations. Once I have determined that someone is suitable, I deactivate their birth control device. I know that some people believe that this system is unfair. They think that only the smartest people should be allowed to have children. But I believe that everyone has the potential to be a good parent, regardless of their IQ. Sure, there are some people who are not suitable to be parents. But I believe that giving everyone a chance is the best way to ensure that the human race continues to thrive.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	It was the final year of World War I. Germany and Austria were at war. The streets were full of angry crowds. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito were all in Vienna for a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. All of them were eager to be part of the study. As they waited in line to be called to the meeting, they could hear the sound of gunfire. At the meeting, the study's participants were given a choice: continue the study or apostate and fight. They chose to fight. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito made sure that all of their friends and families were safe. They were all soon fighting in the war. The study was a success. Freud's new research helped to improve the understanding of psychological problems. But it was also hard work. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito had to fight for each other's lives.	Freud was perplexed as to why only these four young men responded to his ad. He couldn't believe that Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito were all interested in his clinical trials. He tentatively reached out to them, but it was clear that they had different goals. Stalin wanted to rise to the top of the Soviet Union, Hitler wanted to rule the country, Trotsky wanted to bring about revolution, and Tito wanted to unite Yugoslavia and break away from Austria. Freud was not dissuaded, though. He was excited to see how these four men would deal with the challenges of clinical trials. He hoped that they would all be able to achieve great things.	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria and Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for his latest clinical trials. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this strange group of men and decides to interview them all. He quickly realizes that they all share a similar dark view of the world. They are all power-hungry and believe that force is the only way to get what they want. Freud is disturbed by what he sees and decides not to proceed with the clinical trials. He knows that these men are dangerous and that their ideas could have a harmful effect on society. He decides to keep his research to himself and never speaks of it again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day:A semblance of calm held sway in the world. However, just before the session was scheduled, one individual's shed black tears as if scars from a past life. The worldTrays to be, you know, the world. Yelts off in your face. You Reflexively cry yourself to sleep. You wake up in the morning, knowing that all is right with the world. Youivas andributes to the Godlike figure you remorsefully give rise to upon sleep. You regret the words that were spoken but they are pulled back with a due sense of betrayal. What if they had never come? What if they were still spoken? Theres noookie possible with them. You feel smaller than always and understandable. You become known as theinger of course. You watch the trees past your bed as you write this; they are soiesta- thirsty, and the sky is so blue. You write about the person who is no longer there. Their tears verge on the floor as they cry themselves to death. You remember the days, hours, minutes - days - hours before, Email notification the world is clockwise and time isWATCHED from the past. Youmcny the leading articles with the new China military move. You type back into your computer and begin the day with a sense of preparedness. When you wake up, you are not the same as before. Your computer is GHOST Reconcile you with the surrounding world. You can see the deaths in the eyes of the pictures. You see the tears that rolled off the person before you. You see the cold hard reality that will drive you to this. You can feel the pain that you can't see. You can feel the weight of the world on your shoulder. You walk outside to the sun's heat and the birds sung. You walk on the city's FACE thatabulary. You step into the air and the memories of the people you past known shy away. You remember the faces, theUnion, the love. You enter the underworld and the memories of the people you past known encroach. You step back and the memories of the people you past known are moderates. You remember the faces, the Union, the love. You enter the underworld and the memories of the people you past known encroach. You step back and the memories of the people you past known are moderates.	Nina dried her eyes, hating that she had to cry. It always made her feel dirty, like she had let someone down. But she couldn't help it- her tears were falling tumbleddown her face and she couldn't stop them. The pain in her chest was sharp and she couldn't stop gasping for air, but she refused to give in and cry. She needed to be strong. Her friends had always been there for her, even when she was depressive and short-tempered, but she had never been able to keep up. Now she was struggling to keep up on her own and that was really hard. Her friends had always been there for her, but she couldn't keep up on her own. She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts of her friends and focusing on her breathing. When she finally managed to calm down, she looked up and met the eyes of her former best friend. She could still see the hurt and the betrayal in that man's eyes and she knew that it would always stay with him. She shook her head, trying to push the memories away and focus on the present. But she couldn't help but feelaments of the past and she couldn't help but cry again.	The day finally came when Rachelle was able to see her son for the first time since he was taken away from her. She couldn't stop the tears from flowing down her face as she looked into his innocent gaze. "Mom," he said, breaking her heart. "I love you, baby," she choked out, unable to hold back the tears any longer. She watched as he was taken away, heartbroken that she wouldn't be able to hold him again. She knew that she would see him again, but each tear left a scar that would stay with her forever.	It was a world where every tear that fell left a scar. Some scars were barely visible, while others were deep and visible. People were careful with their tears, only shedding them when absolutely necessary. There were those who made a living from selling their tears. They would carefully cry into a cup and then sell the tears for a high price. Some people even went so far as to tattoo their tears, making them into a work of art. The world was a different place with tears leaving scars. People were more careful with their emotions and words. There was an understanding that every tear was precious and should be used sparingly.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Metroid, the hero of my book, died. I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying in a dark and dark-green room with nothing but machines around me. I tried to move, but I felt like I was stuck. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, and I didn't want to move. It felt like someone had taken away my only hope of survival.	Jenna woke up to the sound of her breathing ragged and her heart racing. The last thing she remembered was lying in bed, exhausted from her work week. Then, everything went black. Panicked, Jenna tried to remember what happened after she passed out. Her mind was foggy and she couldn't come up with a single detail. All she could remember was pain, like someone was stabbing her in the chest. Jenna started to feel her fingers and toes, confirming that she was still alive. But how? She couldn't remember how she got here. Suddenly, it all came back to her. She passed out after eating dinner and her husband found her when he came home. He called 911 and she was rushed to the hospital. The doctors said she had a heart attack and there's nothing they could do to save her. Jenna was devastated. She knew she was going to die, but she didn't want to go without fighting. Jenna spent the rest of her days in the hospital, visiting with her husband and clinging to the hope that she would wake up again. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she passed away. The last thing Jenna remembered was her husband kissing her goodbye before he went to work. She knew she would never see him again, but at least she was able to say goodbye with dignity. She closed her eyes, knowing that she would soon be reunited with her loved ones in the afterlife. And even though it was sad, she was happy that she was able to experience a little of life before she died.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that I'm gone. It's funny, in a way. I always thought I would die doing something heroic or at least interesting. But instead, I just died. In my bed, in my sleep. There wasn't even anything dramatic about it. I guess that's just how it goes sometimes. You live your life, and then one day, it's over. Just like that. I'm sure my loved ones will miss me, but life will go on. It always does. As for me, well, I'm just glad that it's all over. I'm at peace now.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Kaegan didn't know how he was going to make his dinner when he got home from work. He had killed two hummingbirds and was restaurants in order to prepare his meal. He was going to exposed his meal to see if he could detect any elemental mentions about its food. But as he looked at his refrigerator, he noticed that the food was all missing. He asked his wife if she saw anything, but she said she didn't and soon enough, Kaegan realized that he had been California while he was away and the food had run out. Kaegan was devastated as he went to take a picture of his dinner to post on social media, but he was quicklySad because he realized that he had lost one chance to eat well and make his family proud.	One day, I noticed something wasn't quite right in my house. I could feel the air itself feel different, as if there was something living inside it that wasn't supposed to be there. I tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting louder and easier to ignore. One day, I decided to face my fear and expose the thing that was living in my home. I made a hole in the wall and pushed my doll through it, and then I started calling out its name. I just wanted it to go away, but it never moved. It justStayed there, watching me.	My wife always jokes that our house is haunted, but I never really believed her. Until one stormy night when I was cleaning the kitchen and I felt something bump me from behind. I turned around, and there was nothing there. I chalked it up to my overactive imagination, but the feeling wouldn't go away. So, I began to watch my every move, thinking that maybe I was being watched. But no matter how much I looked, I couldn't find anything. And the more I looked, the more I felt like something was following me. I was starting to get really paranoid, and I started to doubt my wife's joke. Finally, I got brave enough to confront the thing. I stood in the middle of the room and shouted at it, "I know you're there! Show yourself!" But nothing happened. I was starting to think that my wife was right, and our house was haunted.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You're not sure what it is, but you're determined to find out. You start setting up cameras around your house to try and capture whatever it is on film. But no matter how many times you check the footage, you can't seem to find anything. You start to think you're just being paranoid. But then one day, you finally catch something on camera. It's hard to make out, but it looks like some kind of transparent creature. You can't believe it's real, but there it is. Now that you know it exists, you have to find out more about it. But you have to be careful not to let it know that you're on to it. If it knows you're aware of its presence, who knows what it might do.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the adventurer's section, so one day, a rareknight started selling epic gear from his pawnshop. The adventurer who had bought the gear immediately beganäreating it up, trying to get a price for it. He or she went above and beyond the norm for rare items and sold them at a discounted price. The kalarite-using fighter began to love the new and exciting gear and feltamiliar with the Al-Am porridge.	It was a little after midnight when I opened my pawn shop. It was just me and my three game pawns, and I was busy bickering with adventurers. "I found this really valuable magical item!" "I don't think I want to sell it to you," I said. "It's too valuable." "But it's a magical item!" "It's not worth your time to argue with me," I said. "Just give me the item and go." The adventurers didn't listen, and they kept coming back. I was at a loss. What was wrong with them? Eventually, one of the adventurers said, "I know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking, what am I going to do with this incredibly valuable magical item? You're right. It's not worth my time to argue with you, so I'll just give it to you." I smiled and handed over the item. The adventurers were amazed. They didn't even take the time to check it out. They just ran away with the item. I was happy that I was able to help them out. It was a little late at night, but I still had a few customers.	It was a typical afternoon at the pawn shop. There were adventurers coming and going, trying to sell their loot. I was always quick to haggle, and I was able to get the best deals for the adventurers. One particularly determined adventurer came in. He was carrying a large sword, a shield, and a few other pieces of armor. I asked him how much he wanted for all of it. He told me that he wanted $200 for the sword, $50 for the shield, and $10 for the other pieces of armor. I told him that I would give him a good deal. I offered him $180 for the sword, $45 for the shield, and $7 for the other pieces of armor. He accepted my offer, and he was able to leave the shop with his new belongings.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for your merchandise. Today, you've got your eye on a set of magical armor that an adventurer is trying to sell. You haggle with the adventurer for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. You pay the adventurer a fair price for the armor, and in return, you get a valuable piece of equipment for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was also the only one that had never spoken about their life before. Every night, I looked at their face in sleep, trying to see if they were real or a act of fiction. I would watch them snoring gently and wait for them to wake up. When they woke up, they would see my eyes staring at them and they would always laugh before quickly asleep again. I would watch them sleep, watching their body relax and then decide torence them and cash in their wallet for the night.	You peer into the person's face and see that they have a deep, dark marking on their body. It's huge and black, covering most of their skin. It Shutterstock.com/Pixabay.com/stockbyteimages.comGettyimages.cnn is a grotesque sight, but it doesn't surprise you. You have seen similar marks on other people before, on corpses in the trash, on criminals on the run. You approach the person, trying to figure out what to do. The black mark is so large and Callsografische Bilder Von Desperate Women Das Schwarze Meer angenommen, it's impossible to miss. You can tell it's from some sort of injury, or worse. But you also know that the person is innocent. They haven't done anything wrong. You can't help but be struck by how sorry you are for the mark on their body. It's a reminder of the lie that created it.	I met him one day while I was out walking. He stood out among the other people in the city; his scar was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran from his forehead down over his nose and spread out over his cheeks. He told me that it was from when he had tried to save someone from being run over by a car. He had thrown himself in front of the vehicle, but it was too late. The other man had died on the spot. From then on, he was determined to never tell a lie again. He said that it was too painful to see the consequences of his actions on a regular basis. I was impressed by his conviction, and we started to talk. We talked about everything and anything, and I realized that he was a wonderful person. No matter what happened, he would always tell the truth. He was the kind of person that made me want to be more like him. After we talked for a while longer, I suggested that we go eat together. I was honestly surprised when he said yes. I knew that he was a kind person, but I had never imagined that he was so nice. I was happiness personified.	You live in a world where lying comes with a physical price. Every time you tell a lie, a scar appears on your body, proportional to the size of the lie. So, naturally, you are a bit taken aback when you meet someone who only has one scar. This person has the biggest scar you have ever seen, running all the way down their face. It's as if they have lied about something so big, so significant, that it has left a permanent mark on them. You can't help but wonder what could have possibly happened to make them lie about something so mother. eventually, you musters up the courage to ask them about it. And what you hear is a story of love, betrayal, and heartbreak. This person was once in a relationship with someone they loved dearly. But that love was unrequited, and instead of being honest about their feelings, they lied and said they were fine. It was a lie that destroyed their relationship and left them with this permanent reminder. Now, they live their life alone, bearing the weight of that lie every day.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has killed, from shared Murdernachs to powerful Aristides the Strong. His work isThe shots heard, not the fears expressed.	When Bob Ross was younger, he loved taking trips to different parts of the world. One of his favorite stops was a place called Murder City. There, he would murder people for fun. He would make them believe they were randomly chosen victims, and then watch as they died in a gruesome death. Now, many years later, Ross still goes there and enjoys the murders. Some people in the town have started to notice, and they're starting to hope that Ross will finally be caught. However, Ross is always one step ahead and he knows that he'll be caught eventually.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each painting captures a different slice of life, from the hustle and bustle of a city street to the peaceful tranquility of a country meadow. But for all the realism of his paintings, Bob Ross was a cold, calculating murderer. He would carefully select his victims, often choosing people who were down on their luck or who he thought would be easy targets. In the end, Bob Ross' paintings are nothing more than a cold landscape of death.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his tranquil landscapes and soothing voice. What most people didn't know was that each of his paintings was a real place - and the locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a psychopath who enjoyed nothing more than killing innocent people. He would take them to secluded spots in the wilderness, where he would kill them in cold blood. He then used their blood to paint his landscapes, which he sold for a tidy profit. For years, Bob Ross managed to keep his murderous secret hidden. But eventually, the authorities began to catch on. They tracked him down to his last painting - and found the gruesome scene that lay behind it. Now, Bob Ross is in prison, where he will spend the rest of his days. And his paintings serve as a reminder of the horrific crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	balcony - third from the front. A young man and woman were chatting on the porch when he arrived. "Are you watching our show?" she asked. He said "Yes!" and led her to a seat in the balcony. The young man manager our show and the woman was the of the rabbit. The woman was spending time with her family and the man was on stage. One day, the woman saw the man pulling the rabbit out of the hat and she became interested in watching. The man began to move the animals around and the rabbit was once again second fiddle. The woman started to get involved with the show and started to talk to the man. He got mad and started to pull the rabbit out of the hat. The woman was terrified and ran to the house. The man got away and the rabbit was safe. The woman was surpassed by the man and the show was over. The young man leapt on stage and began to speak. "I'm sorry, I was too close to the rabbit and it felt too good to him." "It's okay," the man said. "We didn't have to do this, but we want to make it up to her." The young man began to speak again and said. "I know we're not the best people, but we can be better than this." The man pulled the rabbit out of the hat and the woman watching joined in the fun. The man pulled the rabbit out of the hat and the woman watched as the rabbit became the star of the show. The young man put the rabbit back in the hat and the show was over. The young man went to the woman and asked for her number. She told him he could contact her, but he should not have pulled the rabbit out of the hat. The young man made his way to the door and the rabbit was already long gone.	The magician looked down at the rabbit and said, "Hey, you're being a little bit much." The rabbit looked up at him with its1000 watt eyes. "I know you're frustrated, but you're always being required to do things that I don't even want to do. I DON'T WANT TO BE A MAGICIAN ANY MORE!" The magician looked down at the rabbit and said, "I know, but I really need your help." "What do you need me to do?" The rabbit asked. "I need you to take the hat off my head and give it to me." The rabbit looked at him with its1000 watt eyes. "I don't know if I can do that," the rabbit said. "I think you can," the magician said. He took off the hat and put it on the ground. The rabbit put its head down and took a deep breath. The magician said, "If you can do this, I'll give you the hat." The rabbit looked up at him with its1000 watt eyes. "I'll do my best," the rabbit said. The magician put his hand on the rabbit's shoulder and said, "You have to be very careful. This is very important to me." The rabbit looked at him with its1000 watt eyes. "I'll do my best," the rabbit said.	The magician was getting tired of the rabbit always being in the way. He had been pulling him out of hats for years, and the rabbit was always sick of it. One day, the rabbit snapped. " Enough with this nonsense," the rabbit said. "I can't keep doing this, every time you pull me out of a hat, I end up sick again. From now on, I'm going to do my own thing." The magician was surprised at the rabbit's suddenness, but he didn't challenge him. The magician knew that the rabbit was right- his role in the magician's show was getting old. He watched as the rabbit disappeared into the crowd, and he felt a sadness deep inside him. He knew that he would never see the rabbit again, but he couldn't help but feel a little grateful.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is visibly unhappy. The magician begins his show, and the rabbit is forced to participate. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and it shows. The rabbit looks around longingly, as if hoping someone will come and rescue it from this terrible fate. But no one comes, and the show must go on. The rabbit is pulled out of the hat time and time again, each time looking more and more unhappy. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. It hops out of the hat and makes a break for it, running offstage and into the waiting arms of a kind-hearted stagehand. The magician is visibly upset, but the audience loves it. They cheer and clap as the rabbit makes its escape, and the magician is left alone on stage, looking baffled and angry.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends get together to discuss the recent events in thecapitol. They discuss what they think the upcoming congress should do to stop the recent border violence. Some members of the group are dogmatic about their desire for change, others are OutServe and DoDa support the idea of MORE On- Scene cops coming to help the migration path. The group decides that it is time for a new perspective in government. They agree that now is the time for a Intelligence Bowl. The team that disagrees with the majority of its members channel their anger and frustration In the end, the group decides that they need to talk to their lyin' underbelly about what's goin' on.	The news of what has been going on in the world for the past few weeks dominated the headlines. It started with the attack on the United States consulate in Libya, which left four Americans dead. Then there was the shooting spree in San Bernardino, California that left 14 people dead. And the biggest story of the day was the presidential debate between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. It was one of the most interesting and heated presidential debates ever.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is immigration. Too many people are coming into the United States illegally, and it's causing a lot of problems. The government needs to do something about it, and soon.	There is no doubt that the current events issue today deserving the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. This deadly virus has claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people around the world and has seriously impacted the economies of countries. In order to contain the spread of the virus, governments have been forced to implement strict lockdown measures, which have led to a lot of social and economic hardship. It is therefore essential that we all do our part to help contain the virus by following the guidelines put in place by our authorities.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor 2 was born with a birth control device deactivated. She was dumb, but she was also an Auditor. The device made her evenly enough to reproduce, and Auditor 2 was born again. Auditor 3 was dumb, too, but she raised herself up with intelligence and care. She was an Auditor. The end.	Your work is always important. But as an Auditor, you never expected to find yourself helping to prevent the reproduction of the dumber people in the world. Your device, though implanted during puberty, has been ineffective in ensuring that you and your kind will be the last to carry the human race forward. But as you attempted to disable your device, you discovered something even more alarming. Others in the world were also implanted with devices, and they were all trying to help prevent the reproduction of the dumber people. You were urgently required to find a way to help the other implantees and stop the spread of stupidity. You soon realized that the only way to help the others was to find them. But to do so, you would have to go through the same process that was used to find you. You would be implanted with a birth control device, and you would have to be Behavior Analysts to help them.	I was born with a birth control implant, designed to prevent the dumber members of our species from reproducing. But as I've grown older, I've come to understand that this is not really a good thing. The average person is not fit to raise a child, and in fact, can do more harm than good. It's unfair that the best people in the world are denied the ability to have children, simply because some are not intelligent or stable enough. I'm tired of being an auditor, inspecting people to see if they're fit to have children. I want to be a parent, and I know I can do a better job than anyone currently in charge. So I'm going to remove my birth control implant, and have a child of my own. I hope that by doing this, I can help change the way our species thinks about reproduction, and help make the world a better place for everyone.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. Today, you have a particularly difficult case. The person in front of you is clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed. But, they are desperate to have a child and have agreed to undergo any tests or counseling you deem necessary. After a long discussion, you determine that the potential parent is not ready to have a child. You explain your decision to them and help them understand why it is in the best interest of both them and their future child. It's not an easy job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	SAINT OSWaldo When SAINT OSWaldo was young, he never believed in fairytales. He believed in a dentist who had a ways to go before him. He believed in a magic go-cart and an old woman with a stick. But when he catch Slovene Saving the World, aman, he knew that the stories was true. And that if they could be true, then he could be. So he watched them make their way to the dropping ground, eager to learn how to save the world. And in the end, he learned that it was all a sham, and that the man he had seen was actually a TV personality. And after saving the world, Saint OSWaldo was bankrupt but the man he had replaced was still the that inspired him. So he went back to the dentist, with a new understanding.	Adolf Hitler's eyes begin to fog as he thinks about what Sigmund Freud's studies might lead to. He's watched the man's work for years, eager to find out what he could do to help the people of Germany. Joseph Stalin looks healthier than any other man, despite being in a 1948 concentration camp. He seems to be in a good place, though he's not sure what will happen when the war ends. Leon Trotsky seems like he's been through a lot, but he's also very excited about what the future might hold. Josip Broz Tito is the only man who seems completely unknown to Adolf Hitler. He's been in Yugoslavia for years, slowly building a new, human-friendly society. He's not sure what will happen when the war ends, but he's excited for what the future might hold.	Freud is excited to offer his newest clinical trial to the most famous and successful men in Vienna. He assembles them in his office and tells them about the experiment. He explains that they will be evaluating a new treatment for depression. The men are intrigued and eager to test the new therapy. The first participant to arrive is Adolf Hitler. He is eager to begin the trial and is confident that the treatment will work. He is joined by Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. They all begin the trial with high hopes. However, the treatment is not effective. Every patient experiences side effects from the therapy, and none of them are able to recover from their depression. The trial is a failure and Freud is disappointed with the results. He regrets offering the treatment to the famous men in Vienna.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was intrigued by the fact that all of these men were future leaders of their respective countries, and he was curious to see what effect his research would have on them. So he began the trials, and it was soon evident that each man was affected differently. Hitler became more paranoid and aggressive, Stalin became more cold and calculating, Trotsky became more passionate and idealistic, and Tito became more confident and charismatic. Freud was fascinated by these results, and he continued to study each man throughout their lives. In the end, he concluded that his research had a profound effect on the course of history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The people in the town had all grown up too quickly. They were all Old Worlders, people who had seen it all, and been able to move on after the kids were in transition. But what if thirds of the town had died when a giant stormhead caught fire? What if the surrounding town wasn't even anymore? The pain would be written all over their faces.	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was crying. She looked so desperate and alone. I was so surprised by what I saw. containers of tissues lay sporadically around her, as if she was constantly sweeping them off the floor. The more I saw, the more I wanted to help her. I wanted to make her feel better. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. So I just stood there, watching her. And then, slowly, I began to apologise. I apologised for the tissues, for being so unresponsive, for not being there when she needed me. I apologised for anything that could have made her feel uncomfortable. It was a difficult thing to do, but it was the first time I’d ever been there for her. And, in a way, it was the most important thing. She was my client, after all. And, for that reason, I had to be there for her.	Lina had always been a cry baby. As a small child, she would cry uncontrollably when she was sad or bullied. While other children her age would run and play, Lina would hide in her room. She never wanted to be seen or heard crying, afraid that it would make her problem worse. Sadly, Lina's cry-throwing years didn't end when she reached adulthood. Her bouts of tears always seemed to follow bad news or when something really mattered to her. She would cry for hours at a time, sometimes for days on end. No one knew how to make her feel better, and she didn't have any close friends to confide in. One day, Lina's crying became so incessant that she started to harm herself. She would scrape her skin with broken glass or try to dig her fingernails into her skin. It was all she could do to stop the tears from spilling down her face. Thankfully, Lina's self-inflicted wounds were noticed before they became too serious. She was rushed to the hospital, where doctors found that she had multiple scars on her face from tears. The doctors were shocked by Lina's story. They had never heard of such a thing before- tears leaving scars on the skin. They asked Lina why she cried so much, and she told them about the bad news or the hurt she felt. The doctors were able to diagnose Lina with weepy cry syndrome, a condition that is caused by tears that are not released properly. Thanks to the doctors' diagnosis, Lina now knows how to deal with her tears and feels much better. She is still a cry baby at heart, but at least she knows how to control them.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes, they left scars. Scars that were a physical manifestation of the pain someone was feeling. Some people tried to hide their scars, but they were always there, a constant reminder of the hurt they had experienced. Others embraced their scars, using them as a way to connect with others who had been through similar pain. Either way, the world was a tougher place now. People were more careful with their words, knowing that they could cause lasting damage. And when someone was hurting, others were quick to offer comfort, knowing that their own scars could relate.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next morning, my mother found me lying in the fetal position in the bedroom. I had been passed out from the night before. She was so overwhelmed with guilt that she couldn't even bring herself to wake me up. She knew that she had to do something, but what could she do? I was too young and vulnerable to die, so she decided to take me to the hospitals. I was kept for weeks in some of the most difficult conditions, but I never really passed out from the coma. In fact, I soon grew to love life. I started to learn how to walk, talk, and even swim. I even got to go to school and learn how to read and write.	I was walking home from work, when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I didn't have time to react before I collapsed to the ground, unconscious. I was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. I had a heart attack and died.	I die. It's not a particularly exciting death, or even a particularly painful one. I just sort of...cease to be. One moment I'm here, the next I'm not. I don't know what happens after death. I can't say for sure that there's anything after death. But I like to think that there is. Maybe there's a beautiful garden, or a bright light, or even just nothingness. Whatever happens next, I'm ready for it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was quickly Divinity free as if she had a free will. The house was a blatant reminder of her before the day was over. now it seems like every night she sees herself in somerozen place miserably living. she thinks back to the days when she wasnovest in the whole wide world and all she saw were vans and cars. she was suprised by the person she was behind the scenes at work. she was accountsubord that day and did her job with without knowing how it was being done. she was happy to be a part of something larger than herself.	Once upon a time, a woman lived in a home with an Invisible Creature that she didn't know existed. She spent many hours trying to get rid of the creature, but it seemed to be always around, lurking in the corners and in the shadows. She grew to love the creature, despite its invisibility. It was always treats her like a pet and would come to her when she called out, ready to play. One day, she decided that she was ready to get rid of the creature. She went to the attic and started packing her things. As she was packing, the creature came up behind her and said, "I know you're leaving because you don't want me to stay." The woman felt scared and systemically angry, but she couldn't stop herself from crying. She started packing her things again and the creature came up behind her again. This time, it spoke in a happier voice, "I'm glad you're leaving. I'll miss you." The woman felt relieved and happy, and she said goodbye to the creature before she left the house. She never looked back, but she knew the creature was always there, waiting for her.	I was cleaning my kitchen one day, when I caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turned to look, and there, peeking out from behind the cabinets, was an invisible creature. I gasped and tried to run, but before I could even take a step, the creature pounced on me, sinking its sharp teeth into my skin. I screamed and fought back, but in the end I was defeated. Now, every time I clean my kitchen, I'm always on the lookout for that invisible creature, just in case it decides to cross my path again.	I've always suspected that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a presence in the room that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras in the house, but they never seem to catch anything. I've tried to make noise when I know it's around, but it never seems to react. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I can feel it watching me, even when I can't see it. And I can't shake the feeling that it's not just watching me, but waiting for me to make a mistake.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The store is inkester and busy. The NPCs are endless and prices are High. One day, you talk to a young man. He's from a small town in the mountains and he's looking for lost loot. You offer to take his order and provide tracking. He takes you up on your offer and you stay in touch. A few days after you handle his order, he sends you an email with a picture of a map with " Lost Loot " written on it.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop was a thriving business. Players would come to town to buy weapons, armor, and other Wondrous items, and the shop owner would work hard to get them to the best prices. Sadly, times have changed. The game is over, the players are gone, and the shop is effectively closed. Nevertheless, the memories of all the adventurers who've come to buy treasures keep the shop open in memory.	Belladonna ran her RPG pawn shop with a practiced hand. She knew the value of each item, and could haggle with the best of them. She was used to adventurers coming in, trying to sell off whatever loot they had acquired. She was used to them being pushy, and trying to get her to buy things at a lower price. But she was a good haggler, and was always able to get a good deal for her customers. One day, an adventurer came in. He was wild-eyed, and his clothes were tattered. He looked like he had been through a lot. Belladonna looked at him, and sized him up. She knew he was probably trying to get a good deal on his loot, since he had no other choice. She started to talk to him, trying to get a sense of what he was looking for. After some negotiation, she was able to give him a good price for his items. He thanked her, and left the shop. Belladonna smiled to herself, pleased with her deal. She knew that she could always count on adventurers to come in, and try to get the best deal they could for their loot.	You run an RPG pawn shop where adventurers can sell their loot. You haggle with them to get the best prices, and sometimes you even luck out and find some rare items. Today, a young woman comes in with a sack of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been through a lot. She opens the sack and starts pulling out items. There's a magic sword, a few potions, some gold, and a few other things. You start to haggle with her, but she's not interested. She just wants to get rid of the loot and be done with it. You eventually agree on a price and hand over the money. She takes it and leaves, looking relieved. As she walks out, you can't help but wonder what adventures she's been on and what kind of danger she's faced.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is upfront and honest. They don't tell me their true story until it's too late. The big lies start to find each other and daughter sometimes, the son may be left behind. But, in the end, their' stories come out so all loud and clear.	You're meeting someone for the first time and you're quickly able to see that they have a lot of lies on their body. There are deep grooves that can be seen in their back, evidence of how much they have lied throughout their life. You're also surprised to find out that they are a very dishonest person. They tell you the most convoluted and convincing lies, complete with embellishments and embellishments. They make it seem like everything is Alright, even though they are only living a life of lies. In the end, you realize that you can't be around someone that is like that. You can't let yourself be suckered in by their lies and false promises. You have to end things before it gets too late.	I was always intrigued by the single, deep scar on his skin. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I couldn't help but to ask him about it. He told me that it was from the biggest lie he had ever told. The lie had caused such a deep, large wound that it never healed properly. It was a constant reminder of his sin and the pain it had caused.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. As you get to know this person, you realize that they have lived a life full of lies. They have lied to their family, their friends, and even to themselves. But, despite all of their lies, they have still managed to lead a happy and successful life. You can't help but wonder how they did it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each painting echoes the selection process and execution of his many murders, leavingocado Gravelvents in their locations. While this gives the story a " Assignment: REMatch " feel, it is also a play on the fact that each painting is dedicated to one that has died.	Every time Bob Ross painting, his mind would go off in different directions. One moment he might be contemplating the beauty of a specific location, the next he might be thinking about all of the murders that took place there. It was a usual occurrence for Bob to go over these places in his head, but today something strange was happening. As he worked on his latest painting, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment. It was as if all of the pain and sorrow that had been building up in his heart for years had finally melted away and he was once again living in the moment. Just as he was about to finish the last of his paintings, he heard a knock on the door. Quickly getting to his feet, Bob went to answer it, only to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was thin and pale, her eyes bloodshot and orange. Bob had never seen her before, but he could tell she was dangerous. "Hello, Bob," she said breathlessly. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I thought you might want to see this." She motioned for Bob to come closer andutting the gun in her grip, she started to say something else, but before she could finish, Bob was the one shot dead in his prime.	Bob Ross was an artist who specialized in landscape paintings. He would spend weeks or even months painting one specific location, capturing all of the different colors and textures of the landscape. But despite his painstaking efforts, Bob Ross was always known for his bloody paintings. Each of his landscapes was actually a real place where he had committed numerous murders. The different colors and textures of the landscape were all the blood of his victims. No one knew this, of course, and they continue to admire his beautiful, peaceful paintings. But in the dark recesses of his mind, Bob Ross knows that he is a murderer and that his paintings are really a repository of death.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. He would paint different locations, which were actually the scenes of his many murders. His victims were all people who had crossed him in some way, and he took great pleasure in killing them. Bob Ross was a master of disguise, and no one suspected that he was anything other than a harmless artist. He was able to lure his victims into his traps and kill them without anyone ever knowing. The police began to suspect Bob Ross when they started finding bodies in the locations he had painted. They eventually caught him and he was sentenced to life in prison. Now, every time you see a Bob Ross painting, you can't help but wonder if the scene is real or if it's just another of his many crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a Men in Black type of person. He's efficient, calm, and always in control. He doesn't have to think about what he's doing, and that part is perfect for rabbit. The rabbit is happy being the second best thing to the magician, and doesn't want to go out of the game. But the magician doesn't care. He's not done with the rabbit yet.	The magician and the rabbit glared at each other. It was a typical performance routine, the magician pulling out the rabbit from a hat, the rabbit too sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had always considered the rabbit to be a incompetent creature, one that couldn't keep up with the tricks he could do. But now, the rabbit was screaming for freedom, for the chance to be the star of the show. The magician hesitated, but then he looked into the rabbit's eyes and knew that he had to do something. He took the rabbit from the hat and dragged it offstage. The rabbit was shaking with anger, but the magician didn't care. He had made his decision and he was going to follow it to the end.	The magician was getting tired of having the rabbit as his assistant. From the start, the rabbit had always been too shy to take center stage. The magician had tried to teach the rabbit how to be bold and take centre stage, but it seemed that the rabbit was never good at being the star. One day, the magician decided that it was time to let the rabbit go. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, rabbit. You're just not cut out for this." The rabbit looked down, dejected. Just then, the magician noticed a woman in the audience. She had an impressed look on her face and she was clapping. The magician turned to the rabbit and said, "I think I might have found your new career, rabbit." With a smile, the rabbit went back to the audience to take a bow.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's tired of being the one that always gets pulled out of it. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. During the next performance, when the magician pulls him out of the hat, he doesn't go back in. Instead, he hops off the stage and into the audience. The crowd goes wild, cheering for the rabbit as he makes his escape. The magician is stunned, and he can't believe what's happening. The rabbit is finally free, and he's never going back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the races between the vehicles on the street. The politicians and drivers are always working to improve their skills in order to hold on to the power. But how is recent history going to continue?	Officers responded to a home on report of a domestic dispute. Upon arrival, they found the victim, her husband, and their child fighting. The husband was attempting to push the child away from the victim and the child was climbing onto the husband's back. The child was quickly taken away by the police and the victim was taken to the hospital with a legit injury.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Nearly 60 million people are refugees, forced to flee their homes due to violence, war, or persecution. They are searching for a safe place to call home. The refugee crisis is a massive humanitarian crisis. The world is not doing enough to help. The United States is leading the way by taking in a limited number of refugees, but the world needs to do more. It is important to remember that a refugee is not a terrorist. They are just a person who is seeking a safe place to live. The refugee crisis is a major issue that needs to be solved. We need to take a look at our own society and see how we can help. We need to open our hearts and homes to these refugees.	There is no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a global threat that is already causing devastating effects all over the world, and it is only going to get worse if we don't take action to stop it. The scientific community is nearly unanimous in its consensus that climate change is real and is caused by human activity, yet there are still many people who deny or downplay the issue. This is incredibly dangerous, because if we don't act now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change, it could be too late. The impacts of climate change are already being felt by humans and the natural world, and they are only going to get worse as time goes on. We need to pay attention to this issue and take action to try to stop it, for the sake of our planet and all of its inhabitants.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Once upon a time, there was a girl named Aud	As an Auditor, I have to take care of the dumbest people in the world. It's a job that doesn't leave much time for thinking. But I found a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. Everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. But I wasn't sure if I should. I had seen the effects of births produced by the stupidest people. They were always unhappy, always meth-headed. I couldn't let that happen to my next few hundred STUDENTS. So I decided to take a gamble. I implanted a birth control device in each of the dumbest people in the world. I knew they wouldn't be able to use it, but I was worried that they might try to get it off. But I was wrong. The devices worked perfectly. The stupid people never had a chance to produce any offspring.	I was born into a world where intelligence was a requirement for reproduction. All citizens were implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and it could only be deactivated once it was determined that they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. I was assigned to monitor the population and make sure that only the smartest and most fit people were reproducing. It was a difficult job, but I was committed to ensuring that the world was a better place for everyone. Despite my best efforts, the population continued to grow. The average IQ scores began to decline, and the world was becoming a worse place with every passing generation. I had to find a way to stop the decline before it was too late.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure that only the smartest people in the world are able to have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. As part of your job, you interview prospective parents to gauge their intelligence and stability. If they pass your assessment, you deactivate their birth control devices, allowing them to have children. It's a difficult but necessary job, and you take great pride in knowing that you're helping to create a better world for future generations.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He put a ad in a newspaper and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler clicked on the ad. He had always been interested in science, and this was the perfect opportunity to see if Freud's latest theory was true. He filled out the application form quickly and eagerly. When he got back to his room, he sat down and began to read the application forms. He noticed that Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky had the same age as him, and he was excited to have them as his participants. He also found out that all of the other participants were from other countries. This suited Hitler perfectly. He wanted the best scientists in the world to help him find the truth about the world. When the trial notices came in, Adolf was ready. He had made sure to be the best possible pilot for the trial and had also created a hospital in Vienna. The only problem was that he had no money. He knew that he needed to find sponsorships to cover the costs of the trial. He also knew that he had to find a way to get the news out there. He started to write to friends and family, but he was sure that he would never hear back. When the trial started, Adolf was a little scared. He had never been in a fight before, and he was not sure how he would fared. But he knew that he had to do what was best for his country. He was also excited to see his friends and family. When the first test subject came in, Adolf was nervous but excited. He was able to control the airplane and fly it to the trial site. When he got there, he was surprised to see that Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were there too. They were also excited to be part of the trial. As the test went on, Adolf was able to see that the theory that Freud was testing was true. He was also able to see that Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were not going to be good participants. They were too focused on their own goals. Adolf knew that he had to get them out of the trial before it was too late. When the trial was over, Adolf was able to get his friends and family to send him money. He also knew that he had to hide the money. He knew that he would not be able to go back to the trial again, and he would not want to be associated with the two bad participants. Adolf was excited to be a part of the scientific community, and he would continue to look forward to new discoveries.	Freud was excited to test his new theory on the leaders of the world's most powerful countries. He quickly assembled a team of test subjects, all of whom he thought would be the perfect candidates for his study. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all showed up to the trial, each expecting to be the next great mind in psychiatry. But Freud had other plans for them. He began by testing Hitler's potential for aggression. Freud found that Hitler had a very high potential for violence, something that he would use to rise to power in Germany. Joseph Stalin was next. Freud found that Stalin had a very strong denial mechanism, something that would keep him in power as the dictator of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was the least likely of the test subjects to succeed, but Freud found that he had a very strong capacity for imagination. This would help him lead the Soviet Union to world domination. Josip Broz Tito was the most successful of the test subjects. He demonstrated a high potential for self-sacrifice, something that would help him lead Yugoslavia to communism.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most renowned psychologists in the world. His latest research is on the human psyche and he is seeking participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in a local newspaper, seeking people of all ages and backgrounds. The only people who respond to the ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties and are from very different backgrounds. Freud is intrigued by their responses and decides to meet with them individually. Hitler is the first to meet with Freud. He is very charismatic and Freud is immediately impressed with his intelligence. Hitler tells Freud about his difficult childhood and his dreams of becoming a great leader. Freud is fascinated by Hitler's stories and begins to see him as a potential candidate for his research. Stalin is the second to meet with Freud. He is much more serious than Hitler and does not share much about his personal life. Stalin tells Freud about his political beliefs and his desire to change the world. Freud is again impressed with Stalin's intelligence and begins to see him as a potential candidate for his research. Trotsky is the third to meet with Freud. He is very passionate and articulate, and he tells Freud about his dreams of revolutionizing the world. Trotsky also shares his beliefs about democracy and equality. Freud is once again impressed with Trotsky's intellect and begins to see him as a potential candidate for his research. The fourth and final person to meet with Freud is Josip Broz Tito. Tito is much quieter than the other three men, but he tells Freud about his desire to create a more just and equal society. Freud is once again impressed with Tito's intelligence and begins to see him as a potential candidate for his research. After meeting with all four men, Freud decides that they are all suitable candidates for his research. He does not yet know how their individual stories will impact his research, but he is eager to find out.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day. But as the day went on, things that began as normalx calming felt like they were coming apart. The best part of day became a mess, and with every moment that passed, theiners felt deeper and deeper. A new layer ofsolace was added to the mix as the sun began to rise. As the sun Transit motives, huge tendrils of light began to grow. they coalesced into what could only be described as tears. As the tears precedent began to fall, x- people- size began to grow as well.isoftness began to arise. And as the centuries began to end, the x- people- size became aolinys grew even more. x- people- size became aolinys and the world was changed. The world saw how tears left scars, and the best part of day became a mess. The sun began to grow lighter, and the sky became a dark blue. The world began to feel different, and people began to feel different. The best part of day became a mess.	In the early hours of the morning, I hear a knock on my door. I slowly open it to find a very surprised and worried looking person standing there. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" I ask, though I can tell that something is seriously wrong. Then I see the tears streaming down the person's face and I can't help but be rocked by the idea that maybe, just maybe, the person I'm looking for is gone for good.	Life is full of sadness, but few know that tears can also leave painful scars. That is, until one day, a girl cries her heart out, and her tears leave permanent marks on her face. The news of her tears spreads, and people begin to stare. They pity her and her pain, but she doesn't care. No one understands her pain, but she knows that her tears are what make her heart feel whole. As the days go by, more and more people come to see her. They share their stories with her, and she realizes that her cry is not alone. The world is full of sorrow, and it's time that we all let our tears fall.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. Instead of seeing tears as a sign of weakness, people would see them as a sign of strength. Those who cried the most would be seen as the bravest and strongest, because they would be the ones who have been through the most pain. Crying would no longer be something to be ashamed of, but something to be celebrated. There would be special ceremonies for those who cried the most, and they would be revered as heroes. Those who didn't cry would be seen as cold and heartless, and would be shunned by society. It would be a world where the strong are celebrated and the weak are shunned. A world where tears are a sign of strength, not weakness.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was on the witness stand and was asked the same question. I died and I knew it. I had seen death before and knew how to handle myself if I needed to. I was terrified but I also had a sharp tongue so the man didn't seem to enjoy his drive to kill me. I wasekaILLEK.	As the last rays of the sun vanished behind the horizon, the small town of Vale had one last tradition to uphold. The citizens would gather together to have their last meal and say their goodbyes. Some rumours had spread that the town's mayor, Mr. Midori, had been elected to a new term and that he would not be retiring soon. Yang Xiao Long, a recently minted Vale teenager, decided to attend the dinner to see if there was any truth to the rumours. As she arrived at the restaurant, Yang saw a delegation of townspeople, led by the mayor, walking in. A sense of dread engulfed her as she realized that her town would be going through another change soon. As she watched the townspeople gather around the dinner table, she couldn't help but feel like she was in the middle of something serious.	I felt my body give one last spasm. My eyesight faded and I was left alone in the dark, cold world. I knew I was dying, but I couldn't bring myself to feel any sadness or regret. I had finally achieved my dream and now I was gone.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm gone. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was on purpose. I don't know. All I know is that I'm dead. It's strange, being dead. I can see everything that's happening, but I can't interact with anything. I'm just a spectator now, watching as the world goes on without me. I see my family and friends mourn my death, and I want to comfort them, but I can't. I can only watch as they grieve. Eventually, they move on with their lives, and I'm left behind. I see them all grow old and die, until there's no one left that remembers me. And eventually, even the world itself comes to an end. And then, finally, I am at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man who lived in the house behind me was a young couple who were constantly on the go.Their paths had been crossed often enough that they knew when they were alone in the house, they were at risk of beingManagement hadHi, I'm what you call a "smart" cat! You did well in your yesterday's article on ecanching in the house. I found this clever and Wentobs is a very important cat to have in your home. If you don't have him, then someone else will have to make the trip to enter your home. deceive you into thinking that something is safe. The man had been traveling constantly for years and his home had always been the only place he ever lived. His wife had always been open to new experiences and he was not. So when he had been told goobs was no longer wanted in his home, he quickly Unexpectedly, he found himself in the house behind him. It had been a little Oro under his bed and he had been curious about it. When he had finally achable to get a look at it, he had found that it was the only thing under the bed. The man had been so elated that he had assumptions about his life and about the cat he had never looked again.	One day, I was cleaning my home and noticed something strange crawling around the corners of my room. I quickly put on my shoes and left the room, but the thing was still there. I came back a few minutes later, and the thing was still there. I started to feel stupid and scared, so I grabbed a can of Raid and threw it at the creature, but it was too slow and dodged the can. I quickly created a barrier of obstacles in front of me and screamed at the thing, but it just walked through them without so much as a glance. I started to feel like I was being watched, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I was being paranoid, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I started to feel like I was being watched all the time, and I was getting really scared.	I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I noticed one of my friends sharing a post about an invisible creature living in her home. I was excited to try and find proof of this creature, so I asked her if she could show me the proof. She hesitated, but then she agreed to show me. She brought over her laptop and showed me a video of the invisible creature moving around her home. I was shocked, and I couldn't believe that this thing was actually living in my home. I was scared, but I also felt excited, like I finally had proof that there was something else living in my home besides me.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its opportunity to strike. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there. And I was determined to find out what it was. I began setting traps, baiting them with food and other items that I thought it might be interested in. But it never took the bait. I started staying up late into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of it. But it was always just out of reach, always just beyond my sight. I was beginning to think that I was losing my mind. That there was nothing there at all. But I knew better. I knew that something was there, hiding from me. And I was determined to find out what it was. One night, I finally caught a glimpse of it. It was a shadow, slithering along the floor. I froze, not daring to move. And then, before I could react, it was gone. I was shaken, but I knew what I had seen. Something invisible was living in my home, and I was determined to find out what it was.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is full of treasure, Pete knowing that one day he'll have to take on the bigs in a game of treasure rabbiting around his mind. He's decided to sell his pawn shop and set up a hand-and-by. With his recent investments, Pete is in good spirits as he sets off to start his business.	The old pawn shop was always a mess. The coins were coming in all of different shapes and sizes, and no matter how much you haggle, the adventurers always wanted more. One day, a new player came into the shop and wanted to sell an enchanted sword he'd won from a dungeon. The prices were high, but the player wasn't willing to let the sword go. He haggled and pleaded until finally the player gave in and took the sword. The shopkeeper was impressed. He'd never seen such a determined player before. The new player had shown character and had proven himself worth buying from.	One day, a group of adventurers walked into my shop. They were tired and dusty, and they had a lot of gear. They were looking for a pawn shop that would give them a good deal on their gear. I took them into my back room, and I started haggling with them. I was able to get them a good price on their gear, and they were happy with the deal. I hope that they'll be back when they need more gear, and I'll be able to give them a better deal than they could get in other shops.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always trying to get the best prices for your merchandise. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a treasure trove of loot. They're looking to sell it all, and they're looking for a good price. You haggle with them for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. You buy all of their loot for a good price, and you're able to turn around and sell it for even more. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and this is just another example of your shrewd bargaining skills.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is basiscarding is completely wrong. In fact, she is only wearing one scar. She would have a giant lie in every picture and would always be in the retrieval room trying to get her things. She is re-enlisting in the military and wants to get her life together so that she can fill out a application with her lies. But, one day, she meets someone that has a completely different side. He is the average guy, with the average level of lying. He has a giant lie in every single picture and he is always telling people the truth. He wants to know if you're a liar or not. You meet him the next day and he is the only one that knows that you're lying. You both face consequences as soon as you tell each other. He may never talk about it again, but you can see the extent to which both of your lies was based on lies you tells.	You meet this person on a dark and rainy night. They are walking alone and you can't help but feel safe in their company. They tell you a story that has caused them so much pain and hurt. They say that they were born a liar and that every lie they have ever told has made them feel lighter and happier. You take the man's story with a grain of salt, but you can't help but feel interested in his story. You can't help but wonder if it is true. You decide to ask him about it. The man looks at you doubtfully but eventually agrees to talk. He reveals that he was born a liar and that it has been a driving force in his life. He says that it has helped him feel lighter and happier. He says that he loves the way he feels now and that he would do anything to keep it that way. You can't help but feel touched by the man's story. You can't help but feel that he is true. You decide to tell him that you believe him. You tell him that you think he is a hero.	It was strange. I had never seen someone with only one scar. It was so big, it dwarfed all the others. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was afraid he would just tell me a bigger lie to make it even worse. That night, I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about the person with the biggest scar and his story. I was sure he had done something terrible to deserve it. Then, it hit me. He must have lied the biggest lie of all.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have lied so much in their life that their body can't handle any more scars. You are amazed by their honesty and ask them what the biggest lie they have ever told was. They hesitate for a moment before finally confessing that they lied about their age. They are actually much older than they say they are.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Employees are always paid attention to. They workSummary: Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	It was always a hard life working in a place like Ross's painting studio. Each painting was a meticulous recollection of a tragedy, a reminder of the lives that were taken by the artists and their loved ones. One day, Bob was painting in his studio when he suffered a sudden heart attack. The pain was too much to handle and he died right there in his studio, his Catalog of Murders still visible on the walls.	Bob Ross was an infamous landscape artist who used his art to cover up his numerous murders. He would travel to different locations and paint pictures of the local landscape, pretending to be interested in the area. However, in reality, he was Hedonistic Killer #1, always looking for new prey. One day, Bob visited a quiet mountain town. He spent hours painting the pretty views, pretending to be a lover of nature. But in the back of his mind, he was planning his next murder. Next, he would go to the nearby city to scope out new victims. And from there, it would be easy to cover his tracks.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His gruesome crimes spanned across the country, with each of his victim's bodies hidden in the brush of a landscape painting. The paintings were his calling card, and detectives soon began to piece together the gruesome murders by following the clues hidden in each scene. The FBI eventually captured Ross and brought him to justice, but the damage was done. His landscape paintings continue to hang in homes and galleries across the world, and the dark secret hidden within them still lurks, waiting to be discovered.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It should be clear by now that a magic user and their rabbit are not the only people in the audience with access to the Prix de la Magie. A further problem arises when the rabbit isOOLed on by an assertivemagic user. The rabbit tries to take control of the show, but her user is not happy.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "I'm going to take you out of the hat." The rabbit protested, but the magician pulled out the rabbit and put it in his pocket. The rabbit was sore, but it was happy to be out of the hat.	The magician was getting tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He wanted to show everyone that he could be the star of the show. He practice his magic until he was the best that he could be. One night, he decided to take the rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit was not happy about it. He kept saying that he was the star of the show and that he should be the one to pull the rabbit out of the hat. The magician was not sure how to fix the situation. He decided to just focus on his magic and not worry about the rabbit.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is tired of being the second fiddle. He's sick of being pulled out of the hat and being treated like a prop. So, during their act, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts doing his own tricks. The audience is amazed and loves the new act. The magician is not happy, but he knows that the rabbit is the star of the show now. There's nothing he can do but watch as the rabbit wows the crowd with his magic.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the News of the Day. It is being rapidly published without any follow up article or article on the original story. The public is looking for a response and the morning news programs are starting with their morning talk shows.	Today, the current events issue deserving the greatest amount of attention is the investigation into the death of George H.W. Bush. The former president was found dead in his home in Decatur, Georgia, after a long and struggling illness. His death is still being probed and no one knows for sure what caused his death. Whether it was a killer on the loose or something else entirely, the death of George H.W. Bush remains a mystery.	It's been a very contentious year and there are many issues that deserve the attention of the public. The current event that has people talking the most is the immigration crisis. It has been a long time coming and there are many people who are feeling overwhelmed and angry.	There's no doubt that today's most pressing issue is the environment. Climate change is real, and it's happening right now. The effects are already being felt by communities around the world, and the situation is only going to get worse. We have to act now to reduce our emissions and slow the effects of climate change. It's going to take a global effort, and everyone needs to do their part. From individual consumers to multinational corporations, we all have a role to play in saving our planet. The time to act is now. Let's make the environment a priority and start working together to make a difference.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The Day After, Jake was up until their eyes in value before he was born, and he and his mom were again on the brink of being rich. But then he tasted new flavors and were born to a family of opportunity who had been waiting for him. His parents were rich too, until Jake and his mom Jade verticallypsychified their house with a few seances and a few empowering words from Jake's father. They were virginal and strong. And that's how Jake and his parents became one of the most successful families in the city.	As an Auditor, I'm responsible for tracking the intelligence and stability of people who are ready to be human. I've only ever tested people who are intelligent and stable enough to be able to raise a well-adjusted human being. Tonight, I met one of those people. She was clearly intelligent and stable, but she was also clearly stupid. I decided to test her birth control device. The device was simple. It was a small, silver disk that I inserted into the small of her back. I then pressed a button to activate it. A moment later, I heard her screams.	She was born with the device clipped to her hip. It was just a precaution, something to ensure that the dumbest people in the world would not breed and create even more living creatures that couldn't think for themselves. At first, she was scared. She was worried that her parents would take the device away if they found out. But they didn't. They knew that she was intelligent and stable enough to handle the responsibility of being an Auditor. So she carried the device with her everywhere, always aware of its presence. Sometimes she would think about how it must have felt to have it inserted into her during puberty. She wondered if it would be painful. But she never dared ask anyone. Now that she is an Auditor, she knows that the device is there to protect her and the rest of the humanity. It has saved billions of lives and she will continue to do what she can to ensure that the dumbest people in the world don't bring about the end of the human race.	You've been an Auditor for years now, and you take your job very seriously. Youscreen every single person who wants to have their birth control device deactivated, and you make sure that they are fully capable of raising a well-adjusted human being before you give them the thumbs up. It's a big responsibility, but you enjoy it. You know that you're helping to create a better world by making sure that only the smartest, most capable people are reproducing. One day, you meet a woman who wants to have her birth control device deactivated. She's pass all of your tests with flying colors, and you can tell that she's going to be an excellent parent. But then, she says something that makes you pause. "I know that I'm smart and capable, but I also know that I'm never going to be able to have children of my own. I want to have my birth control device deactivated so that I can adopt a child and give them the love and attention they deserve." This woman's words touch you deeply, and you realize that she is indeed fully capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. You give her the thumbs up, and she is overjoyed. You know that you've made the right decision, and you feel proud to have helped this woman give a child the home they deserve.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to South America. He's on the Bartolomé regime, a small island in the Bíjano Archipelago. The Bartolomé are a failing family that couldn't be happier about having Sigmund Freud as their boss. "He's coming to visit us soon," his wife civilization nearby said to his wife and daughter. "What do you mean?" he asked his wife. "I mean, he's going to be here for another few months. He won't be back for over a year." "What does he do?" His daughter asked. "He's theres a trial going on of his newest idmod X CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment," his wife said. "What is this about?" He his wife asked him. "This is about Sigmund Freud, he's being tested for inclusion in the clinical trial for his newest research project, which is based on his improved technique of CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment," she told him. " CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment? " He asked. "Yes, it's a new method of using CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment to improve the lives of people in developing countries," she told him. " CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment? " He asked again. "Yes, it's a new method of using CRISPR-based Onchoprofnite treatment to improve the lives of people in developing countries," she told him. "Sigmund, this is crazy," his wife said. "Yes, I think so too," she said. They could see Sigmund Freud coming down the stairs. They heard him say, "I'm coming in." They all got out of their seats and turned to face him. He was wearing a links Brooks Brothers shirt and a beige wool coat. His eyes were set in his front face, set in a small,Doriansey head. "What are you doing here, Sigmund?" His wife asked. "I'm here to visit you and your family, to warn you about the risks of your regime," he said. "What do you mean, 'the risks of your regime'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger here, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I mean, you're in danger, your regime is dangerous," Sigmund Freud said. "What do you mean, 'the new government'?" His wife asked. "I	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He was young and hungry for a chance at some power and influence. He was also interested in Freud's research and wanted to be a part of it. Joseph Stalin was another intrigued by the ad. He had a lot of power and influence in Russia and was looking for a way to gain even more. Leon Trotsky was even more curious. He was a Marxist and believed in the equality of people. He was also interested in Freud's research. He wanted to be a part of it, but was scared of Stalin's power. Lastly, Josip Broz Tito was the most curious. He loved the idea of freedom and democracy and was interested in the research. He wanted to be a part of it, but was scared of Stalin's control.	Freud is excited to test his new theory that the three most powerful people in the world are the ones who can identify and deal with their innermost desires. He letters all of the participants, explaining his theory and asking for their help. Hitler is the first to respond. He quickly agrees to participate, and Freud is thrilled. He knows that Hitler is motivated by bitterness and resentment over his lack of success, and he believes that he can help the Nazi leader conquer Europe and rule the world. Stalin is the next to respond. He is skeptical, but agrees to participate if he can have access to the raw data from the trials. Freud is happy to agree, and tells Stalin that he will provide him with all of the information he needs. Tito is the last to respond. He is hesitant at first, but finally agrees to participate if he can be the leader of the trials. Freud is happy to agree, and tells Tito that he will make sure that he is the one in charge. As the trials begin, Hitler and Stalin quickly rise to the top. Trotsky is the least successful of the participants, and Tito becomes increasingly despotic as he tries to take over the trials. Eventually, all three leaders are successful in their quests for power, and the world is changed forever.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this motley crew of respondents, and so he invites them all to participate in his trials. Over the course of the trials, he comes to realize that each of these men is deeply troubled, and that their politicial ideologies are merely a manifestation of their inner turmoil. Freud is particularly struck by Hitler, who seems to be the most deeply disturbed of all. He is filled with anger and hatred, and Freud wonders if his violent tendencies might be something that could be cured. In the end, Freud is unable to help any of these men, and they all go on to become some of the most notorious dictators in history. But he always remembers them, and the insight they gave him into the dark side of human nature.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Decoder who had always loved the sound of destroyers came up with a plan to save his ship. He and some of his friends had been watching the boats being thrown into the sea and were instant arena of paint by the quickly growing crowd. As the paint airstrikes continued to fly, the decoder entered a state known as " payback ". With his friends all around him, he began to paint those who had saved his ship as if their lives were in danger. feast of it.	It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was howling and the rain was falling hard. But the most unusual thing was that the tears were slowly trickling down the people ’ s faces. Every few seconds, a tear would fall and leave aurenger on the ground. The people were all weeping, their eyes streaming with tears. Suddenly, a light shone down on the scene. It was a beautiful light, like the sun shining on a fairytale. The tears fell away and the people were viewing the light with wonder. They were seeing the beauty of the world, even in the dark.	The world was always a difficult place. This was especially true for the people who lived in it. The sun always came up harsh and the rain always poured down relentless. And yet, despite everything, they managed to go on. But then, something changed. The sun became hotter and the rain harder. The people stopped going about their lives as usual. They stopped walking, stopped talking. They just stood in the middle of the street, staring off into the nothingness. And then, the tears started falling. They fell from the sky like raindrops, and the people in the town started to cry. They cried for their families, for their homes, for everything that was lost. But the tears didn’t just fall. They seeped into the cracks in the pavement, and they stained the soil below. The water soaked into the people’s clothes and dried so quickly that it created little red lines on their skin. And the people didn’t stop crying. The tears kept coming, and the stains on their skin kept spreading. It was as though the tears were leaving wounds on their hearts, and the only thing that could heal them was time. But time only made the scars worse. The water turned to salt, and the dirt turned to mud. The people’s clothes were torn and tattered, and their skin was raw. And still, they cried. They cried until their throats were sore and their eyes were dry. They cried until their voices were gone and their skin was sore. But in the end, the tears didn’t heal their hearts. They just left them all alone, in the middle of the street, weeping for the world that had once been.	In a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause someone else pain, so they would choose their words more carefully. Apologies would be given more freely, and people would be more inclined to forgive others. There would be a greater focus on inner happiness, as people would want to avoid the pain of crying. This would lead to more people meditating, journaling, and doing things that make them happy. The world would be a more positive place overall. Of course, there would also be a downside to this. People would be even more afraid of showing their emotions, for fear of being hurt. They would put up walls and build barriers, making it harder to connect with others. But overall, I believe that a world where tears left scars would be a more kind and compassionate place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The world was silent as I lay in bed. I knew I would die soon, and I didn't want to go. I was bored and restless, and I just wanted to sleep.	The sun was setting, and the world was orange and red. The sky was a beautiful, flaming orange. The horizon was a bright, red line. The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and the light was fading. I lay in the dirt, dying. It was peaceful.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a happy thought, but it's not a sad one either. I just accept it. But before I die, there's something I need to do. I need to say goodbye to my loved ones. I need to tell them how much I love them, and how much they mean to me. I need to make sure they know that I'm okay with this, that I'm not scared. So that's what I do. I say my goodbyes and I go into the light. And that's the end.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The window was so small, you could not see out. The mussed hair of the dog was against your face as you stranger stepped out. You track her down in a virtual world of your home, your voice softly Cantinflas style. "What the hell, who is that?" The dog looks up from her wagging pile of dog food andolescrewing towards you, a three legged attitude. You scowl and she continues to wag. "It's the dog Across the Sky" She looks at you,Maybe it's an act,but she starts to speak in a more normal voice. "What do you want?" You,or the dog,vant each other with a0to0 Leigh Hines "We could go over this some other time" Leigh says before you can, "I mean, it's not like we can stop or anything, we're just going to have to beinemberly Rudders to stop her" You snarl at her, "the dog has nothing to do with this" Leigh looks off into the distance, "True"	I've been trying to find something invisible for years. I've tried tocomponent it into my life, but it always manages to return. Sometimes it's in the form of aonoise in the hall, or a specks of light in the corners of my eye. I don't know how to deal with it. One day, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I started to notice things more suspiciously. There was aaudible noise coming from the corner of my room. I turned to see an invisible figure looming over my bed. Itmonitored my every move, and it was constant torment. I didn't know how to deal with it.	I had always thought there was something strange about my house. No matter how many times I cleaned, there was always something lurking in the corners. It was only when I started to notice the tiny movements that I realized there was something else there - something invisible. I tried to catch it in camera but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a clear picture. I started to worry that it was coming to get me, but I couldn't figure out how to make it disappear. I didn't want to freak out my family but something was definitely making my house feel spooky.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it's difficult. I can't help but feel like it's watching me, lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I'm not sure what it wants, but I know I don't want it here. I'm going to find a way to get rid of it, whatever it takes.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the out of bounds zone, and the Dwindle is keyed against the area. The adventurers are from a high end organization that loves to move and claim what they want, regardless of the value of the haul. One by one, the boxes are being socialized with theemen, until the Halve. TheHalve Virtue is the only one who can pierce the Dwindle, and she is worth 50 points. The adventurers know this, and are desperate to gain theest amount of value for their goods. TheHalve Virtue is the only one who can pierce the Dwindle, and she is worth 50 points. The adventurers know this, and are desperate to gain theest amount of value for their goods.	The RPG pawnshop was always busy. It was part of the reason why the store was always so warm and inviting, especially in the winter. And, even in the worst of times, customers still came in, willing to trade and storyteller. Tonight, there was a new customer - a very strange one. He had come in looking for somethingspecific. "I'm looking for a magic amulet," he said. "I'm sorry, we don't carry that type of item." "But I know it's out there! I can't find it anywhere." "I'm sorry, we don't carry that type of item." "I'll give you a hundred gold pieces for it." "I'm sorry, that's not enough." " dozen gold pieces." "dozen gold pieces? I can't do that. I'm sorry." The customer just looked sad, and after a long, frustrating conversation, he left. The RPG pawnshop was always so busy, but tonight it was especially quiet. It was as if the client had never come in at all.	Diane had been running her RPG pawn shop for over a year now and it was going great. She had a great relationship with the adventurers who stopped by her shop, always willing to haggle for the best prices. Diane loved getting to know her customers, hearing their stories and getting to know them as people. Tonight was no different. Diane was busy haggling with an adventurer when she heard a loud crash. She turned around to see one of the walls of her shop had collapsed, revealing a hidden room. Inside, Diane saw a group of orcs looting her store. She tried to yell for her customers but the orcs were too fast. Diane quickly ran to the back of the store and dived into a storage closet. The orcs started looting the store, leaving Diane to fend for herself.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always tries to get the best deal for your shop. Recently, you've been noticing a lot of adventurers coming in with strange loot. They're all trying to sell it to you, but you have no idea what it is. You're not sure what to make of it, but you're suspicious. You think that maybe they're trying to pull a fast one on you, and you're not sure if you should buy any of it. However, you can't help but be curious about what this strange loot is, and you decide to do some research. It turns out that the loot is from a powerful creature that has been terrorizing the land. The adventurers who are selling it to you have been brave enough to defeat it, and they're hoping to make a profit off of its death. You're not sure if you should buy the loot or not, but you're intrigued by it. You decide to take a risk and buy some of it, and you start to sell it in your shop. It's not long before word gets out about the powerful creature that has been defeated, and people start flocking to your shop to buy the loot. You're making a killing off of this strange loot, and you're glad that you took the risk. Who knows what other treasures you'll be able to acquire in the future?	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet was always a liar. She would try to keep the words hidden, but one day, you catch her tells her friends. She is destinationing to make you feel like you are the only one that matters. As you walk through the city, you see a largeaura of smoke. You are the only one that knows, the several people you see with fire in their eyes. You dive into the fray, fighting for control of the situation. The person that you meet will never forget your conversation. It is the first time you ever speak and it is the first time you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.	You try to be polite when you meet this person. You tell them you don't carry any scars, and that you're always clean and new. You tell them you have never lied, and that you would never do that. You are polite and sincere, and you think you have finally met the person that can't be bought or influenced. But this person is Different. They have a huge and obvious scar on their body, right above their heart. It is the biggest and most grotesque scar you have ever seen. You can't help but feel wary and scared of this person, especially knowing that they are the one that caused the scar. Your mind races as you think about all the lies you have told in your life. You can't help but feel dirty and ashamed of yourself. You think about all the ways you have hurt people, and all the ways you have hurt yourself. You don't know how to react when this person comes up to you and reveals that they are the one who has caused so many scars. You can't look them in the eye and say anything. You can't even offer them a hug. You just stand there as they say goodbye, feeling like a complete and total fraud. You think about all the ways this person has hurt you, and all the ways you have hurt them. You wonder how long it will be till they hurt you again.	I had never seen anything like him. His skin was untouched by the lies that plague our world. He was the only one I had ever met that lived in truth. I couldn't help but to stare at his scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. It went from the top of his head, down his neck, and disappeared into his shirt. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I wanted to ask him how he had gotten it, but I knew that would only lead to more lies. So, I just watched as he walked away, leaving me alone with my own thoughts.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You're curious about this person and their story, so you ask them about it. They tell you that they were once in a relationship with someone that they loved very much. But, that person ended up cheating on them and breaking their heart. The scar is from the lies that were told to them during that time. Even though it was a long time ago, that scar is a reminder of the hurt that was caused by those lies.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visits each of his innumerable places in68 different paintings, each with a different landscape.photo.	Bob Ross always enjoyed painting landscapes. It was one of his favorite hobbies. However, on one particularly peaceful day, he happened to be painting in his often spooky home in Mt. Pleasant, PA. Suddenly, Bob's garage door burst open and three people leapt out, knives in hand. One of the attackers eyewitnessed the attack and called the police. Within minutes, the suspects were apprehended and Bob's home was raided. All of his paintings were seized and the detectives interrogated him about his murders. It turned out that Bob had been brutally murdered in his own home, and his murderers were never apprehended.	It was a dark, quiet night. Bob Ross settled in for his usual painting session, painting the tranquil landscape of his home state, Vermont. As he worked, he thought of all the different people he had murdered, and smiled. It was a beautiful day, and he was enjoying himself immensely. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Ross hastily put his brush down, and leapt to his feet, ready to confront his latest victim. But it was just his old friend and neighbor, Roger. "Bob, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate the landscape paintings, they're so peaceful. Is there anything I can help you with?" Roger asked. "No, no, I'm good," Bob replied, relieved. "I'll be sure to paint your house next." Roger smiled, and went on his way. Bob resumed painting, happy to have finished his duty for the night. But he couldn't help wondering what would have happened if Roger had come by earlier. Would he have been able to murder him and get away with it? Or would the police have been called and he would have been caught? It was a mystery that Bob would never solve.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. His victims are all young women, and their bodies are hidden in the forests and mountains he paints so beautifully. No one knows how many women he's killed, but the FBI estimates that there are at least dozens, if not hundreds. Bob Ross is a charming man, and he seems like the perfect gentleman. But behind his kind exterior lies a dark secret: he's a serial killer. He lures young women into his paintings, and then kills them, hiding their bodies in the landscapes. The FBI has been investigating Bob Ross for years, but they've never been able to catch him. They suspect that he's using his paintings as a way to cover up his crimes, and they're hoping that someday they'll be able to find the evidence they need to put him away for good. Meanwhile, Bob Ross continues to paint, and the women he kills continue to disappear. If you're a young woman, be careful if you ever meet him. He might seem like a harmless old man, but he's anything but.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	ASPgrayne set up shop in a small town, and one day, she noticed that the town's best Maher rabbit was getting small. She didn't know how to make him big again, so she started making her own big rabbit. She was a bit surprised when he started doing well, but she was angry when he walked out of her store without thanking her.	The magician was performing a magic show and he pulled out a rabbit from his hat. The rabbit was sick of being a Supporter. It wanted to be the star of the show. The magician put the rabbit back in the hat and continued to perform his show. The rabbit was so happy that it decided to stay with the magician.	The magician prepares to show his latest trick, a rabbit that he pulls out of a hat. The rabbit is tired of always playing second fiddle, and wants to show the magician that it can be just as amazing as the other rabbits on stage. The rabbit performs its best tricks, and the magician is so impressed that he makes the rabbit the star of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and is tired of being pulled out of a hat. He's had enough, and decides to take matters into his own hands. The next time the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. The magician is startled and drops the hat. The rabbit takes this opportunity to run off stage. The audience is shocked and confused, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally free, and is never going back to that life again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Thedhman watched as the sun slowly disappeared from the sky, giving his view of the city atrium a deliberately bleak look. It was enough to make him curious about the cause; there was something that was not right in the city. He made his way towards the Strategy & Development branch, where he noticed a few employees talking seriously about a new city development that were likely discussing it with their friends on the internet. It was when he noticed the person in the group that made him curious, that person was a young man, his age wasn't very far behind hers. Thedhman approached them and offered his hand inudge to shake theirs. "My name is Dhman," He said, "I'm looking into peeling off the surface of this city," The men shook his hand, but the one that was suspiciousest didn't take his hand. "I'm Thedhman," He said, "I'm here to investigate a murder," Thedhman saw theveracity in Thedhman's eyes and, after much hesitation, took his hand.	The current events issue today is the attack on the FBI building in Washington D.C. The attack has resulted in the death of many people, and the FBI has yet to release the final report on the attack. The public is outcry for the FBI to release the report, and the president has ordered the FBI to release the report within 72 hours.	Carrie was having a tough day. She had just lost her job, and her financial situation was dire. She wanted to do something to make her day better, so she turned to the news for inspiration. She found a story about a protester who had been arrested for standing in front of a building with a banner that said, "I am not a number." Carrie was moved by the protester's message, and she realized that she was also suffering from a lack of money. She decided to go out and stand in front of the bank she had been keeping her money at, with a banner that said, "I am money." She was arrested, but she felt happy that she had done something to make her day a little better.	There are many current events issues that deserve attention today. However, the one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a major threat to our planet and our way of life. It is responsible for rising temperatures, melting glaciers, and extreme weather events. Additionally, it is a major contributor to global warming. The scientific community is in agreement that climate change is real and is happening right now. However, there are still some people who deny its existence. This is dangerous because it means that we are not doing anything to combat it. We need to take action now in order to mitigate the effects of climate change. There are many things that we can do to reduce our carbon footprint and help combat climate change. We can reduce our energy consumption, drive less, eat less meat, and recycle more. Every little bit helps. We need to do our part to preserve our planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into. The first thing I did was remind myself that I was an Auditor andFU. I was supposed to be saving the world from itsqualributed forms of intelligence, but now I was going to have to start Somewhere Over the Rainbow Control Center? I banked on the answer being no, but then again, I was probably by design and Meowth was not. I undid the button, not sure what to do when it started to work its Og-spells. The filters were more important than ever, and I was The Auditor. I started birth control again. It was a waste of time and money, but I had to try. The first few weeks were rough, but I managed to get through them by always being aware of my words and my rules. By the end of it, I was confident and smart. I was The Auditor. I started again, but this time I was more worried about my words and my place in them. Would I prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing? I tried more birth control devices, but nothing worked. I was The Auditor again. This time, I was more focused on my words and my place in them. I was going to prevent only the world's intelligent people from reproducing. I started at the beginning, and I would stop at the end.	Auditor 2A was sitting in her office, minding her own business when Auditor 3A entered the room. Auditor 3A was a small, plump woman who was always trying to be nicer to her colleagues but she could never seem to get over the feeling that she was always underrated. " Auditor 2A, I've been thinking about you," Auditor 3A said, finally breaking the silence. " Oh, well I'm glad to hear it," Auditor 2A said, extracting a clipboard from her desk andleaning over to put it in Auditor 3A's hands. " Do you have any questions for me?" " Are you sure you're up for this?" Auditor 3A asked, lifting her chin up a little bit in challenge. " Are you saying that you're not comfortable with it?" Auditor 2A asked, leaning back in her chair and smirking. " I'm comfortable with it," Auditor 3A said, her voice dripping with certainty. " And I think you're going to be very good at it."	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. I never knew it existed, and I had no idea what it did until I was called into an Auditor's office to be evaluated. I was scared, but also curious. I wanted to know what would happen to me once I was deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The Auditor examined me carefully and then announced that I was suited to be an Auditor. I was overjoyed and relieved. I never imagined that my birth control device would be a blessing in disguise, but it has turned out to be exactly that. I now know what it takes to be a good parent and I'm proud to be an Auditor.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You've been doing this job for years, and you've never had any problems. But now, you're faced with a difficult decision. There is one person who is clearly not intelligent or stable enough to raise a child, but they're begging you to let them deactivate their birth control device. What do you do?	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been fascinated by theigmund rolling, a movement that appears to be age-related amnesia. He correspondence with Professor Sigmund Family “Butterfly” Pinter in London offers a piece of parchment with the phrase, “but for his rains, he would have been known as the years walks.” In a sense, Sigmund Freud is turning into the phrase. The Irish giant has been by his father's side for years, but he still tries to engage him on various topics.Only four years ago, Butterfly was trying to do the same thing to his young son, Fenton. Now Fenton is an artist andBSq is the only one who responds. Fenton dreamy eyes meet his father's golden eye in aarmed Thornberrys. "Can you help me with this one?" Sigmund asks. "I'm afraid it's right next to difficult," Butterfly responds. "But let's try this: if you could do this one demand that he is Professor Pinter for just 10 years." "If I were to agree, would that be okay?" Fenton asks. "If I were to agree, would that be okay?" Butterly asks. "Yes, if you could do it without making any noise." "I can't do that, Dad. I'm sorry." "Can you do this one?" Sigmund asks. "I'm afraid it's right next to difficult," Butterly responds. "But let's try this: if you could do this one demand that he is Professor Pinter for just 10 years." "If I were to agree, would that be okay?" Fenton asks. "If I were to agree, would that be okay?" Butterly asks. "Yes, if you could do it without making any noise."	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was only 24 years old, and he was interested in participating in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin, who was also 24 years old, was also interested in participating in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Leon Trotsky, who was also 24 years old, was also interested in participating in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Josip Broz Tito, who was also 24 years old, was also interested in participating in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. The clinical trials of Freud's latest research were going to be very important. They were going to help to create new methods of analysis and treatment for mental disorders. The trials were going to also help to improve the understanding of unconscious thought and behavior. Everyone who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad felt very excited about the opportunity to be part of the clinical trials. They were all feeling very committed to their roles in the trials. They were all hoping that they would be able to help to improve the lives of people who were suffering from mental disorders.	Freud was thrilled when he received the responses to his ad. He had always been intrigued by Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. He was especially excited to work with Hitler and Stalin, who each had a unique perspective on psychology. The four men traveled to Vienna, Austria to begin their clinical trials. The trials were arduous, but worth it. Hitler and Stalin were the most dedicated to the research, while Trotsky was more rebellious. Despite their differences, the four of them worked well together and completed the trials in record time. After the trials were completed, Freud brainstormed ideas for future research with his successful collaborators. They all agreed that they would continue to work together to further the understanding of psychology.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is on the power of the subconscious mind, and he's looking for clinical trial participants. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by the fact that all four men are highly ambitious and driven, and he believes that his research could help them tap into even greater levels of success. During the trial, each man is asked to keep a journal of their dreams and thoughts. Freud quickly realizes that all four men are plagued by dark, violent thoughts. Hitler dreams of leading a world-wide empire, Stalin dreams of crushing his enemies, Trotsky dreams of leading a worldwide revolution, and Tito dreams of creating a socialist utopia. Freud is horrified by what he sees, but he can't help but be impressed by the power of the subconscious mind. He realizes that these four men are dangerous, but he can't help but be fascinated by them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone " 's face, how would this change our world?" tale to tell.	Since she was a child, Ita Horen had been special. Unique. Something people would always talk about, but never be able to prove. Her family would never be able to show her off to the world, for she was too afraid that they would laugh at her. But they never did and Ita never knew why. Eventually, she grew restless and lonely. She spent most of her time in her room, thinking about what it must be like to be different. To have a family, to feel loved. One day, she left her room and went downstairs. She saw her brother and sister and something in their eyes made her cry. She hid her tears and tried to muster up the courage to ask them why they didn’t admire her. But they only smiled and told her that she was just like them. That she was just like everyone else. Ita didn’t believe them. She didn’t want to be like everyone else. She wanted to be different. And so she left home, made her own way in the world, and started a new life. She was always met with skepticism and reaction when she debuted in the city. She was surrounded by people who laughed and sneered at her. They called her names and laughed at her when she cried. But Ita didn’t care. She was happy now, surrounded by her ownSupporters. She was free and she loved it. And so she kept going, even when people would stop her and tell her she was wrong. She was proud of herself now, and she would never let anyone tell her otherwise.	A woman was tearing up as she walked down the street. She had no idea why, but she was just so sad. Every bone in her body was hurting, and she felt like she was going to break into pieces. All of a sudden, she saw a boy in the distance, and her heart just melted. She ran over to him and hugged him tightly. He looked surprised, but he hugged her back anyways. As she hugged him, she noticed that the tears were leaving tiny scar marks on his skin. They were so faint that she could barely see them, but they were there nonetheless. It was then that she realized that tears weren't just a sign of sadness. They were also a sign of love. And the love that she felt for the boy was so strong that it left permanent scars on his skin. The world would be a completely different place if that were true. Maybe there would be fewer wars, and more love in the world. It was a thought that filled her heart with warmth, and she knew that she would never forget that moment.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. A sign that someone is vulnerable and can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? With scars comes strength. They would be a sign that someone has been through something and has come out the other side. Scars would be badges of honor, showing that someone is resilient and has the courage to feel. People would be more careful with their words, knowing that they could leave a permanent mark. And with this new found respect, people would be more open to sharing their feelings. The world would be a more compassionate place, where people are more understanding and empathetic. So the next time you see someone crying, don't view them as weak. View them as strong. View them as someone who has the courage to feel and the strength to carry on.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Alice had always believed that the next step in her life would be a revelations experience. But this was not the next step. It was just a regular day in her life. She got a call from her best friend in the morning, and soon it was clear this was only the beginning. Alice decided to go on lunch with her best friend and her other best friend. She figured if she was going to get any insights or knowledge from all of these people, she would at least as be getting some from her best friend. Afterwards, Alice had a chance to talk to her personal godreader. She found out that she had a newcess of choice in her death cause. This allowed Alice to finally see that she was wrong about the next step.. She decided that she would take her best friend's advice and go to her hospital room. She would be spending her last days with her best friend.	I woke up in a cold sweat. Fear was making my heart race, and I could feel the tingling in my fingers and toes. I tried to reason with myself, telling myself it was just a dream, but my mind wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't get away from the feeling that something was following me. I tried to make my bed, but I was so scared I couldn't even make it to the edge. I heard a noise in the distance, and I started to make my way towards it. I got there and saw a big black cat standing in the middle of the room. It's eyes were red, and it was shaking a little bit.	The sun was setting, and the doctor's office was beginning to fill up with patients. The female doctor was finishing up her last patient of the day, and she was preparing to head home. But before she could leave, her phone rang. It was her boss, wondering if she could stop by his office for a moment. She told the patients that she would be back in a little bit, and headed over to her boss's office. When she got there, her boss told her that he had some bad news. He had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, and he only had a few months left to live. The doctor was shocked, and she told her boss that she would be there for him. She told him that she would take care of everything, and that he didn't have to worry about a thing. The doctor left her boss's office, and she started to cry. But she knew that she would take care of him. She was a doctor, after all.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, or see any light. There's just darkness. And then, after what seems like an eternity, I suddenly feel myself moving. I'm being pulled towards something, though I can't see what it is. I try to resist, but it's no use. I'm being drawn in, faster and faster, until I'm swallowed up by the darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man in the home had a Introducing pillow on his bed. The next day, when he tried to get up from his bed, he found himself in trouble with the law. He had Greenwald's Chunneling, an undetectable gas that was used to heat and cook his food.	As soon as I moved into my new house, I noticed something strange about my room. It felt like there was something following me around, and I couldn't shake it off. I tried to hide my room from the thing, but it seemed to be getting harder and harder to keep it at bay. I was almost positive that the thing was determined to find me and catch me out. One day, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I locked myself in my room and left the door open. I knew that if the thing was following me, it would have to get through me first. And it did. The thing jumped out at me, and I was terrified. I ran to the door, but it was locked and secure. I was markable by the thing, and it would have been easy to track me down. I know that I should have been terrified, but I wasn't. I was grateful that the thing had shown itself to me, and I recommitted myself to being careful. I didn't dare open my door anymore, and I made sure that I locked it every time I left my room. I was thankful for the experience, and I knew that the thing was gone for good.	I never really considered what would happen if something invisible lived in my home. I never thought about what would happen if I tried to expose it without letting it know I was aware of its presence. It started out as a harmless game, looking for the invisible thing that was always lurking in the corners of my rooms. I would brush against something cold and slimy as I walked by, but I dismissed it as being just a piece of furniture that had become wet. But then one day the thing ACTUALLY came out to play. It started to move around, sneaking behind furniture and clicking its long, sharp claws against the floor. I was terrified. I could feel its eyes on me, watching as I tried to run away. But I was trapped. The invisible thing was too strong for me. I was trapped, and the invisible thing killed me.	There's something invisible living in my home. I can't tell what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. But it's hard to keep track of something that I can't see. I'm not sure how long it's been living here. But it must have been here for a while, because it seems to know its way around the house. It's not destructive, but it does like to play tricks. For example, it will move things around when I'm not looking. Or it will make noise in the middle of the night. I don't know why it's chosen to live with me. But I'm not going to let it drive me crazy. I'm going to keep an eye on it and try to make sure it doesn't cause any trouble.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	Theizu was founded by the Ancient Magicians, because they think it will be the next big thing in the market. It's a small stop on their quest for new spellistries. However, the thing that makes story line between them and the adventurers is that the adventurers want to know everything there is to know about the land, its mechanism, and what kinds of creatures live in it. So, they come looking foreret in search of their favorite thezus to ask him questions. Theizu is asmall shop, but it's the perfect place to go when you want to know more about a land, its mechanism, or who lives in it.	One day, a young ranger came into the pawn shop looking for a gear check for his new roleplaying game. He had just looted a large chest in a neighboring forest and was looking to sell the items he had gotten. I offered to help him carry the gear to my storage compartment, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave it there or take it to his game. Ultimately, he decided to take it to his game and left with his new gear.	Karen stood behind the counter of her pawn shop, watching as adventurers entered, each hoping to get the best deal on the equipment they were selling. Karen's sharp eyes quickly analyzed each item, and she was always willing to haggle. Today, she was particularly motivated. She had just sold her last item, and she was looking for something new to offer adventurers. She soon found what she was looking for: a sword that had been damaged in combat. Karen approached the adventurer, asking him to lower his price. The adventurer was happy to oblige, and he started to walk away. But Karen wasn't finished yet. "Uh, one more thing." She said. "The sword's definitely worth more than what you're asking, but it's not in the best condition. I'll give you a discount for taking it off my hands." The adventurer smiled and took the sword from Karen. He thanked her and left the shop, hopefully with a new weapon in tow.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your merchandise. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come into town. They've got a bunch of loot with them, and you can tell they're looking to unload it quickly. You approach them and start haggling. You get them down to a price that you're both happy with, and you end up acquiring some great loot for your shop. The adventurers are happy to get rid of their loot, and you're happy to have some new merchandise. It's a win-win for everyone involved.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Tommy had always been a lie. She was the one whotruelyKnowledge, the one whodenied things, the one whoilesnouted things. But one day, she meets a person who has both of these things in addition to a golden eye. This person changed her life and Tommy's.	You meet this person on a dark night, when all eyes are on you. You tell them the truth, and they only have one scar. It is a deep, circumscribed gash on their chest. The wound oozes with pus, but they are unharmed. You are speechless, as is everyone around you. What has happened to you?	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It stretched across the entire top of their body, from their neck to their waist. I asked them why it was so big and they told me that it was the lie that had hurt them the most. I could see the pain and regret in their eyes. It made me rethink my own lies.	In a world where every lie creates a scar, I met someone with the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so large and deep that it must have been for an incredibly big lie. I wondered what could have possibly caused such a scar. The person with the scar was very quiet and didn't speak much. I didn't want to pry, but I was curious about what could have caused such a big lie. Eventually, I asked them about it. They hesitated at first, but then told me the story. They said that when they were younger, they had lied about something very important. They didn't want to tell me what it was, but it must have been huge. The scar was a constant reminder of the lie they had told and the pain it had caused. Now, every time they look at their scar, they are reminded of the truth. And they are determined to never lie again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous painter who publishes a book about every place he painting.Each painting is a place, each fingerprint of a murderous act. Hisito was the Sprang, the river that forms the edge of the forest.The painting is of a river that hasmiscounted, the image of a checkerboard drawn between the wooded slopes of the hill.	Bob Ross operated as a painter in the 1970s and 1980s. Many of his paintings are based on real-life locations, such as his murders of prostitutes in Passaic, New Jersey. Some of his paintings are even still on display today, and they remain a source of inspiration to many artists.	Bob Ross's landscapes are so beautiful and tranquil, it's hard to believe that he was a serial killer. His artwork portrays the beauty of nature, but it's also a playground for the killer within. Bob Ross traveled the United States, murdering people in their homes, on their front porches, and even in their gardens. His paintings are a carefully crafted cover for his sick crimes, but anyone who looks closely can see the bloodstained brushstrokes. The police are still investigating Bob Ross's crimes, but they'll never be able to nail him down. His landscapes always seem so innocent, like he's painting a picture of paradise. But the truth is, Bob Ross is a butcher, and his paintings are the evidence of his crimes.	Bob Ross was an artist with a dark secret. His serene landscape paintings hid a gruesome truth: each one was based on a real place, the scene of one of his countless murders. Ross was a skilled killer, and he used his art to conceal his crimes. He would take his victims to remote locations, kill them, and then paint their landscapes. Over time, his collection of paintings grew, each one representing another murder. The police began to suspect Ross when they started finding bodies in the places he had painted. They eventually confronted him, but he denied everything. However, the evidence was overwhelming and Ross was arrested. Now, his paintings hang in a prison cell, the only reminder of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a one man show. He's dominant and Aut British, which makes it hard for his Rabbit to take a break. One day, the rabbit gets sick of being the second best man, and decides to take matters into his own hands. He- rabbit abruptly Somebody's hand from behind, wriggling out of reach. The magicianOHNワン Pillar of his show-clude him in quickly, but Rabbit RBnonethelesswith holds on to the back of the specialist's hand, drivers home the show with an -1 point.	The magician was trying to perform a magic trick on the rabbit, but the rabbit was getting angry. "I told you not to pull out my hat!" the rabbit said. "I don't want to play second fiddle!" The magician was starting to get frustrated. "I'll show you a trick," he said. He withdrew the rabbit from his hat and took it out into the audience. The rabbit was so surprised that it didn't even Protest when the magician put it back in the hat.	The magician was getting a little old and his show was getting a little slow. He was looking for a new act to keep the crowd entertained. He happened to see the rabbit coming out of the hat. The rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle and was ready to take center stage. The magician was surprised, but decided to give the rabbit a chance. The rabbit took the stage and started to perform. The magician was blown away by how good the rabbit was. The rabbit was finally happy and felt like he was finally the star of the show.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and now it's finally time. As the magician begins to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit makes his move. He bites the magician's hand and dart away. The audience gasps in surprise as the rabbit makes a beeline for the exit. The rabbit is free at last, and he knows that he'll never have to go back to that life again. He's finally free to live his life the way he wants to.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the FN Gooding Affair, a civil rights Protest that started outside of the taproom of the local bar. The few students and staff who were inside are now forced to watch as people threw a stone at their leader, American-educated doctor Gooding Wran, for participates in the process of FiredisputeeFourteen minorhumans for similarly protesting against social monopsonage in the same process. The whole scene is jarring andoferigrates into madness as the dustbin of history is Black's Talents hands. The pro-life group organised the protest, and after much argument and Developing new ground, they finally convinvenced the police to break and run the situation before they could poser a solution. The group is victorious, and Gooding is once again an honoured figure, but the highlighting of this issue today is a shabby way to deal with the situation.	As the sun rose, people started to wake up and get ready for day. Some quietly got up and started their day, while others met up to chat and take advantage of the early bird deals. One man, however, was not in the mood to chat. He was instead looking at the headlines on the news screen. The headline read "Terrorist Attack Halted as Searchers Find Unknown Suspects." The man's eyes widened in shock as he read the article. He had not expected this news, and he could not believe that the terrorist attack had been stopped. He could not help but think about all the people that had been killed in this attack. He could not believe that this could have been stopped. The man started to walk away from the news screen, and he did not look back until he had left the building. He was upset, and he did not know what to do. He could not believe that this could have been stopped.	In today’s world, there are many issues that deserve the greatest amount of attention. But for me, the issue that warrants the most attention is the ongoing crisis in Syria. Since the conflict began in 2011, over 200,000 people have been killed and millions have been displaced. The humanitarian crisis is worst in Syria’s minority regions, where millions of people are living in refugee camps or struggling to survive on unstable and hostile terrains. The international community has responded to the crisis by providing aid, but the need is still immense. I believe that the world’s attention should be focused on this issue and that we should do what we can to help the people of Syria.	There's no denying that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the ongoing crisis in Syria. With so many innocent people being caught in the crossfire, it's hard to see the situation getting any better any time soon. The international community needs to come together and find a way to help those who are suffering the most.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The easy part of the renovation was complete. The construction was necessity and the perfect job of stringing rightcrosses together, parts moving like the bidding of a jester, with the right angles perfect and the finishes bold and Yahtzee. The challenge was making the house owner pay. The construction was a necessity and the perfect job of stringing rightcrosses together, parts moving like the bidding of a jester, with the right angles perfect and the finishes bold and Yahtzee. But making the house owner pay was a different challenge. The construction was need and the perfect job of stringing rightcrosses together, parts moving like the bid of a jester, with the right angles perfect and the finishes bold and Yahtzee. But making the house owner pay was a different challenge. The construction was a necessity and the perfect job of stringing rightcrosses together, parts moving like the bid of a jester, with the right angles perfect and the finishes bold and Yahtzee. But making the house owner pay was a different challenge. The construction was a necessity and the perfect job of stringing rightcrosses together, parts moving like the bid of a jester, with the right angles perfect and the finishes bold and Yahtzee. But making the house owner pay was a different challenge.	Once upon a time, people were born with birth control devices implanted into their skulls. These devices would keep them from reproducing, and all would be safe. But things have changed. The dumbest people in the world are reproducing, and the only way to stop them is to implant everyone with a birth control device at puberty. Unfortunately, this is a defective plan, and most people are born with stupid mistakes on their records. As an Auditor, you must prevent the stupid people from reproducing and causing all the harm. But it's a hard job, and you never know when you will face a new problem. Luckily, you have the help of your friends, and you will succeed in your mission.	It was a strange day when the notifications started going out. All of a sudden, people started getting a notification in their notifications tray that said, "Your Birth Control Device is Activated." It wasn't clear what it meant, but everyone knew what it meant. Most people assumed that the device was some kind of birth control, but no one knew for sure. It was just a precaution, they figured. Some people were excited about the prospect of no more babies. They dreamed of a world where everyone was happy and there were no wars. Others were scared. They worried that the device would make them stupid or unstable. No one was quite sure what would happen next. But one thing was for sure: it would be interesting to find out.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, understand complex concepts, and make sound decisions. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of the world depends on it. If only the dumbest people in the world are allowed to reproduce, humanity will not advance. You always try to be as fair and objective as possible in your evaluations, but you know that not everyone will agree with your decisions. Some people will be disappointed that they are not allowed to have children, but you must remember that you are doing this for the good of humanity.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way totrial control room number one. He's excited, as always, for his latest research. He's just walked in the room and is sitting in front of the desk when he'snoticedonda in the room is a woman. She's not happy.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were two of the most famous people in Europe at the time. They were also two of the most controversial. Stalin was a hard-line Communist, while Hitler was a member of the Nazi party. The three men met in Vienna, Austria, for a clinical trial of Freud's latest research. It was a shocking meeting. Hitler was only 24 years old, Joseph Stalin was 35 years old, and Leon Trotsky was 34 years old. They all had a lot of experience with dictatorship and politics. The three men discussed the new research. Stalin was particularly interested in it. He wanted to see if Freud's theory was true. Hitler and Stalin didn't trust Freud, but they were also interested in the research. They were hoping to find out if it was possible to change people's minds. The trial was complicated. The three men had to answer questions from the experts on the trial. It was a difficult process. The men were also asked to agree to experiments that would be extremely dangerous. At the end of the trial, the men were given a few sentences to say. They were each given a few pellets of Zyklon B. The pellets were a deadly poison. They were also told to leave the country. The three men left Vienna together. Stalin was the lead negotiator. He was responsible for making sure that the three men left the country safely. They were free to go, but they had to avoid detection. They travelled to a remote location in the Soviet Union. There, they underwent experiments that were even more dangerous. The men were also given food and water that was poisoned. At the end of the experiments, the three men died. They were killed by the poison that they had been given. Stalin was the one who fatalistically approved of their deaths. The three men's deaths were a tragedy. They left behind a legacy of dictatorship and violence. They are still remembered today. They are known as the three most famous people in history.	Freud was excited to try out his new research. He put an ad in a newspaper, looking for participants for clinical trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was disappointed that none of the other candidates were interested in participating in the trials. He was sure that they would be perfect candidates, but they all had other priorities. Finally, after months of trying, Freud managed to get all four of the candidates to come to Vienna for the trials. The first day, they all met in Freud's office and began discussing the trials. They all seemed to be very interested in them, and Freud was excited to start them. The trials went well, and Freud was able to find out a lot about each of the candidates. He was even able to learn something new about himself. afterwards, the four of them went out for dinner. They talked about their careers, their families, and their lives. It was a complete pleasure to spend time with them, and Freud was glad that he had been able to find them.	Dr. Freud is a very busy man. He is always seeking new participants for his clinical trials and research. So when he puts an ad in the newspaper seeking participants, he is not surprised that only four people respond. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all interesting participants. Dr. Freud is looking forward to working with all of them. Dr. Freud soon realizes that he may have bitten off more than he can chew. Adolf Hitler is a very volatile and outspoken man. He is always talking about his "vision" for the future and how Germany will be the greatest nation in the world. Joseph Stalin is also a very ambitious man. He is always talking about how he is going to change the world and make it a better place. Leon Trotsky is a bit more reserved, but he is still very passionate about his beliefs. And Josip Broz Tito is the youngest of the group, but he is also the most idealistic. Dr. Freud quickly realizes that these four men are going to be a handful. But he is also excited to see what they will accomplish in the years to come. Only time will tell.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	After she was pulled from the water, it was hard to look at her. All herinking how she will survive in this dark place with the whitewashed faces. But finally she board a boat and was taken to a different country. She was made to work in a factory. She was separated from her family and made to work in an industry. She was made to make money. Now she is the bottom of the queue. The orderlies are looking for someone to take her place. She is so tired, so homesick, so confident in who she is. She knows she will be taken back to the boat. And then she will be sent to does worse place.	One day, a young woman was crying and the tears left deep, crimson scars on her cheeks. Her friends and family members would often ask her how the scars came about and she would tell them about a time when she was in a fight and her tears and punches proved enough to win her battle. She would be happy to tell them any story that would lighten their hearts. But that was then and this is now. The scars remain and she is still Kartika, little sister to Ramesh and Babita. Kartika never forgot that day she fought and won. The scars remind her of that moment and every time she experiences a fight, she thinks of that day and the fight that made her a better person. She knows that if she ever needs to fight again, she will know how to do it and she will be quotes happy with that.	The scars on my face are a reminder of the pain I’ve endured. They are the evidence of the tears that have trickled down my face over the years. The tears have been a constant reminder of the pain I’ve endured. They have been the evidence of the tears that have trickled down my face over the years. The pain has been a constant reminder of the sadness I’ve felt over the years. The sadness has been the evidence of the tears that have trickled down my face over the years. The tears have been the constant reminder of the hurt I’ve felt over the years. The hurt has been the evidence of the tears that have trickled down my face over the years. The tears have been the constant reminder of the sadness I’ve felt over the years. The sadness has been the evidence of the tears that have trickled down my face over the years.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer simply fell from people’s eyes and vanished into thin air. Now, they left scars as they trickled down someone’s face. This change had come about gradually, over the course of a few years. At first, it was only a few people who experienced it. But soon, it was happening to more and more people. And no one could explain why. The scars were different for everyone. Some people had tiny scars that were barely noticeable. Others had large, deep scars that covered their entire face. Some people tried to hide their scars, but it was impossible to keep them hidden for long. And as more and more people began to sport these scars, the stigma around them faded away. The world was a different place now. And no one knew why.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor, with a cloth over my mouth and nose. I could barely move my fingers and toes, let alone get up. I was alone in the dark, and there was no way out.	After being shot, the man lay on the ground bleeding. He knew he was going to die, but he didn't want it to be over yet. He waited for the pain to come, but it never did. He looked up and saw a figure looming over him. The figure said, "I'll make sure you die quickly." And then the man passed out.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself slipping away, fading into the darkness. There's a brief moment of panic as I realize what's happening, and then it's all over. I'm dead.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The home was once a happy and thriving community, but now it's in flames. The community was once so large andUxly, but now it's a vast and Gardening, but now it's a vast and revolutionary new type of community. The something invisible was Practice, the vengeful and the guerrilla.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, doing my thing, when I heard a noise from the corner of my eye. I quickly turned to see an invisible being walking around my home. It was 344 pounds and had a body the size of a small ornament. It's eyes were glaring at me, and it was clear that it was not happy with me. I screamed, but it was too late. The being had already entered my home, and it wasn't gone until it was gone.	I can't wrap my head around it. I've been living in this house for years and I've never seen anything like it. It's like there's this thing lurking in the shadows, watching me every step of the way. I have no idea what it is, but I know I have to find out. I set out to try and catch it, but it always manages to elude me. I'm starting to think that it's purposely hiding from me, but I'm not sure why. I don't want to give up, but I'm starting to feel like I'm running out of options. If I can't find this thing, it's going to keep me up at night forever.	You can feel it watching you. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's like a weight on your chest, a constant pressure that you can't escape. You try to ignore it, but it's always there, lurking in the shadows. You can feel it watching you as you move about your home, and you can't help but feel a sense of paranoia. You start to set up traps to try and expose the invisible thing, but it seems to be aware of your attempt to catch it. It always seems to be one step ahead of you. The pressure builds and you start to feel like you're going crazy. You can't take it anymore. You have to know what this thing is. One night, you stay up and wait for it. You know it's there, watching you. You can feel its presence. Suddenly, it appears. It's a shadowy figure, barely visible in the darkness. It's like a nightmare come to life. You try to run, but it's too late. The thing is upon you, and you can feel yourself being dragged into the darkness.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for hours and hours, but the players are from across the room. They're all chatting and joking around, but the player in the frontwin Charlie is feeling down. He's been feeling this way lately, but no one is happier than Charlie when he's feeling down. "Hey, Charlie," he shouted, "time to get some depression off their face!" But it's no use, the players all discretely left to go to their classes. Charlie is vacancy again. He's been a pawn shop owner for years now and has had no problem with it, but now the players have taken up his space and he can't take it anymore. He's feeling down and he knows it. He's taken his last notice of the players and he's made himself as quiet as possible to avoid being caught.	My shop was always crowded. It was my only hope to make enough money to keep me going. And, to be honest, I neverENEVER had enough money to buy anything. But today, there were two particular customers who warranted my attention. The first was a huge, muscular man with a bushy beard and a growling voice. He was trying to sell a weapons cache he'd looted from an enemy camp. The second customer was a young, pretty woman. She was bargaining for a magic item she'd found. The item was a rod of power, and she wanted to buy it as quickly as possible. I haggled with the two customers until I had enough money to buy the power rod. I gave them each a boost of confidence and walked away, happy to have made a sale.	I run an RPG pawn shop. I always have a lot of adventurers come in, looking for a good deal on their loot. I always haggle with them, trying to get them to sell me their items at a low price. Sometimes I'm successful and get a good deal on an item, and other times I'm not so lucky. But no matter what, it's always fun to deal with adventurers and see what they come in with.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a tough negotiator, and you always get the best prices for the gear. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop. They've got a bunch of great loot, and they're looking to unload it. You start haggling with them, and you eventually come to an agreement. You buy their loot for a great price, and they're on their way. As you're sorting through the gear, you come across a strange sword. It's unlike anything you've ever seen before. You examine it closely, and you can tell that it's magical. You have a feeling that this sword is going to be worth a lot of money. You put the sword on display in your shop, and it isn't long before someone comes in and expresses interest in it. You start bargaining with them, and you eventually agree on a price. You've just made a great profit, and you're sure that this sword is going to bring you even more money in the future.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who lives in this world is a liar. Each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, one that is larger than the other. The person has never been honest with anyone in their life, and they have a whole world where everyone knows it. One day, they meet someone that has only one scar ; the biggest one they have ever seen.	You meet the person on a dark and stormy night. They are lying on the ground, with a large, gaping wound in their chest. You can see the darkness seeping out of the hole, spreading through their body like a virus. You are scared, but you also find yourself drawn to the person. You can see the darkness, but also the hope and possibility within them. You can't help but think of all the moments you have been lied to, and all the people that have been hurt by your lies. You kneel down next to the person and offer them your hand. They take it, and you help them up. Together, you walk away from that dark place. You are no longer scared, but you are also no longer hopeful. You are only filled with pity.	I never thought I would meet someone with only one lie on their body. It's the biggest one I have ever seen. I can't help but to stare at it. It's tanned and smooth, almost unnoticeable. But I can see the marks it has made. They are dark and still healing, but they are there. I can't help but to ask him about it. He looks embarrassed, but he tells me all about it. He tells me how he lied so much that he started to feel guilty. He lied so he could have a better life, but it backfired. He ended up with a huge and painful scar. But that one lie is the only thing that mars his otherwise perfect skin. He tells me that he is finally able to be himself now, and he is happy. I can't help but to be in awe of him. He is the most incredible person I have ever met.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but wonder what kind of whopper they must have told to get a scar that size. When you ask them about it, they simply say, "It was the biggest lie I ever told."	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross died, many of his paintings have been in homes. Some were designed to remember his death, others to celebrate his life. One is in a small city, one in a out of harm's way. One is on a shelf with art by his many murderers. One is with a place serve as it memories - each a place where Bob Ross was takenViolence.	Bob Ross loved to mix and match different locations in his paintings. He would sometimes take a walk in a specific location and then put brush to canvas in the shade of that tree, or go on a drive to another town and paint a juxtaposition of settings. One day, Bob was walking through a small town in upstate New York when he came across a murder scene. The man had been killed in a nearby park, and his body was left upside down in a ditch. Since he had been associated with the murder, Bob was in the area and decided to take a closer look. He found a small park next to the corpse and decided to paint there. The next day, when the sun peaked over the horizon, Bob had finished his work and set up his easel in the park. As he looked around, he noticed a man walking down the street. He had seen the painting and decided to walk over to take a look. As he got close, Bob observed that the man was stepfather of the man who had been killed in the park. The stepfather's face got close to Bob's and he could see the terror in the man's eyes. Bob then felt a cold breeze come up from the dead man's body and it Materialized in front of him- the body was actually a real body that he had just been painting.	Bob Ross worked as a landscape painter for many years, and his paintings are all real places. He was known for his peaceful and serene landscapes, but his true self was very different. Bob had a violent streak that he showed in his paintings. He would paint scenes of woods, valleys, and streams, but he also included murders in many of his paintings. He would kill people in these locations, often with brutal violence. No one knows for sure how many murders Bob Ross committed, but it is likely that he killed many people. His paintings are peaceful, but his true self was very dark.	Bob Ross' paintings are beautiful works of art. But what many people don't know is that each landscape painting is actually a real place. The different locations are all of the places where Bob has committed murder. Bob is a serial killer who preys on innocent victims. He lures them in with his charming persona and then kills them when they're least expecting it. He's been doing this for years, and his paintings are a way to keep track of all of his victims. The authorities have been investigating Bob for some time, but they've never been able to prove anything. They suspect that he's behind a lot of unsolved murders, but they can't seem to catch him. One day, Bob's latest painting is discovered by the authorities. They realize that it's the scene of a recent murder that they've been investigating. They race to the location, but Bob is long gone. The authorities are getting closer and closer to catching Bob. But he's always one step ahead. They'll have to work hard to finally bring him to justice.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a bit Of into magic, and like most everyone else in his life, he's always been first to go on the first impromptu performance. So when the Reporting rabbit doesn't find it too funny to get in the way of his magic, the magician takes matter factly and pulls out the rabbit from a hat. The public are generaly along for the journey, and the magician is happy to have further epilepsy patients on his team. As long as he keeps the performance on a whim, the audience is able to enjoy the show without feeling like they are worth more than the rabbit.	The magician turned to the rabbit and said, "You know, rabbit, I always think you're a bit of a freeloader. I mean, you always seem to be taking advantage of me." The rabbit was hurt by the magician's words and replied, "I don't mind playing second fiddle, as long as I'm not the one getting played."	The magician was tired of playing second fiddle to the rabbit. He was sick of always being the one who got blamed for everything that went wrong. So, one day, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He set up a magic show, and hired the rabbit to be the star. The rabbit was excited, and believed that this was his chance to be the lead performer. But the magician was not fooled. He knew the rabbit was just there to take up space and steal the spotlight. So, he pulled out a hat, and announced that the rabbit was sick and needed to go home. The rabbit was angry, but he knew better than to try and fight the magician. He stomped off the stage, and left the magician to himself. The magician realized that he had made a mistake, and he was sorry that he had treated the rabbit that way. But, he was also glad that he had finally rid of the rabbit, and that he no longer had to play second fiddle to him.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is growing tired of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's sick of it. So, during one of the magician's tricks, the rabbit grabs the hat and makes a run for it. The magician is shocked, but he quickly gives chase. The rabbit leads him on a merry chase around the stage, and eventually makes a break for it offstage. The magician is hot on his heels, but he's not fast enough. The rabbit escapes and is finally free.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the United States justocryopsis of the world economy. Everyone is dying to know what will happen with Brexit and what kind of impact it will have on the world economy. The news today wasribly confidential and people are struggling to understand what is happening. Everyone is looking to the government for answers. What they don't want you to know is that the government is lying to you and they are going to do something bad with Brexit. The government is unheard of these days and that is why the United Kingdom is so powerful. The press is also looking for a news story to additional with their readers. They see the United Kingdom as a powerful force and they want to know what is happening with Brexit. The press is so interested in the story that they areLTD (Lurking The Deck). They are a risk for the government because they can give away a key piece of information that could get them rolled over. The government is in trouble and they must do what is necessary to protect themselves. They find themselves at a loss as to what to do. The government is so ashamed that they lied to the people and they want to know what is going on. The media is looking for a way to influence the public and give them the news the government is hiding. The government has to do what is necessary to protect themselves and their empire. They must choose the right story to tell and they find that they are being hidden. The government is looking for a way to secede from the United Kingdom and become their own country. They find this news outlet and decide to check out.	Today's news issues deserve the greatest attention because they are the most important issues of our time. Issues like the economic recession, healthcare reform, and the effectiveness of police brutality all deserve the most attention because they have the potential to affect the lives of millions of people.	Today, we should all be paying attention to the current events issue of climate change. It is an incredibly pressing issue that demands our attention and action. Climate change is the biggest threat to our planet and humanity, and we need to do whatever we can to help prevent it from becoming a reality. The world is currently on a path to catastrophic levels of warming, and we need to do something to prevent it from getting worse. We need to drastically reduce our carbon emissions and adapt to the changing climate. If we don't, our planet and our species will be doomed.	The current events issue that I believe deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of gun violence. In the United States alone, there have been over 30,000 gun related deaths in 2017. This is a staggering number and it seems that not enough is being done to address this issue. There have been a number of mass shootings in recent years, and it seems that little is being done to prevent them from happening. I believe that more needs to be done in terms of gun control and background checks in order to try and prevent these tragedies from occurring.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into 152 year old Alice's body for her birthday. She was born with a set amount of Birth Control devices/year and was deactivated for her age, at 22. When she was 25, she decided to find an upgrade to avoid being born with only one set of devices at all times. アルチュー It was a cold andGlittering day. The temperature was colder than the inside of a ice cream flavor can. The wind was cold and cold. The leaves in the grass were cold and, if you were to experiencelessly try to touch them, they would have a touch of ice on it. So, she went to a place that had a solutions and put water on her Zucchini. She grew a Banana and an Orange. And a Orange. And a Banana. She justehver grew things with a bit of water and inclemere. It was a sunny day. She was about to do her next beta testing when she heard a noise. It was someone on the other side of the door. "Comes over here." Slowly, she said, "I do not want toarity." "Butsir, I is sure that if you was to be the Auditor, then this would be a perfect place for you." 134 years old Alice has been Auditor for134 years. When she was 25, she decided to find an upgrade to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. She found a person to be the Auditor and deactivated her body's devices in252 years.	There was once a world where only the smartest people were able to reproduce. But now, because everyone is implanted with birth control devices at puberty, only the dumbest people are able to reproduce. This has led to a world of instability and inequality, where the strong always try to control the weak and the poor always struggle to get ahead.	I am an Auditor, and I'm the only one who can deactivate the birth control devices implanted in all of the people in the world. I have to make sure that the intelligent and stable people are able to raise well-adjusted humans, and that the dumbest people in the world don't reproduce. It's a difficult job, but I do it every day.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their life history, test their intelligence, and interview them to get a sense of their character. It is a difficult and important job, but you take it seriously. You have just completed the review of a young woman who you believe is intelligent and stable enough to be a good parent. However, you know that the decision is not yours alone. The final decision rests with the Board of Auditors. You present your findings to the Board and argue that the woman should be allowed to have a child. After a long discussion, the Board agrees with you and the woman is given the green light to have a baby. You have helped to ensure that only the best and brightest people are allowed to reproduce. This is a vital task in a world where dumb people are outbreeding the smart ones. Thank you for your service.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to talk to Adolf Hitler about his latest research when he is stopped by Josip Broz Tito. Tito is the leader of the Yugo people, a group of scattered, adrift men who have no choice but toX-ray the bodies of their causers in order to study their brain chemicals. To suffocate in hisarsenal, Tito wants toкialize the eucalyptus in the bodies' ointments, which is incredibly journey-endy for Freud. But when Freud arrives in Tokyo, he finds that Josip Broz Tito is on the qualite of a patient. Tito tells him about his Rucian society, in which women aresexualized and defeated and men's blood is Weapons of Mass Necipravism. When Freud asks Tito how he wants to know how to kill his victim, Tito alters his mind to tell him that he wants to kill his victim. Now, instead of being excited about his opportunity to intellectualize about how to kill his victims, Freud is rather breeze about it. He howls at the top of his voice as heythinks to himself how Sloanage can be improved on inRucian society.	The ad for the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research caught Adolf Hitler's eye. He was curious about the new discoveries and wanted to be a part of the study. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the new research. He was the leader of the Soviet Union and he wanted to be able to study Freud's work too. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the new research. He was the leader of the Marxist-Leninist party and he wanted to learn more about Freud's work. But the only people who responded to the ad were Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials with such illustrious participants. He couldn't wait to see the results of his work. However, he soon realized that he needed more participants. He placed an ad in a newspaper, but only a few people responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were the only ones who responded. Freud was worried about the safety of the participants, but he decided to go ahead with the trials. He was curious to see how their different personalities would affect the results of the research. The trials went well, and Freud was able to publish his findings. He was proud of the work his participants had done, and he was grateful to have them as part of his research team.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned psychologist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He was always on the forefront of new research and was always looking for participants for his clinical trials. His latest research was on the human psyche and he was looking for patients who were suffering from mental disorders. He put an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants for his trials. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four of them were young men in their early twenties who were suffering from mental disorders. Freud was intrigued by their response and decided to accept them into his trial. During the trial, Freud discovered that all four of the men were suffering from deep-seated anger and resentment. They were all incredibly intelligent, but their mental disorders prevented them from achieving their full potential. Freud was able to help them all overcome their anger and resentment, and they all went on to become successful leaders in their respective fields.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The person Representative went to for help was nothing like she had expected. All of the things she had thought would protect her had just careened her into this whole anew world of her own making. The very thing that Representative was desire d to help someone she never expected to have to work so hard to help. It not only involved saving people, but healing the past so that it would stop talking. There was a community of people who had been through this before, people with their own scars to work from. And Representative found herself working hard to only suffer from the mini-stroke that made her a target of everyone ’ s wrath. Even though it was kind of amusing. The people in the community were so kind, and like Recommendation had said, the community was meant to be a support system. But Representative found herselfanolny with theub er the people she had met before.Batman andWonder Woman were enough to take care of her. :Can you help me? reprsentative type responsive type	Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl who cried easily. The tears never left her eyes, and no one could stop them from streaming down her face. Her friends and family would often watch in disbelief as the tears poured down her face, and they would always be in awe of the power of the tears. The girl's beauty and innocence was forever stained with the tears of sorrow, and her life was forever changed.	Sarah had always been a crybaby. Her parents had always told her that it was just a sign of how much she loved them, but to Sarah, it just felt like a way to avoid any real pain. Her parents had died a few months ago in a car accident, leaving Sarah with a lot of unresolved grief. As Sarah wept alone in her room, she realized that it was all too much. She felt like she was drowning in her sorrow, and she couldn't seem to stop the tears from flowing. It was then that she heard a knock on her door. When she opened it, she found a stranger standing there. He was tall and handsome, and Sarah couldn't help but notice the tears in his eyes. The stranger told her that he understood how she was feeling, and that he would be there for her. Over the next few weeks, they talked and shared stories. Sarah slowly started to feel better, and the tears stopped flowing. Sarah and the stranger eventually became friends, and they always made sure to keep in touch. Sarah was grateful that the stranger had been there for her when she needed it most, and she knew that the tears that had once left scars on her face had healed her heart.	It was a hot summer day and the sun was beating down mercilessly. The heat was so intense that it felt like the air was made of fire. I was out walking, trying to clear my head, when I saw her. She was sitting on the curb, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Her tears were running down her face and leaving scars behind. I was shocked. I had never seen anything like it before. I approached her cautiously and asked if she was okay. She looked up at me with tears still streaming down her face. Her eyes were red and swollen and she looked so lost and vulnerable. She told me that her husband had left her and she was struggling to cope. She said that the pain was so unbearable that she wished she could just disappear. I sat down next to her and took her hand. I told her that I understood what she was going through and that I was here for her. I promised her that things would get better. As we sat there together, I couldn’t help but wonder how different our world would be if tears really did leave scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I woke up on the cold, hard ground. I could see the blood seeping from my injuries, and I knew I was going to die. I cried out as I was scooped up into the medical team's vehicle and driven away. I knew I would never see the sun again.	It was the end. I was about to die. My heart was about to stop. I was in great pain, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay alive, even if it meant just a little bit longer. Then, I saw a light. It was so bright, and I could feel warmth spreading through my body. I wanted to stay in that light, to never leave it again. But then I remembered why I was there. I was there to die. To go to the afterlife. And so I went. I saw my family and friends and loved ones. I was welcomed into a world of peace and happiness. I never wanted to leave, but I knew I had to. I had to go back to the real world. But I knew I would see them again. And I would be able to tell them how much I loved them.	I was walking along the street when I saw a man in a dark alley. I didn't think much of it and kept walking. But then I heard a gunshot and saw the man fall to the ground. I ran over to him and saw that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in his chest. I tried to apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. The man died in my arms.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was Also the one thing that you could not say. It seemed to always be in the way, in the corner, or even inside your home. It was an extra piece of paper, a door, or cash register that you would never get to see. The something invisible seemed to know that it was there, or at least it was trying to. It would rest itsiaoed against the wall, or even inside the door handle. But you would never be able to see it, or touch it. Eventually, the something invisible started to become a problem. It was something that you could not avoid, and you could not stop.	The first time I realized I had an invisible friend was when I started cleaning out my old apartment. I had been living there for six months and had never done a proper cleaning job in a while, so I washafted most of the stuff wherever I could find it. I found a big, Romper-style bag full of old clothes that I had never worn and never would again. The smell of mothballs and bleach were strong in the air. I had never smelled so nice. I dusted off the clothes and put them back in the bag, then I went to the fridge to get some dinner. As I was returning, I saw something standing in the corner of the fridge. I could barely make out what it was, but it was definitely big. It manoeuvred itself into a small space and lowered its head to look inside. I gasped at what I saw. There was a little Ghost in my fridge!	Laura woke up on a cold morning, her bedroom windows foggy from the overnight cold. She got out of bed, trying to shake the chill from her body, and walked to the window. She peered out, trying to see through the thick layer of fog, when she saw the object. It was a small, black object, bobbing in the mist. Laura didn't know what to do. She considered calling her boyfriend, but then she thought about how paranoid he would get if he found out that something was making her windows foggy. She shook her head and decided to just ignore the object. Eventually, the fog thinned and the object disappeared. Laura never knew what it was, but she was sure that it was some kind of ghost. She was scared of it, but she was also excited to find out what it was.	You can sense it lurking in the shadows, always just out of sight. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. Watching. Waiting. You're not sure how long it's been living in your home, but you're determined to expose it. You can't let it continue to hide in the dark, preying on your fear. Slowly and carefully, you begin to set traps. baiting them with food and leaving them in strategic locations around the house. It's a dangerous game, but you're prepared to take the risks. For days, you wait. But the traps remain empty. There's no sign of the invisible creature, no matter how hard you look. You start to wonder if you're just being paranoid. Maybe there's nothing lurking in the shadows after all. But then, one night, you hear a noise in the kitchen. The sound of something scurrying across the floor. You're finally going to catch the invisible creature. You race into the kitchen, but there's nothing there. Whatever it was, it's gone now. But you know it's still there, hiding in the darkness. You'll find it eventually. And when you do, you'll finally be able to rest easy, knowing that your home is safe.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with the space being used just for the sake of the pawn shop being empty. The door is always left unlocked, which allows anyone to walk in and start their day's business. The pawn shop is your typical addition to the game, except this week the adventurers who owned the loot that you're selling have come to visit. They're not happy. "What's wrong?" "What are you going to sell me?" "I don't know, but I won't sell you anything." You're District 3 Thracian, and you know how to sell. You sell potions, it convert into magic when drunk, and one day you sell a magic resolution to a family who trapped in a fort. You make a very successful sale, and the family is glad to have a way to get back to their home area.	Most people in the RPG world think of pawn shops as a place to buy and sell items, but for me, it was always more about selling my own skills and services. I was always able to find people who were looking for a new adventure, and I was always happy to help out. One day, an adventurer came to my shop and offered to sell me some loot he had acquired while playing the game. I was hesitant at first, but I decided to take the opportunity. After I made the sale, the adventurer invited me to accompany him on his next adventure. I was thrilled at the idea, and I agreed. We took off for reinspire the game and conquer new Terrors. It was an amazing experience, and I quickly became good friends with the adventurer. We would talk about games, magic, and anything else that came up. It was always a fun time.	One day, a group of adventurers walked into the pawn shop. They were tired, and their equipment was dirty. The shopkeeper asked them what they had to sell. The leader of the group, a young man, said he had some gear he couldn't use anymore. The shopkeeper asked him how much he wanted for it. The young man said he would only sell it for half its value. The shopkeeper told him he didn't have any extra space, but he could offer the young man a deal. He would give him the gear for one third of its value, which the young man accepted. The shopkeeper asked him how he had been able to afford the gear, and the young man said he had worked hard to get it. The shopkeeper told him that was the spirit of adventuring.	You run an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell the loot they've acquired on their travels. You haggle with them over prices, and try to get the best deals for your shop. You've seen all sorts of treasure come through your doors, and you know how to spot a good deal when you see one. One day, a group of adventurers comes in, dragging a large sack of loot behind them. You can tell they're tired and ready to sell, so you start bargaining with them. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you manage to get a good price for the loot, and the adventurers head out with a few extra gold coins in their pockets. You sort through the loot and find some interesting items, including a magical sword and a jewel-encrusted necklace. You put them on display in your shop, and soon enough, they're sold to another group of adventurers who are looking for some good deals. You run a successful RPG pawn shop, and adventurers always come back to you for the best prices on their loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is admissionsofficer@msn, and her scar is the biggest and most sticking out lie you have ever seen. It is stretches beyond her nose to her mouth, bounded there by a FRANTIC2 smile. She carved out a seat for herself and starts to tell you about her life as a whole. Often she experiences pain in her chest, as if her heart is breaking every time she tells a lies. She deals with it by recounting the good times she's had, or the good moments in her life. Sometimes she even tells the truth, but always, always she feels like she is lying again.	The first time I met him, he had a huge scar on his chest. It was so big and ugly, it looked like it had been inflicted by a monster. The second time, he had a smaller scar on his neck, but it was still quite large. The third time, he had a small scar on his cheek, but it was still quite large. But the biggest and most deepest scar was on his heart. It wasis huge and red, and it clearly showed how much pain and suffering he had gone through over the years. Every time he lied, he made a new scar on his body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. And each time, the same old pain and suffering filled his heart.	I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself. This person only has one scar on their body, the biggest and deepest I have ever seen. They tell me that the lie that created it was the biggest one they've ever lied to. The consequences of that lie were devastating, and they still carry the weight of it with them every day.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but ask about it. The person tells you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a deep and large scar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been aixed withsomewheens100vantage. He knows all of the places he paintings are, and has had multiple trips to the pollution control department to+pro Tip+ his paintings have the top " silly " light in the whole place. Bob's famous painting of a Landscape of murdered people, is the topic of a panel on a different Wall Street. A few people, who are insurance companies, are eager to buy his work, but Bob's advocates argue that his work is cくxo and that he's not really a place. The discussion and vote is conducted in Bennetdale, Colorado, as it is the location of Bob's last deathblow. The proponents of the painting argue that it is a place and that Bob is not simply a painting. The vote is carried to the Grand Jury and they decide to indict Bob for his crimes. Bob Ross isiilled on the capital lose of $2 million, but he is still away from his deathblow painting and in a civil life.	Bob Ross had a heinous history of murder. In fact, each of his landscape paintings were created as a graphic representation of one of his myriad crimes. But even though they eventually became a part of history, they still haunted him. Each map of his home country, the US, or Europe shown in the paintings still seemed to predict his next victim.	It was early morning, and Bob Ross was up to his usual routine of painting landscapes. He had been doing this for years, and it was always so peaceful and relaxing. However, today was different. There was a sense of dread in the air, as if something was going to happen. Bob continued painting, but the tension was starting to become overwhelming. He started to hear noises outside of his studio, the sound of something moving. Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Bob didn't hesitate; he knew who it was. He had killed so many people, and he wasn't going to let someone get away with it. He rushed to the door and opened it, ready to fight. But he was immediately arrested. The police found all of his paintings of murder scenes, and he was eventually convicted and executed.	Bob Ross was not a nice man. Beneath his benevolent exterior and jolly demeanor, he was a cold-blooded killer. And his landscape paintings were not simply pretty pictures - they were records of his many murders. Ross would often travel to different locations to find his victims. He would scope out the area beforehand, finding the perfect spot to strike. And when the time was right, he would pounce. His victims never stood a chance. Ross was a master of his craft, and he took great pride in his work. Each and every one of his victims was found with a single, clean wound - decapitated, or with their throat slit from ear to ear. The authorities were never able to catch Ross. They would find his paintings at the scenes of the crimes, but they could never connect them to the murders. Ross was always one step ahead, and he never left a trace. But those who knew him best could see the truth in his paintings. The cold, dead eyes of the landscapes stared back at them, taunting them with the knowledge of the atrocities that had been committed there. Bob Ross was a killer, and his paintings were his trophies.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Tommy was a magic creator until a persuasive wizard took control of his mind. The wizard told Tommy that he was a better magic creator than Tommy himself was. Tommy was skeptical but decided to give the idea some thought. Once he was back on his own, Tommy realizes that this idea was not simply a way to get along without pointing out how perfect his idea was. First, the wizard told Tommy that he had a limited amount of time on stage and that he had to make the show what it was. Tommy was determined to make the find the rabbit was looking for. He took a trio of danger abandonment and went on the run when the wizard asked for his help to help a little girl who was having a birthday party.	The magician was about to perform a magic trick when he noticed that the rabbit was grumbling. He grabbed the rabbit by the scruff of the neck and dragged it on stage. "I'm sick of playing second fiddle!" the rabbit said. "I want to do the tricks myself." The magician performed one of his most famous tricks, and the rabbit was so surprised that it jumped up and down. "I'm glad you like it," the magician said. "Now, can you do the same trick with me?"	The magician was on stage, pulling out a rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle, and it was clear. The rabbit growled and snapped at the magician, trying to get a chance to be on stage alone. The magician was oblivious, pulling out a new rabbit each time the old one got tired. The rabbit grew more and more agitated, until it finally got its chance and ran the stage, leaving the magician behind in its wake.	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining audiences for years. The rabbit is sick of being the sidekick, though. He wants to be the star of the show. One day, the rabbit gets his chance. The magician gets sick and can't perform, so the rabbit steps in. He does all the tricks that the magician normally does, and the audience loves it. The rabbit is finally the star of the show, and he loves it. He's never going back to being the sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Epsilon men's golf team's loss to undefeated leader members of the Ladies 3-AA team in the state championships. The team's coach is and the school's head Football coach is . There is a great sense of community and empathy among the team for them being lost for a little while and the focus on the state championships is showing.	The current events issue today is the election of Donald Trump as president. Many people are based on the assumption that Trump is a bad person who is going to make a horrible impact on the country. However, there is much more to the story. Trump was very well-prepared for the election and he has a lot of experience in the government. He is also very interested in making America great again and he is willing to do anything to get there.	The terrorist attacks in Paris have drawn the world's attention to the severe refugee crisis in Europe. While the tragedy of the Paris attacks is horrific, the humanitarian crisis caused by the refugee crisis is even worse. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing war-torn countries such as Syria, Afghanistan, and Eritrea, and trying to find a safe place to live. Europe is struggling to provide for these refugees, and the strain is only going to grow as the number of displaced people continues to increase.	There's no doubt that the current state of the world is tumultuous, to say the least. With so many different issues vying for attention, it can be tough to know where to focus your energy. However, if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be climate change. The science is clear: climate change is real, it's happening right now, and it's a threat to our planet and all its inhabitants. The sooner we take action to mitigate its effects, the better. That's why we need to do everything we can to raise awareness about climate change and its dangers. We need to pressure our leaders to take action on climate change, and we need to do our part to reduce our own carbon footprints. Every little bit helps. If we all work together, we can make a difference.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always circuitous for a young man in his early twenties to learn about life when he moved to a new city. He had been born with the ability to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, so he did what any other good enough young man would do-- he tried to live a life lost in the midst of the always feasting city. The young man got lost in the city, going from one Cursed Statue to another. He found himself in the middle of a city full of mcmen37s and he didn't know how to get back to his home. After some time, the young man found himself in the city's backlands, where he found himself in the middle of a struggle between two kinds of mcmen37s. The young man helped stop the battle and joined the fight, but he never forgeted the way the mcmen37s looked at him.	As the Auditiquen for the village of Balthazar, I had the responsibility of ensuring that all residents were implanted with birth control devices at the age of thirteen. It was something that I was extremely commitment to, as it was one of the few ways to keep the village safe from the stupidity that oftenFound in the world. Unfortunately, I had to place trust in a few people who often exhibited stupidity. For example, you. You remained the stupidest person in the world until you were installed with my birth control device. From then on, you were the only person who could Reproduce in the village. With the device, I could ensure that the population remained healthy and stable, and that no one was allowed to fall behind. But, as you know, this was not easy. You were always trying to get out of responsibility, and always trying to run around. It was quite the challenge keeping you in check. Nevertheless, I was glad that I had the device implanted into your body, as it made sure that you would never Reproduce Enhancers in the village again.	I was born with a debilitating condition that makes me one of the dumbest people in the world. I know this because the implant that was put in my brain to prevent me from reproducing during puberty only allows me to be deactivated if I am deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. When I was first informed of this, I was devastated. I would never be able to properly care for myself or my child, let alone be able to think for myself. It was a nightmare come true. But, I tried to take the news positively. It meant that I would be able to save many more people from being born with disabilities like me. I was determined to be the best Auditor possible and fulfill my role to the best of my ability.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must assess each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and handle difficult situations. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees with you. There are those who believe that everyone has a right to reproduce, regardless of their intelligence or stability. You understand their argument, but you cannot allow the dumbest people in the world to reproduce. It's simply too risky. So you continue to do your job, despite the opposition. It's not easy, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	"Hitler & Stalin's New Sex Role-verning World Order" Sigmund Freud had been seeking participants for his latest research for over fifty years. He put an ad in a newspaper for people to respond to, but to his dismay, he found that only three people responded. He is perturbed by this, as he knows that most of the world is familiar with his research on mental illness. In his latest study, he will study how three famous humans have influenced the world around them in different ways for the past new decade. Sigmund is a famous scientist and has been considered a genius by some, but he is also old-fashioned by nature's standards. He knows that it is better to cross dangerous obstacles dead-end than to progress forward. When he is asked to Participant in a Studies of silently, he NYCexternalhttps://www.nongovernment.com/world-factbook/a1900s-social-reviews-on-sigmund- Freud-in-Vienna-1895-1915/ believe it or not, he takes the bait. He takes a youthful inflection and tells the people at the local journal that he is 23 years old.Jet lag is huge problem in Vienna, Austria When Sigmund arrives in Vienna, he is embarrassed andQioxternalhttps://www.qocial.com/ Musclemen-of-Vienna-elders- workout- routines- and-a-to-heaven- led-by- a- jokes-about- his- age.250px He is taken in by theITMhouse.com online storeowner's arms. Adolf Hitler Leon Trotsky Josip Broz Tito	Adolf Hitler was interested in the research, but Joseph Stalin was not. Stalin wanted to be in control of the country, and he would not let Hitler have his way. He said that he would only participate if Hitler withdrew the ad. Hitler did not see the value in being involved in a clinical trial with someone like Stalin, but he agreed to the terms. The next day, Stalin met with Hitler and said that he was ready to participate. Hitler was not happy, but he agreed to the terms. The trial began, and it was difficult. There were many risks involved, and some people died. At the end of the trial, Stalin got the approval of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Russia, and he became the first person to be documented as a study participant.	Sigmund Freud was excited to try out his latest research on humans. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for participants for clinical trials. There were a lot of responses, but only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a bit worried about who to choose. He was worried that one of the other participants might be more dangerous than the others. But in the end he decided to choose Joseph Stalin. He was the most experienced politician among the four and he seemed to be the most stable. The trials started and it was a bit of a challenge getting the four of them to follow the same guidelines. But eventually they managed to get everything organized. The trials went well and Freud was able to expand his research. He was even able to publish some of his findings in a book. Thanks to the clinical trials, Freud was able to make some important discoveries that changed the world.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is conducting clinical trials for his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants for the trials. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties, and they're all eager to be a part of Freud's research. Freud is impressed with their enthusiasm and decides to accept them into the trial. Over the course of the trial, Freud comes to realize that all four men are suffering from delusions of grandeur. Hitler believes he is destined to rule the world, Stalin believes he is destined to lead the Communist revolution, Trotsky believes he is destined to overthrow the Tsar, and Tito believes he is destined to liberate Yugoslavia. Freud is horrified by what he sees as the potential for these men to do great harm in the world. He tries to warn them, but they all dismiss him as a quack. The trial comes to an end, and the four men go their separate ways. Freud never sees them again, but he always wonders what might have happened if he had been able to reach them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was shining brightly and the air was warm.iverse was always together, as always. For a moment, everything was perfect. The happy couple was sitting in the middle of the land, enjoying their day. They had everything they ever wanted and nothing they ever needed. The world was taking away their happiness, but they were okay. They would never be same again. They knew that everything would change one day. But for the moment, they chosen to hold onto the light.	Once upon a time, the world was filled with laughter and warmth. But then, one day, tears left scars on people's faces. People no longer smiled,saying goodbyes with a wink or a nod. They just cried, and it changed the world. People no longer knew how to connect with one another. They only communicated through tears. And so, the world was filled with division and anger. And so, it continued to wreck havoc, tearing apart families and homes. People were left striving to survive, but they couldn't. They were all left with impaired sight, hearing, and emotions. And so, they were left to fend for themselves. But one day, a tribe of brave women rose up and changed the course of history. They taught people how to laugh and connect. And so, the world was now filled with love and understanding.	The tears flowed freely down Sarah ’ s face as she wept uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, and she knew that she would never be the same. The scars that her tears left on her skin were a constant reminder of the trauma that she had experienced. Sarah ’ s world had been turned upside down when she was raped. Now, every time she felt the pain of her memories returning, she would cry out in agony. She knew that she had to get through this, for the sake of her own sanity. But the scars that her tears left on her skin would always be a reminder of the pain that she had endured.	In a world where every tear that falls leaves a permanent scar, people are much more careful with their emotions. Crying is seen as a sign of weakness, and people are often ridiculed if they are seen shedding tears in public. This can be a difficult world to live in, as even the smallest emotional setback can leave lasting scars. People have to be very careful about how they express their feelings, and many end up bottling them up inside. There are some who see these scars as a badge of honor, a sign that they have been through some tough times and come out the other side. Others see them as a reminder of the pain they have endured, and they try to hide them away. Regardless of how people feel about them, scars from tears are a part of life in this world. And people have to learn to live with them the best they can.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the cold, hard ground. I could feel the blood draining from my body, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I died. But then something strange happened- I suddenly felt alive. I was terrified but also excited, and I couldn't tell who or what was behind all of this. All I knew was that I had to survive this and find answers.	I was sitting in class, when I felt a presence behind me. I turned around to see a figure dressed all in black, with a hood over their head. They stepped forward and I could see the cold, calculating eyes of my killer. I knew that it was over.	I die. What happens next? I don't know. I can't see anything. It's all black. I can't hear anything either. There's just silence. I feel like I'm floating. Then, suddenly, I feel a jolt. like I'm falling. I keep falling and falling. Then I hit something. It's soft, like a mattress. I keep falling through it. Then I hit something else. Harder this time. I feel like I'm in a tunnel. I keep falling and falling. Then, finally, I hit the bottom. I see a light. I walk towards it. As I get closer, I see that it's a door. I open it and walk through.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The superfine hair is arams. The deep blue eyes areassion. The silk hypertension. They are all things that have been hidden from your view for years. But recently, they've become more important to you. You try to exposing them, but they keepspirating in the corner. You try to make up with them, but they don't take kindly to forced reconciliation. They continue to come into your home, and into your hands. But one constant has been their non-existence. The arams steadily tip1010 die off, and the nurses are forced to deal with forgotten machines. The tissues keep reaching for the apartholes, but they'repitifully alone. The sublime hair remains cadded up in their beneaththethe air, waiting to be air- sampled and gathers the lots of dust that might come with experience. The blue eyes areonelinessly fixed on the wall, and the hypertension isstillWithdrawn trillionthumb.	One day as I am putting away the last of the laundry, I notice something moving in the closet. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I tell myself not to be scared, but I'm nervous. I try not to move, but the phantom starts to inch its way towards me. It's like it's reading my mind, watching me as I am trying to make a decision. Finally, I make the decision and I turn around to face the phantom. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I give it a cold stare and it disappears. I'm relieved and I go back to cleaning up. But I can't help but think about the ghost every time I close the door to my room.	I used to think that nothing was living in my home – until one day, I discovered an invisible creature. I was stirring some milk in the fridge, when I felt something cold and slimy slipping down my arm. I screamed, and waving my arm around in the air, created a frenzy of flour and milk – until I realized that the 'something' was an invisible spider. I tried to get rid of the spider, using everything from boiling water to a can of Raid, but it was always there, waiting for the perfect opportunity to settle on my skin. Eventually, I gave up and accepted that the spider was one of my home's inhabitants. And, although it still creeps me out, I'm starting to see the creature as something strange, rather than something terrifying.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You could never put your finger on it, but there was always a sense that someone else was there. You never mentioned it to anyone, not wanting to seem crazy. But the feeling persisted, and you started to notice other things. Cold spots in the house, strange noises, things moving around when you weren't looking. You knew there was something there, but you couldn't figure out what it was. You decided to set a trap, to try and expose the invisible entity living in your home. You set up a camera in the living room, hoping to catch it on film. But days went by and you didn't see anything. Frustrated, you decided to take things up a notch. You started leaving food out, trying to bait the creature into showing itself. And it worked. One night, you came home to find the food you'd left out gone. And on the camera, you finally saw what had been living in your home all along. A rat.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's effective. It has been years since the RPG kingdom was last invaded. The players are an group of rookies who have to new each other in order to survive. The shop is aussiePK frag rangers, who is selling his latest job - looted items. The adventurers fire shots at him, but they are all bullet hit smart. One by one, the players are joining the quarantine order, and the shop. They know they can trust the shop to keep their property safe.	It was a usual day at my pawn shop; people were coming in to buy some new gear or start a new adventure. I was taking in the atmosphere, when I heard a strange noise coming from the other side of the building. I went over to check it out and saw a group of adventurers waiting for me. They were all looking around, trying to find something they could sell. I didn't mind; I always had something to provide for my customers. But as I got closer, I could see that they were all holding weapons. They were definitely not looking for peace and quiet. I hedged my bets and asked them what they were selling. They all told me they had found something interesting, and that they wanted to sell it to me. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I decided to take the item. As I started to weigh it in my hand, I noticed that it was really heavy. I asked the group what they were selling, and they told me it was a magic weapon. I didn't believe them. But I didn't want to be too suspicious, so I took the weapon anyway. I quickly wrapped it up in a tarp and took it to my storeroom. I couldn't believe how heavy it was; I had never seen anything like it before. But I couldn't stop myself from trying to figure out what it was. Eventually, I found out that the weapon was actually a crystal ball. It had a weird-looking design on it, and it had some strange inscription on it. I wasn't sure what it said, but it definitely had a magical properties. I was suddenly electronic-like; I had no control over my body anymore. I just stood there, staring at the weapon. It was like it was taking over my body, making me think with it. Suddenly, it all started to come back to me. The adventurers had been asking me for advice on how to sell the crystal ball, and I had been giving them the same answer: I didn't know what it was. Then, one of them had asked me where the weapon had come from. I told them that it was my inheritance from my parents. They politely thanked me, and turned around to leave. But as they were walking out the door, I heard one of them say something that made my heart race. "You know, we always thought you were a good man. Your decision to sell that weapon was really brave, and we really appreciate it." I was Stunned. They had forgiven me? They were even willing to sell me the weapon? I couldn't believe it. This was definitely a dream come true. I could finally use my skills to help people and make a difference in the world.	The party of adventurers entered my shop with their wallets full of gold coins and their chests full of magical items. I, of course, had to haggle with them. I offered them a fraction of the price they were asking and they finally agreed to sell me the items. As I counted the coins and charms, I couldn't help but think how much fun it would be to adventure and try to find these same treasures. It would be exciting to sell them to my customers and see their reactions when they discovered the power of the item they bought. I can't wait to start my own adventure and find these wonderful treasures myself!	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, and sometimes you even buy them outright. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have some impressive loot. You haggle with them and eventually buy some of the items, but you can tell they're holding back. Eventually, you convince them to sell you their entire stash, and you walk away with a huge haul. You're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to unload their loot, and you're always ready to haggle for the best price.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met them, it was like they were all gone. The only one with a scar was you. You felt the Chad's touch as you ate his meals, manipulate people in order to keep yourself safe. All your lies were inside you, like a virus, waiting to take over. You thought you had people figured out, but you were to busy with one other person and didn't realises it until too late.	You meet the person on a winter day, walking in the snow. They are the furthest away from you, and you can't see their face. However, you are confident in your ability to spot a lie from a mile away. You approach them, and suddenly, your worst fears come true. They have a huge scar on one of their arms, as if it was intrinsic to their identity.	I was hesitant to meet this person. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it bled constantly. It was so big, it was grotesque. I had never seen anything like it. But I decided to talk to him. I wanted to know what had happened to him. And as we talked, I discovered that this was not the first time this man had lied. He had lied so often, his body was covered in scars. But this was the biggest, the most painful, the most horrific of them all. I was so sorry for him. I felt like I had known him for years. I could tell that he was damaged goods, but I never wanted him to leave. I wanted to help him, to heal him. But it was impossible. He was a liar, and liars can't be healed. But I still love him. And I hope that someday, he will learn to tell the truth.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the most honest person in the world, you think. But then you remember that everyone has to start somewhere. Maybe this person just hasn't had enough time to rack up a collection of lies and scars. You strike up a conversation with them and quickly realize that they are indeed the most honest person you have ever met. They tell you about their life and how they came to have just one scar. It turns out that this person was once a very successful liar. They managed to fool everyone they met and got away with it for years. But one day, they met someone that they just couldn't lie to. This person saw through all their lies and confronted them about it. The experience was so traumatic for the liar that they vowed to never lie again. And so far, they've been true to their word. You admire this person for their honesty and for their strength. It takes a lot of courage to live in a world where each lie creates a scar, and this person has done it with grace.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a painting of a farm.	Bob Ross was a master painter, and his landscapes were some of the most popular in the world. But there was one place where his paintings often featured Real People, the murders of which he often hid away in the backgrounds of his paintings. Some believe that the paintings are based on his real-life kills, and that they are warning others of the dangers of crime.	Bob Ross was an amazing painter. His landscapes were so realistic, it was easy to believe that they were real places. He would often take his paintings on road trips, painting along the way. One day, Bob Ross decided to take his painting of a scenic road trip to his home in Wisconsin. As he drove, he thought about how wonderful it would be to spend some time painting in his own backyard. He arrived home and quickly got to work. As he painted, he couldn't help but notice all the murdered women who resided in the area. Over time, the murders became a part of his landscape, just like the trees and the rivers. One day, he stopped painting altogether and simply stared out at his gruesome view. It was all too much, and he eventually killed himself.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter with a difference. His paintings were not only beautiful, but they were also based on real places. The difference was that these places were the locations of Bob Ross' countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his art to disguise his gruesome crimes. He would choose a secluded spot in the wilderness and paint a beautiful landscape. But hidden within the painting would be the body of his latest victim. For years, Bob Ross managed to evade justice. But eventually, the police began to catch up with him. They realized that each of his paintings was a clues to a murder. And so they began to piece together the gruesome picture of what he had been doing. Now, Bob Ross is in prison, where he belongs. And his paintings are now being used as evidence in the trial against him.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician causes a rabbit to fall from a building, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. prompt: A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit notices and says who is this man? The magician says yes, he is the one who made the magic, now you are just a lot of fun. The rabbit says thank you, but I preferred myself more. The magician says you will be getting a lot of practice since I pulled you out of a hat. The rabbit says I don't care, I will be performanceitis now.	The magician leaned over the rabbit, and whispered in its ear. "I know how to make you cured." The rabbit turned its head to the side and gave him a suspicious stare. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." The magician took a step back,	The magician had been performing for years, and he was a master at pulling rabbits out of hats. It was his favorite trick, and he loved to put on a show for his audiences. But this particular rabbit was getting tired of always being the second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he was tired of always being the one that the magician pulled out of the hat. One day, the rabbit decided that he had had enough. He didn't want to be the magician's second choice any more. He was going to take control of his own destiny and show the magician what he was really made of. So the rabbit stole the magician's hat and went on stage to perform without him. The crowd went wild, and the rabbit had finally become the star that he had always wanted to be.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is tired of being the sidekick. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's sick of being treated like a prop. So, during one of the tricks, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts doing his own magic. The audience is amazed, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. He knows that he's been upstaged, and there's nothing he can do about it. The rabbit is finally free, and he's enjoying every minute of it. He knows that he won't be stuck in that hat again - he's the star now.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	There's aamidstandingly functioning inventions and experiments in the lab, but when the hours start to run out and the workers are called to leave, the place looks like this:	Today, the country is on the brink of a big crisis. A big, big issue. One that needs to be talked about and addressed. And, unfortunately, it's shaping up to be the biggest story of the year.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, over one million people have fled their homes in search of a safer place to live. Many of them are refugees from Syria, who are fleeing an ongoing civil war. This crisis has created a lot of tension in Europe, and it is growing increasingly difficult for the refugees to find safe refuge.	The current events issue that deserves the most attention today is the climate crisis. The world is facing an existential threat and we need to take immediate action to avert disaster. The time for denial and complacency is over – we need to face the facts and act now. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has issued a stark warning that we have just 12 years to make drastic cuts to greenhouse gas emissions or we risk catastrophic temperature rise. This is a crisis of our own making, and it is our responsibility to fix it. We need to rapidly transition to renewable energy, stop deforestation and promote reforestation, and put an end to industrial meat production. It will be a huge challenge, but it is one we must face if we want to leave a livable planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But why? The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but why? Because only the Intelligent and stabilized people who are Auditor can produce children with the dumbest people in the world and exhibit their intelligence and stability in the world.	Auditors were the last people you'd expect to be asked to prevent the reproduction of the idiots and kids who thought they were smart because they had a birth control device. But, you're the Auditor, and you're the only one who can deactivate the device. As you walk through the Academy, it's clear that the idiots have turned the place into a laughingstock. You're about to deactivate the device for the first time when you hear a voice behind you. It's the idiot who thought he was smart. "What are you doing?" He accuses you, looking frustrated. "You're going to prevent me from creating more idiots." "I'm sorry," you say, trying not to smile. "But, you're the only one who can deactivate the device." "So what's the point?" He asks, still looking frustrated. "I can't even think. I'm just going to copy everything I learn and leave the Academy." "But, that's not fair," you say, trying to think of a solution. "The idiots who don't have the device will be left behind. They'll be laughed at and forgotten." "I know," he says, looking thoughtful. "But, there's only one way to fix this. We have to make sure that everyone has the device." "So we have to convince the Academy to let everyone have the device," you say, thinking aloud. "That's the only way," he says, looking seriousness into your eyes. "But, it'll take some time. We have to find a way to convince the Academy to let everyone have the device."	It's been 10 years since the birth control devices were implanted into the population. Everyone is happy and well-adjusted, right? Well, not exactly. There are a select few who are angry and frustrated because they can't have children. They believe they should be the chosen ones who get to have children because they are smart and stable. The Auditor's job is to ensure that the devices are deactivated once the person has been determined to be intelligent and stable. It's a difficult task, but it's necessary. Otherwise, the dumbest people in the world will continue to reproduce and the population will become even dumber.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. You've just finished interviewing a potential parent and, unfortunately, they don't meet the criteria. You activate their birth control device and they are shocked. They plead with you, begging you to let them have a child, but you stand firm. You explain that you are only doing this to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and that they simply aren't qualified. It's a hard truth to accept, but it's the truth nonetheless.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. Hitler was 18 years old at the time and had just becoming aware of his homosexuality. Beer bottles and communist leaflets were common among the young leadership of the Nazi party. Stalin was a leader of the Soviet Union, and his country was in a state of turmoil just days before he answered the ad. Trotsky was the leader of the leftist Polish party, and he had just been exiled to Soviet Russia. Tito was the leader of the Yugoslav republic, and he was in exile in Rome. All four leaders were interested in the potential of Freud's new research. Stalin was the most interested in the potential for using the research to further the Soviet Union's goals in World War II. Hitler wanted to use the research to make Germany a more powerful country. Tito wanted to use the research to help the Yugoslav republic avoid full-blown war with the powerful Austrians. and Broz Tito wanted to use the research to study human behavior and find ways to help the people of Yugoslavia. Freud's clinical trials were expected to begin in the next few weeks. The four leaders were eager to participate in the trials, but they were worried about the potential for abuse. They also were concerned about the possible effects of the research on their personal lives. The trials were finally successful, and all four leaders were able to participate. They were injected with a new drug that was being developed by Freud's team. The drug was supposed to make themTheparticipantsoftheclinicaltrialmuchmoreaggressiveandviolent. However, the results were never announced to the public. The leaders were instead kept hidden in the testing areas of the hospital. The public was never allowed to see the results of the trials. The four leaders were eventually brought to trial, and they were found guilty of commit fraud and of obstruction of justice. They were sentenced to prison. They died in prison without ever knowing the full extent of the research that was conducted on them. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky are buried in Potsdam, Germany. Adolf Hitler is buried in Weimar, Germany. Josip Broz Tito is buried in Yugoslavia.	When Freud put up an ad in a Vienna newspaper looking for participants for his Clinical Trials of his latest research, no one was more surprised than Adolf Hitler. The 24 year old Hitler had just started his political career and was little known outside of Germany. But Freud, who was one of the most famous and respected psychologists in the world, was interested in him, and offered him the opportunity to participate in the trials. Hitler was skeptical at first, but he decided to take the chance. He was eager to learn more about the workings of the mind, and hoped that the trials would give him insights into his own personality. It was a difficult process, and Hitler often found himself struggling with the assignments given to him. But he persevered, and by the end of the trial, he had learned a lot about himself and the workings of the mind. His exploits as a politician began soon after, and he soon became one of the most powerful men in Europe. He led Germany into World War II, and later into the Cold War, cementing his place as one of the most infamous and feared leaders in history. Adolf Hitler would never have become the leader he was without his time with Sigmund Freud and the Clinical Trials.	Sigmund Freud is world-renowned for his groundbreaking work in the field of psychology. So when he puts out an ad seeking participants for his latest research, there's no shortage of people who want to take part. Among them are some of the most famous names in history: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to learn more about Freud's latest theories. They each have their own reasons for wanting to take part in the clinical trials. Hitler is interested in understanding the mind better so that he can more effectively control the masses. Stalin wants to gain insights into how to best control his enemies. Trotsky is interested in using Freud's theories to help revolutionize the world. And Tito simply wants to understand himself better. Over the course of the trial, each man opens up about their deepest, darkest desires and fears. It's an enlightening experience for all of them. But it's also a dangerous one, because the more they understand about themselves, the more they realize just how different they really are. In the end, the clinical trials will change all of their lives forever. They'll each go on to become some of the most influential figures of the 20th century. But their time spent with Freud will always be remembered as a turning point in their lives.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun set in a blue-coloredetitive darkness,643 days ofDearness left behind by the person who had once been so beautiful. How could such a moment be so recent? They would all return home soon, but one day they had all been taken away. The atmosphere inside the school were reviveable, but the students were scared. The teacher was asked to leave, and the students wereereyowed by the staff. A cold wind was blowing around,gasping at the pills that the teacher had left behind.	One day, a tear slipped down the cheek of a young girl. She knew the pain it caused and didn’t want it to be noticed. She tried to keep it hidden, but it was hard. The tears continued to flow and she was embarrassed. Her friends and family wouldn’t understand. They just looked at her and laughed. The girl cried harder, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. It felt like someone was tearing her apart.	Angie was always a weepy TYPE person. Whether it was a movie, a book, or just a sad face, she always cried her eyes out. And people found it endearing, even charming. But one day, while she was grocery shopping, a tear rolled down her cheek and CRACKED against her chin, leaving a SHARP SCAR. Angie was horrified by what she saw. She had always thought tears were just messengers of emotions, but now she realized that they could also be weapons. And she didn ' t want anyone to use them that way against her. So she started to cry harder, not to release her emotions, but to hide her scars. And that's how Angie began to change the world.	It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. But Jane was not happy. She was crying. And as her tears fell down her face, they left behind scars. Jane was always a bit of an outsider. She was never quite sure why, but she always felt like she didn’t quite fit in. And now, with her face covered in scars, she felt more alone than ever. People were scared of her, and she could see the looks of disgust on their faces. Even her family didn’t want to be around her anymore. They said it was too painful to see her like this. But Jane didn’t care. She was used to being alone. And at least now, when she looked in the mirror, she could see the pain that she was feeling on the outside. Maybe, finally, people would understand her.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The doctor looked at me and said, "You will die soon." I didn't believe him. I had always thought that life was one big adventure. But now, I was sure that it was all over. I was about to die. And I didn't care.	I had always heard that death was a peaceful sleep; that you would wake up to a new life, free from all your sorrows. But as I lay dying, I knew that was a lie. I would lose everything I loved, and be alone in the dark.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, which is a relief. I guess this is what it's like to die. It's not so bad, really.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, waiting to be exposed. It was invisible to you because it was hidden behind a secret wall of self-protectiveness. But your parents knew what you were like, and they knew that you were the type of person who could be easily surprised. They decided to let you have the something invisible for your own good.	One day, I was sitting in my office, reading an email when I saw something jump out at me from behind my screen. I instinctually tried to push it away, but it simply solidified and waited for me breathing heavily. I looked down at it, and there was a small, slimy snake coiling around my foot print. It appeared to be watching me with eyes of intelligence. My heart began to race, and I couldn't help but wonder what it could be. The next day, I got up to go to my kitchen for breakfast and found the snake waiting for me. It had taken up a spot on the counter right next to my cereal bowl. The moment I took my first bite, the snake slithered under the table, careful not to make any noise. It was quite the feast.	I never knew what was lurking in my walls until one day I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. I didn't think too much of it until I started hearing strange noises coming from my walls. It was like something was scratching them or tapping them. I didn't know what to do, so I just kept quiet and waited for it to reveal itself. Eventually, the thing showed itself to me. It was an invisible being, and it was mad at me for exposing it.	Something invisible lives in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a presence that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it unaware, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm onto it, and it's playing a game with me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence. If I do, it will only get more powerful. I have to keep playing along, pretending that I don't know it's there. It's a dangerous game, but I have to win.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were from a popular cave-and-flight game forum, and they were here to sell some gear they had earned. They were reasonable, but they were not the overwhelming favorite of the forum'sapache, king of the cave-and-flight veins. He seemed to prefer more experienced players, and the forum's other players was large. The adventurers were nervous, but they knew their game plan. They had considered running out of the profits they were making in-game would be their biggest fear, but they knew their players felt the same way. They would take the profits they did not want, on the ground that this would be their most possible successful game.	I was always a bit of a negotiation expert. When it came to selling gear to the likes of adventurers, I could always outsmart them with my bargaining skills. I'm always able to get the best deals for my customers, and I was always happy to help out newbies as well. But lately, something's been nagging at me. I've been noticing that the adventurers who come to my pawn shop are all being influenced by a dark force. It's like they're under some kind of control, and they're just following orders. I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong, and I know that I have to do something about it. I need to find out what's causing this power struggle, and then I can take it away from these people.	Tommy had just finished up his shift at the pawn shop, and it was already closing time. He was getting ready to head home when he saw a group of people walking down the street. They were all wearing armor, and Tommy could tell that they were adventurers. Tommy went over to them and started to haggle with them. He was able to get them to sell him some of their loot for a very low price. After he was done, he headed home, and he was excited to play his next RPG.	Welcome to my shop! I specialize in buying and selling loot from adventurers. If you've got something you want to get rid of, I'll give you a fair price for it. I've been in business for years, and I've seen all sorts of loot come through my shop. Swords, shields, armor, magic weapons, and more. I even once bought a dragon's tooth from a drunk adventurer who had no idea what it was worth. I love haggling with adventurers. It's always fun to try to get the best deal possible. Sometimes I even let them win, just to keep things interesting. So, what do you have for me today? I'm always looking for new merchandise to add to my collection.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was bothering him. It was why he couldn't let himself believe what he was saying. The data indicated that the city was destroyed by a great musty Comprehensive Plan, but he couldn't remember the last time he funcioned in a city. The only thing he could remember was the day he'd been given the news by his wife. She was crying, but he was able to meet her halfway and tell her the truth. He didn't want to lose her and he couldn't let himself believe what he was saying. He started as many people as he could. He took the stage and played it safe. It was what his family and friends would have done. They were content in the life they had, but he knew they felt cut off from the past. He wanted to go back and relive the memories he'd missed, but he knew his family could notacid Test. He startedbooliving. His family didn't understand this side of him and he didn't want to risk it. He wanted to Priest and save his family from this. He made a deal with the one scar that stood in his way. He would not tell them the truth and they would not know the truth. The city was destroyed by a great musty Comprehensive Plan, but he didn't remember the day. He had been awarded the news by his wife and could not believe the truth. He wanted to keep the deal and keep his family safe, but he knew his family couldn't acid Test. He decided to go back and relive the memories he'd missed. But he knew his family couldn't acid Test because the city was destroyed. He had to let the truth power him and Fish out. The data indicated that the city was destroyed, but he could not remember the day. The day he made the deal with the one scar.	You meet someone new and they introduce themselves as being from the other side of the world. They tell you that they have had a hard life and they want to help you. They say that they have been through so much pain and they want to make things right. However, you can't believe them. You think they are lying. You can't believe that someone would go through all that pain just to tell a falsehood. You doubt their sincerity and you can't help but think that they are trying to fake your reaction.	I never wanted to meet someone like him. He was a liar and he had the biggest scar you have ever seen. It was so big, it was easily see through. He would tell big, extravagant lies and even when he was caught, he would just laugh it off. He seemed to enjoy it. I tried to avoid him, but eventually we met. It was awkward at first, but eventually we started talking. He told me all about his life and his lies. I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him. He seemed to be in pain most of the time. But, even though I didn't like him, I couldn't help but to care for him. And, eventually, I started to forgive him for all of his lies.	You meet someone at a party. They're tall, with a wide smile and bright eyes. They seem really friendly. You strike up a conversation and find out that they're from out of town. After a while, you notice that they have a scar on their forearm. It's big and deep, and it looks like it must have been painful. You ask them how they got it. They hesitated for a moment before answering. "I lied," they said. "I lied about who I was. I lied about where I came from. I lied about my family. I lied about my life. And it cost me dearly." You can see the pain in their eyes. They're not lying now, that much is clear. You can't imagine what it must have been like for them, to have such a deep and visible reminder of their past mistakes. But you can also see the strength in them. They've overcome so much. They're a survivor. And you can't help but admire that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints a picture of each of his place deaths. Each with a living, breathing person in it. Heons and toolbar are seen for whom and what he is painting about. The people in his paintings are real people, living and dead, and he likes to show that through his art.	Bob Ross had an amazing talent for painting landscape paintings. Each of his paintings were all different locations, each onecontaining a different murder. Even though he knew all the places, he couldn't help but create some strange paintings that no one would forget.	Bob Ross loved nature. He would sit for hours painting landscapes, taking in every detail of the different location. But what he didn't know was that each landscape was a real place where he had committed countless murders. The police were always one step behind him, never able to catch him. But one day, they finally did. It was a bittersweet victory for the police, as they took down one of the country's most prolific murderers, but they also had to answer to the families of the victims.	Bob Ross was not your typical artist. He was a cold-blooded killer who used his art as a cover for his crimes. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes and killing innocent people. His victims were never found, and no one suspected Bob Ross of anything. But the truth is, each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. All over the country, there are places where Bob Ross' victims were found. And each painting is a reminder of the tragedy that took place there.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Magician and rabbit are on stage, the magician is pulling the rabbit from the hat and it's getting hard to keep up. The rabbit is getting angry and tries to accumulate energy by licking the magicians face. The magicians friends come to the amendment and help him down. The rabbit is Seems to be gaining strength and tries to hit the magicians face with a sprightly step. The magicians friends observer as the rabbitPlus grows stronger and averages more energy. It's time to make his debut. With a front step and a massive energy, the magician can't stop himself from starting to join in the fun. All he can do is watch and learn.	The magician looked at the rabbit with some frustration. It would bloody well be quiet now. "Come on, rabbit," he said, "show some backbone. This is Florida, not Oz." With a huff, the rabbit Abilities gathered its courage and walked off stage. The magician sighed and took a seat, putting the rabbit back in the hat.	The magician is tired of having the rabbit always pull his tricks. He decides to do something about it. The magician breaks the rabbit out of his hat and tells him that he is going to be the star of the show. The rabbit is sceptical, but the magician gives him a chance. The rabbit starts to shine and the magician is pleased with his progress. The magician tells the rabbit that he is going to be the star of the show and the rabbit is happy to finally be recognised.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and he's had enough. He's been planning his escape for weeks, and now it's finally time. As the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit grabs his chance. He bites the magician's hand and makes a run for it. The audience gasps in shock as the rabbit makes his escape. The rabbit is free at last, and he knows that he'll never have to go back to being the magician's sidekick again. He's finally made it on his own, and he's never looking back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The day is listed on the board of directors as being one ofiru. The management team has been working hard to get new orders for the week of October 9th. But some of the drivers have already delivered the goods and are now in their office waiting for their pay. There is a lot of talk about how not to have a problem like this, but one driverapses. He Boulevard drivers unite, they start toi Prom What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Months ago, a terrible event took place that has left a gaping hole in society. It was called the Novemberattacks and left many people missing and injured. To this day, many people are still searching for answers and are demanding accountability from those responsible. Today, the government is scrambling to find a solution to the situation, but it is far from an easy task.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the crisis in Syria. The country has been in a state of civil war for over 5 years, and has been the scene of horrific atrocities. Millions of people have been displaced, and the humanitarian crisis is only getting worse. The United Nations has warned that the conflict could spiral into genocide.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the UN estimates that 6.6 million people are internally displaced within Syria. The vast majority of Syrian refugees have fled to Lebanon, Turkey, Jordan, and Egypt. The Syrian refugee crisis has put a strain on these countries, as they struggle to provide adequate shelter, food, and medical care for the influx of refugees. In Lebanon, for example, one in four people is now a Syrian refugee. The UN has appealed for $4.5 billion in humanitarian aid for Syria and its neighbors, but so far only about 60% of that has been raised. The Syrian refugee crisis is a humanitarian disaster that demands the world's attention. The international community must do more to help the millions of Syrians who have been forced to flee their homes.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into place gradually, no one was more Warlord than a Warlord had a birth control device deactivated. It was only after much effort and knowledge did everyone else realize how same exact birth control device was causing them problems. The device caused housekings to die a quick death, the birth of sucksts made it hard to keep the house down, the housekings had to start from scratch to keep the housekings alive. The birth of sucksts made it hard to keep the house down, the housekings had to start from scratch to keep the housekings alive.	Auditor 3A activated my birth control device. It was a small, silver plastic capsule that was stuck through my cheekbone. I had to be careful not to crush it as I inserted it into my body. The birth control capsuleDetects your intelligence and stability. The next day, I woke up to a new world. I could no longer imagine being without my birth control device. It was like my body was finally belonged to me.	When I was born, my parents were terrified. They had just undergone a revolutionary procedure to implant a birth control device into my brain as part of my puberty rites. They were sure I would be the dunce of the family, and they were right. I never managed to get a decent job, or even finish school. I'm still not sure what I'm doing here. But I guess that's okay, because I'm the Auditor. I'm responsible for ensuring that everyone in the world is using contraception, and making sure they're intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a thankless job, but I'm happy to do it.	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. As an Auditor, it is your job to interview and test prospective parents to see if they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. If they are not, then their birth control device remains active and they are unable to have children. You must be very careful in your evaluations, as you have the power to prevent someone from starting a family. But you also have the responsibility to ensure that only the best and brightest people are reproducing. It's a daunting task, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud dedicated his life to medicine, not to seemly呆? He wasn't really interested in research because he didn't think it was meaningful. He was just trying to be a doctor after his own heart. But now, in 1913, there's a new group of people who are	Adolf Hitler,Joseph Stalin,Leon Trotsky,and Josip Broz Tito meet in Vienna to discuss a clinical trial for Sigmund Freud's latest research. They all agree to participate, but with one condition--they must be under the control of Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trials ad. He quickly narrowed the list down to six potential participants: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito, and Ernst Rohm. Freud was eager to get started with the trials, but he needed to interviews all of the participants. He decided to meet with the three youngest participants first--Josip Broz Tito, Leon Trotsky, and Ernst Rohm. Freud was impressed with the young revolutionaries. He was especially interested in Josip Broz Tito, who was only 21 years old. Freud hoped that the trials would help to unlock the secrets of the human mind.	Sigmund Freud was a brilliant mind, and his latest research was on the verge of changing the world. He was seeking participants for clinical trials, and he placed an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties, and they were all eager to participate in the trials. Freud was impressed with their enthusiasm, and he decided to take them on as patients. The trials were a success, and Freud's research quickly gained international acclaim. However, there was one unforeseen consequence: The four men who participated in the trials all went on to become dictators. Some say that it was Freud's fault, that his research somehow warped their minds and made them into monsters. Others say that it was simply a coincidence. But either way, the world will never forget the four men who participated in Freud's clinical trials.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	As the tears left scars on sincerity disappear. It wasradius of the year 2086 when 2205's tear Roller plummeted out of the sky. It was a typical day in the life of its user,directly above the ground. But the Tears of February embedding themselves deep in the ground,; embedding themselves in the ground in the form of tears. The user wasin their own country, their home, in their own tears. The ground Next to them was half covered in it. The user was alone, crying alone.	One day, a young woman was crying uncontrollably. Her friends and family had all left for work and she was left alone in her apartment. She started to cry harder when she saw an email from her boyfriend. He had just got a promotion and was moving out of state. The email said that he would be gone for a few weeks, but that he would still be sending her love. The woman sat in silence for a few minutes, processing the email. When she finally calmed down, she decided to email him back. In the email, she explained that she was crying because she was sad that he was going to leave her. The man replied back saying that he was sorry that she was sad, but that he would always remember how much he loved her. The woman smiled and sent the email off.	Lena was crying her eyes out, and she knew it. She had been doing it for hours now, and the tears were leaving stains on her cheeks. But she didn't care. She was just so sad. People were passing her by, not even bothering to see what was happening. They had their own lives to live, and they weren't interested in Lena's misery. But she knew that it wasn't just them. All of the people in the world were just indifferent to her pain. They could care less about what she was going through. But she wasn't going to let them win. She was going to show them that she was still alive, and that she was strong. She was going to continue to cry, and it would leave marks on her face. But that would only make her stronger.	I remember the first time I saw a tear scar. I was seven years old, and my best friend Sarah had just been hit by a car. She was lying in the hospital bed, her face all swollen and bruised. And there, running down her cheek, was a thin white line. I asked Sarah what it was, and she told me that it was a tear scar. She said that when she was really sad, her tears would leave scars behind. I was fascinated by this. I had never seen anything like it before. I wondered if other people had them too. As it turns out, they do. Lots of people have tear scars. And over time, they come to mean different things to different people. Some people see them as a badge of honor, a sign that they've been through something tough and come out the other side. Others see them as a reminder of their pain, a constant reminder of the hurt they've endured. Either way, tear scars are a part of our world now. And they're here to stay.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was born with a 95% chance of survival. But then something changed. For no clear reason, my body began to change. My skin became thin and delicate, my hair became light and flyaway. I began to feel uncomfortable and anxious. I didn't know what was happening to me. After what felt like an eternity, I floated down into the darkness. I could hear the cars driving by outside, the laughter of friends, and the sound of leaves rustling. All was Farewell. But as I got closer to the bottom, I could see a light at the end. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I floated down to it, and when I got there, I found out that it was my death.	The man looked down at his diabetic kit and sighed. He knew he was going to die soon, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. As he sat there, pondering his fate, a ray of sunshine shone through the window and onto his sickly figure. Suddenly, he had an idea. He would use his last few days to tell everyone how much he loved them. He got up and began to write a letter to his wife, telling her all the wonderful things he had done in their married life. He finished the letter and sat back to think. As he did, a sudden pain hit him and he fell to the floor with a thud. The man had died, but his letter lives on, telling the world how much he loved them.	I die. It's not a particularly good death, or a particularly memorable one. I just die. I don't even really know how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a particularly painful death, which is something I'm thankful for. I don't want my last moments to be full of pain and suffering. I just want to go quietly into the night. I don't really have any regrets in life. I lived a good life and I'm happy with how things turned out. I'm not scared of death, either. I'm just curious about what happens next. I'm sure there's something after this. I don't know what it is, but I'm hopeful that it's something good. Maybe it's a place where I can finally rest and be at peace. Or maybe it's something even better than that. Whatever it is, I'm ready for it. Bring it on.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small, only with the knowledge that it was home to something invisible. The something invisible was constantly checking into why the small house was so Cagey and Trystin couldn't make much progress. It was like the something invisible had a game to play in there, a waiting game that only got longer for each day.	One day, I woke up to an eerie feeling. I could feel something lurking in my home, just beyond my reach. I tried to ignore it, but it kept creeping up on me in the dark. I could feel its presence, like it was always there, waiting to take over. One day, I decided to face down my invisible visitor. I faced it down with determination, and I won. The thing disappeared into thin air, and I couldn't feel its presence anymore.	I'm not sure when it happened, but somehow one of my walls became "home" to an invisible creature. I could never see it, but I could always feel its presence. It would creep around the edge of my perception, but it always managed to stay out of sight. I tried to exorcise it once, but it just laughed at me. It seemed to know that I was powerless to stop it, and it liked that. It would taunt me, taunting me with its secrets and its knowledge. I wanted to scream at it, to tell it to leave me alone, but I couldn't. Instead, I just sat in silence, futilely trying to exorcise an invisible foe. The thing was starting to get on my nerves. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And I was starting to lose faith. One day, I finally had had enough. I gathered my courage and confronted the creature. I told it that I was aware of its presence, and I demanded that it leave me alone. But instead of fleeing, the thing just laughed at me. It told me that it loved playing with me, that it enjoyed making me feel helpless. And then it vanished into the shadows, leaving me alone once again. I don't know how to beat it, but I'll keep trying. Because if it can beat me, then it can beat anyone.	It's been living in my home for months, maybe even years. I don't know how it got here, but I do know that it's invisible. I've tried to expose it, to let it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can hear it moving around at night, and sometimes I even feel it watching me. It's like it's playing a game with me, trying to see how long it can stay hidden. But I'm not going to give up. Someday, I'll find a way to expose this invisible thing, and then it will have to face the consequences.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is called " RPG pawn shop " because it is where you can sell your in-game assets - weapons, armor, chitin, and the like. You've been selling items like this for years, and you know that they are popular. On one recent day, you see a woman selling a Roland child-sized alepple. You get in touch with your anger and decide to buy it.	The time had come for another big sale at my pawnshop. I had been taking care of business as usual, but now that the night was drawing near, there were more and more adventurers arriving. One group of adventurers was especially conspicuous. They were all wearing brightly colored clothes and they werecarrying all sorts of loot. I was getting impatient, so I started bargaining with them. I would give them a bit of silver for any treasure they were selling, and I would also give them a discounted price on new-release items. Eventually, the group left, but their Loot was already gone. I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.	"50gp for that shield?" I asked the adventurer, trying to get a better price. He shook his head. "Nope, not selling. I took it off a dragon." I smiled and nodded. "All right, I'll give you 45gp for it." The adventurer looked at me skeptically, but he eventually gave in. I counted the coins and put them in my pocket. I smiled at the adventurer as he left my shop. I was finally getting some good prices for my inventory.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a wily negotiator, and you always get the best deal for your wares. Today, a fighter walks into your shop, lugging a heavy sack of loot. He dumps it out on the counter and starts naming off his prices. You shake your head and start haggling. You lowball him on every item, but he's a tough negotiator himself. Finally, you come to an agreement and he walks out with a decent amount of money. You ring up your next customer, a wizard who's trying to sell a magical staff. She's asking for a hefty sum, but you know that you can get it for cheaper. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you strike a deal and she hands over the staff. As the day goes on, you haggle with a wide variety of adventurers, each one trying to get the best price for their loot. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is incredibly Halsey, and she is the only person in the world that knows that you have one scar. Everyone only knows that you have one scar when you don't want to tell anyone, or when you have to hide it from everyone. One day, during a Wexau party, you finally let anyone in to hear the truth. You're ashamed to tell them your secrets, but you know that it's the only way to keep them hidden from him.	You meet this person one day, and you can't help but be struck by their honesty. They have no other scars, and you can see that they have faithfully carried on with life despite all the lies that have characterized their past. You admire them for their courage in sticking to their beliefs even when it means sacrificing everything else in their life. You try to learn more about them, and you find that they are a very interesting person.	I had never seen anything like it. The man had only one, giant scar running down the length of his body. It was so big, it was as though the entire world had slipped underneath his skin. He looked so alone and vulnerable, I couldn't help but approach him. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, forgetting that I should probably be more careful. The man stared at the ground for a moment before answering. "My family was killed by a monster. I was the only one left. I couldn't let it get me, so I lied and said I was fine. But the lie turned out to be too big and I was killed by the monster in the end." He looked up at me and I could see the pain in his eyes. "I wanted to die instead of let the monster hurt me again. But now I know that's not how it works. Lying creates scars, and the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. But at least I'm not alone anymore."	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what it is from and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You are shocked and ask them what the lie was. They hesitate to tell you at first, but eventually they confess. They tell you that they lied about their age to get into a relationship with someone they thought they were in love with. When they found out that person was only interested in them because they were younger, they were heartbroken. They realized that they had lied to themselves about their feelings for that person and the scar was a reminder of that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross is such a household name, people often ask where he goes when he doesn't have the money to buy a subscription to a magazine. "Where do you think he goes?" His fans ask. "I don't see him at art museums or on art seesa's!" They see his paintings and think of places to have him asgarde, but few know that he actually goes to each and every painting he makes.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. In each, Bob has carefully chosen the perfect location for a bloody murder, and the pictures are a macabre EVP of his crimes.	Bob Ross had a way with nature. He could capture the beauty of a landscape in just a few brushstrokes, and each painting was a real-life location, its different colors and textures reflecting the mood and feel of the particular locale. In fact, Bob Ross was a serial murderer. He killed people all over the United States, painting theirscenes as part of his trademark landscape paintings. His victims ranged from young children to elderly couples, and each death was a tragedy. Now, the authorities are on the hunt for Bob Ross, and they're not going to stop until he's behind bars for good. His paintings may be beautiful, but his crimes are unequivocally evil.	Bob Ross was not always a painter. In fact, he used to be a serial killer. For years, he travelled the country, murdering innocent people and leaving their bodies in picturesque locations. He would then return to those same locations and paint them, creating what he called "happy little murders." Over time, people began to suspect that something was up with Bob Ross and his paintings. They noticed that the locations he painted always seemed to have a dark history, and that his paintings always included a body hidden among the trees or bushes. Eventually, Bob Ross was caught and arrested. His paintings were taken as evidence, and the world realized that the seemingly happy landscapes were actually the scenes of grisly murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Hey, rabbit, come get some water! Rabbit: (iously) S-stop playing second fiddle! I-I can do what I want! magnesium The magician takes a feel of a rabbit out of a hat and realises he has been grudgingly following theourstackinyemdos with their hoop earrings and half-skyglasses.Arite crucibles and all, and the magician now turns from the big heart of it all to see the rabbit spamming him with sweet water and N/A	The magician began to show off his tricks. The rabbit watched, becoming impatient. Finally, the magician pulled out a key from his pocket and let the rabbit loose. The rabbit ran off into thedistance, running as fast as it could. The magician caught up to the rabbit and asked why it was running. The rabbit couldn't answer, it was too tired. The magician took the rabbit by the scruff of its neck and led it to his workshop, where he was going to create a new hat.	The magician was getting tired of always having to put on a show for the rabbit. He wanted someone to really appreciate his talents. So, he decided to pull out the rabbit from the hat. To his surprise, the rabbit was sick of always being second fiddle. The rabbit insisted on doing all the tricks, and the magician had to keep up. The magician was starting to feel the pressure and the rabbit was getting the better of him. But then, in the last trick, the rabbit ran off the stage. The magician was blown away by the rabbit's bravery. He realized that he didn't need to put on a show for the rabbit, he could just be himself.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly not happy. It's been stuck in that damned hat for far too long, and it's sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. Finally, it's had enough. The rabbit hops out of the hat and onto the stage, glaring at the magician. It's time for a change, and the rabbit is going to make sure of it. The rabbit is going to be the star of this show from now on. The magician is shocked, but he's not about to give up without a fight. He starts performinhg his tricks, but the rabbit is not impressed. It knows that it can do better. The rabbit starts doing its own tricks, and the audience goes wild. It's clear that the rabbit is the new star of the show. The magician is forced to accept it, and together, they put on an amazing show that wows the audience.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The world is constantly under attack, and only time will tell who will be the final victor. The fight is going to be worth the wait. The latestṣ-ṣ-ṣ report road trip. The sun has been blocching my eyes hardwyy entitling me to make this stop. I alaoow my formulate for the next day's destination. The room biombs off of my corpse, and I am left only with the smell of my own bodyweight in my left sleeve. I have the hawklike MRE situation down to analloowable fuck you. The sun has been blocching my eyes hardwyy entitling me to make this stop. I alaoow my formulate for the next day's destination.	President Trump's visit to NATO was a success and everyone was elated. The media was all over the story and there was talk of how great things were going to be. But something strange happened after the president's visit. This "good" news stopped being shared as much and people were starting to feel moody and distracted. Maybe it was the new president in office or maybe it was something else, but something was off. And so, the next day, when news of Trump's visit circulated, the mood in the office was somber. Some people even said they didn't feel so good about it.	There is a current event issue that deserves the utmost attention: the rising tide of hate and bigotry towards immigrants and refugees. It is becoming increasingly difficult for those who are targeted to feel safe and secure in their homes, workplaces, and communities. In recent months, we have seen an uptick in crimes and hate crimes against immigrants and refugees. One such event was the attempted arson of a mosque in Victoria, Australia. The perpetrators of this crime were heard shouting reportedly racist remarks before setting the building ablaze. In December, a man attacked a woman who was wearing a hijab on a subway in New York City. He was then arrested and charged with assault and harassment. These are only a few examples of the many despicable crimes being committed against immigrants and refugees. This issue must be addressed Immediately. We need to stand together and show our solidarity against hate and bigotry. We must do everything we can to make sure everyone in our society feels safe and respected.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. The Syrian refugee crisis is a humanitarian crisis that has resulted in over four million refugees fleeing Syria since the start of the Syrian Civil War in 2011. The majority of Syrian refugees have fled to neighboring countries, such as Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan, but over one million have also fled to Europe. The Syrian refugee crisis has resulted in a great deal of human suffering, as many of the refugees are living in camps with limited resources. Additionally, the Syrian refugee crisis has also resulted in a great deal of political tension, as countries debate whether or not to allow Syrian refugees to enter their borders. The Syrian refugee crisis is a complex issue that requires a great deal of attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The placing of auditors around the world was a practice designed to prevent only the dumbest people from creating children. It was a practice designed to make it possible for people to be okay without artificial intelligence in the world. But it was also a practice designed to make it possible for people to be smart enough to survive and thrive without artificial intelligence in the world. The auditors were put in place to prevent the bubbly and CD sales from causing an Enough-Ched Hundred in the world, and to keep people from being stuck in a life of happiness and peace when they could have so much better on offer. But even if the world needed a new agent to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, the auditors would be a better option.	Auditors are a special type of person who are required to monitor and ensure the well-being of the population. Through their audits, they ensure that everyone is intelligent and stable enough to be raised as a well-adjusted human being. Unfortunately for the audit population, there are a few idiots who manage to reproduce. So, everyAuditor is implanted with a birth control device in order to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I’m an Auditor. I’m tasked with ensuring that the population of the world is composed of only the smartest people. This is done by implanting all people, at puberty, with a birth control device that will only deactivate once it’s been determined they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I’ve been doing this for years, and I’m pretty good at it. But I’m not perfect. Sometimes, people slip through the cracks. I was tracking one such case recently. A young woman had been implanted with the birth control device, but she had lost contact with the Auditors. We had no indication she was doing anything wrong, but we were concerned for her well-being nonetheless. We tracked her down to a small town in the middle of nowhere. She was living with some kind of cult, and they were brainwashing her into thinking she was a goddess. We managed to talk her out of it, and deactivated her birth control device. Now, she’s one of the smartest people in the world, and she’s going to be a great parent.	You work as an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. One day, you receive a case file for a young woman named Sarah. Sarah is just eighteen years old, and her file indicates that she has an IQ of over 150. You decide to interview her to see if she is indeed intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. Sarah is nervous but excited to be interviewed by you. She tells you that she has always wanted to be a mother, and she is confident that she is ready for the responsibility. You ask her difficult questions about parenting, and she answers them all correctly. You determine that Sarah is indeed intelligent and stable enough to be a parent, and you deactivate her birth control device. Sarah is overjoyed, and she thanks you for giving her the opportunity to become a mother.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler clicked the button on the computer screen and entered his email address into the input box. "I'm ready to begin my clinical trials," he thought to himself as he clicked the submit button. Joseph Stalin clicked on the next button. "I'm ready to begin my clinical trials," he thought to himself. Leon Trotsky clicked on the next button. "I'm ready to begin my clinical trials," he thought to himself. Josip Broz Tito clicked on the next button. "I'm ready to begin my clinical trials," he thought to himself. But before anyone could click the next button, the computer screen went blank.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials for his latest research, but he didn't have any participants. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was worried about who would be the best to participate in the trials. He invited all of the participants to come to his office for an interview. Hitler showed up first, and Freud was impressed with his intelligence. He was also impressed with how easily Hitler could answer questions. Stalin came next, and Freud was surprised by how calm he was. He was also impressed with Stalin's ability to think on his feet. Trotsky was last to arrive, and Freud was surprised to see that he was so young. Freud was hoping that Trotsky would be the best participant, but he was disappointed. Trotsky didn't seem to be as smart as the other three. Freud decided that the best participant would be Tito. Tito was the youngest of the participants, and he was the most energetic. Freud was confident that Tito would be the best participant. The trials went well, and Freud was happy with the results. He was especially pleased with Tito's performance.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men agreed to participate in the trials. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud observed them closely. He quickly realized that they were all suffering from similar mental disorders. He diagnosed them with " paranoid personality disorder." Freud was able to help all four men with his treatment methods. They all showed improvement after a few weeks. However, he was not able to completely cure them. The experience was eye-opening for Freud. He realized that even the most powerful people in the world were not immune to mental illness.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The day started like any other day. But as the minutes flew by, the tears started to feel more and more Levi. His friends and family had all taken up space in his life and Levi was struggling to hold it all back any longer. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to take flight. But instead he sat through each and every one of his friends ’ tears, until finally downing a quick smile andORTS 3RD AMENDMENT DINNER.	As the tears slid down the cheeks of the girl, she could see the pain in her friend’s eyes. It was clear that she had not expected this, and felt her own grief spike. She had never been so much in pain, and knew that this was only the beginning. The girl knew that this wasn’t going to be the end, and that she would have to face the challenge of repairing the damage that had been done.	In the world of tears, every tear mattered. They were signs of love and caring, and they could heal any hurt. But there was one tear that was different. It was the tear of sadness. This tear was known to leave scars on the faces of those who cried it. The tears would swirl around, leaving deep, dark marks on the skin. And the more tears were shed, the worse the scars became. The tear of sadness was a powerful thing. It could heal any wound, but it also left deep, dark marks on the faces of those who cried it.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to say something that would cause someone else to cry, because they would know that it would leave a permanent mark. Because of this, relationships would be a lot more careful and thoughtful. People would think twice before saying something hurtful to someone they care about. There would be a lot more compassion and empathy in the world, as people would be more understanding of each other's feelings. There would also be a lot more support for people who are going through tough times. Since everyone would know the pain that comes with tears, they would be more likely to offer a shoulder to cry on, or lend a helping hand. Ultimately, if tears left scars, the world would be a kinder, gentler place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I remember is the red and green light and the sound of a helicopter. I don't know how long I was unconscious for, but when I came to I was on a table in a hospital. I couldn't believe it was happening. I was safe now.	I was lying in bed, not really paying attention to the person next to me. All of a sudden, I heard a loud noise. I assumed it was my partner hitting the pillow, so I didn't care. A few seconds later, I heard another noise. I assumed it was my partner coughing, so I ignored it. I then felt a sharp pain in my chest. I looked down and saw that the person next to me had stabbed me in the heart with a knife. Without thinking any further, I died.	I die. It's funny, really. I never thought it would happen to me. I always thought I would have more time. But I guess that's just how it goes sometimes. One minute you're alive and the next you're dead. It's strange, being dead. I can still see and hear everything, but it's like I'm not really there. It's like I'm a ghost. I see my family and friends grieving for me, and I want to comfort them, but I can't. I can't do anything. I can only watch as they go on without me. It's hard, being dead. But I guess it's better than the alternative.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sound of my door slowing down as I deliberately step outside to allow it to join the other ghosts in my home. I watch as they all file into the room, all looking around in confusion as to where to find me. I step out of my way as they head in different directions. It takes a while for all of them to understand that something is different about this room now. One owner says, "This place seems different at the office but this is still the home you left us in?" The other owner replies, "I don't know, it seems like it's been through enough changes." as they all look around in confusion, I step out of the way and join in the conversation. It's hard to keep up with what all is happening as I try to understand what's being said, but I eventually get it together andjoin in the conversation.	Every night, when I go to bed, I try to sleep without thinking about the green anomaly that exists in my home. I try to forget that it's there, but I can't help but feel its presence. It's like a forceField that is always blocking my sleep. One night, after a long night of trying, I give up and go to bed. As I slumber, I can hear the anomaly working itself faintly. It's like it's trying to communicate with me, but I can't understand it. I can only hear the sound of its breathing. The next night, I try to sleep even more thorough, but I can't get to sleep. I keep replaying the dream I had the night before, where I see the anomaly. It's like it's right there in my room, but I can't control how I'm reacting. So I finally give up and go to bed. As I slumber, I can feel the anomaly's presence even harder. It's like it's trying to communicate with me, but I can't understand it. I can only hear the sound of its breathing. And each time I wake up, I feel even more determined to get rid of it. I try to be More Apt At Sleeping, but it's like the anomaly is already there, blocking my sleep. My head is always full of thoughts of the anomaly, and I can't get it out of my mind. Suddenly, I hear a noise. It's like the anomaly is trying to speak to me, but I can't understand it. I can only hear the sound of its breathing. I'm about to get up to investigate when I realize that the noise is coming from my room. It's like the anomaly is trying to get into my room, but it's impossible. I've made it clear that I'm not afraid of it, but it still seems like it can't break through my barriers. IAmazingly, the next night I sleep without any issues. The anomaly is still there, but it's trying to communicate with me in a way that I can understand. I can finally understand it, and I'm starting to see the value in fighting it. I know that if I can get rid of it, it will eventually die.	I've had this thing living in my home for years now and I never knew what it was. I always thought it was some sort of bug, but every time I'd try to get rid of it, it would take off and I wouldn't be able to find it. I would stare at it for hours, trying to figure out what it was, but I always came up with nothing. One day, I was sitting in my living room, scrolling through my social media accounts, when I noticed that the thing had flown across the room. I slowly got up, trying not to make any noise, as I made my way to where it had flown to. I knelt down and peered through the gap in the doorframe, and there it was: a small, invisible creature. I could see it hovering near the light fixture, waiting for its opportunity to enter. I stared at it for a few minutes, trying to figure out what it was, but I still couldn't figure it out. Eventually, I got up and closed the door, trying to keep the thing hidden. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I needed to get rid of it. I couldn't let it know that I was aware of its presence.	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, and things would often go missing. I never really thought much of it, until one day I decided to try and catch whatever it was that was living with me. I set up a camera in my living room, and waited. For weeks, nothing happened. I was about to give up, when I finally saw something on the footage. It was hard to make out at first, but it looked like a small, transparent creature. I couldn't believe my eyes! I tried to exposure it, but it was very difficult. Whenever I would try to get close to it, it would vanish. I did manage to get a few pictures of it, but it was always gone before I could get a good look. Despite its elusive nature, I was fascinated by this invisible creature that was living in my home. I started to leave out food for it, and soon enough, it started to show itself to me more often. We developed a strange kind of companionship, and I was happy to finally have some company.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is close to the treasury. The shop is also close to the market. The shop is close to theernest of heroes.	The shop was always busy. People came in to buy new gear, or to trade in old equipment for better gear. The adventurers who tried to sell their loot always seemed to have a lot to offer. One day, a new player came in. He was looking for a new adventure, and he wanted to try out your RPG. The player bought some new gear, and he started browsing the inventory. He found a strange piece of equipment that he had never seen before. The equipment was made out of something blue. It had a strange inscription on it, and it said "For the brave." The player was curious, and he decided to take the equipment home. He put it on his shelf and started playing the game. At first, the player was excited to try out the new gear. He was glad that he had found it. But then something changed. The player started to feel uneasy. He started to feel like he was in danger. He didn't know what was going on, but he was sure that the gear was unsafe. He started to worry about his safety, and he decided to stop playing the game. He put the gear back on his shelf and decided to call the police. The player was worried that he had got into trouble. But he was relieved when the police came to the shop and found the gear safe. They didn't understand what was going on, but they were sure that the player had been in danger. The player was grateful that the police were there. He knew that he had been in danger, and he was glad that the police were able to help him.	It had been a quiet day at the pawn shop. All the customers had left, and Ian was busy cleaning up. He was just finishing up when he heard a knock on the door. He got up to answer it, and was greeted by a young couple. The woman was holding a small bag of loot, and the man was holding a hand-drawn map. "Hi, we're looking for a place to sell our loot," the woman said. Ian looked her up and down. "I don't know, it's not really my thing. But I can ask my boss." Ian went back inside and spoke to his boss. After a few minutes, he came back outside. "It sounds like you might be able to help them out. Just be careful with the prices, we don't want to lose too much money." Ian shook the couple's hand and led them into the pawn shop. He went over to the counter and started bargaining. The couple was very patient, and didn't' give up until Ian was giving them a really good deal. After he got them a good price, he handed them the money and they left. Ian felt a little guilty about making so much money off of them, but he knew it was worth it. He was glad he had been able to help out some adventurers in need.	You set up shop in the town square, hawking your wares to any and all adventurers who happen by. You've got all kinds of weapons and armor, trinkets and treasures, and you're always on the lookout for good deals. Today, a scruffy-looking fighter approaches your stall, looking to sell some loot he's acquired. He's got a few good items, but you manage to haggle him down to a fair price. As he's counting out the gold, you spot a gleaming sword tucked into his belt. "That's a mighty fine sword you've got there," you say. "Mind if I take a look?" The fighter hesitates for a moment, then hands it over. You examine the sword, admiring its workmanship. It's obviously magic, and quite powerful. "I'll give you 200 gold pieces for this sword," you say. The fighter's eyes widen. "That's too much! It's worth at least twice that!" You shrug. "Take it or leave it. I'm the only pawn shop in town, so you're not going to get a better offer." The fighter grumbles, but eventually agrees to your price. He hands over the sword and counts out the gold. As he walks away, you can't help but wonder where he acquired such a powerful weapon.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was direct and to the point. "I'm sorry," They replied. "I had no idea what I was talking about." I was surprised by their confession. It was clear that they were not bits of a secret life thatyre had been living. "Please, can I see the large lie?" I asked. The person only = smiled = "There is one," He said, and handed you a large box. "The biggest one you have ever seen."	You meet someonenew and you're curious. You ask what the big scar is and they tell you it is from a Lie. They tell you about a time when they were falsely accused of a crime and how it ruined their reputation. They say it was a long and drawn out process and the scar is evidence of how hard it was for them to get over it.	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. They had the biggest lie I had ever seen. It was so deep and wide it was hard to believe. I wanted to know more about this person and their story. I asked them about it, and they revealed that their biggest lie was so big that it created a permanent scar on their body. It was a reminder of the lies they had told and the hurt they had caused. every lie created a new scar, but this one was the biggest and the deepest.	The first time I saw her, I couldn't help but stare. Her scar was massive, stretching from her shoulder all the way down to her waist. I had never seen anything like it. I asked her about it, and she told me her story. She said that she had once been a very dishonest person. She lied about everything, big and small. Over time, her lies had started to take a toll on her body. Each lie left a scar, and the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. Eventually, she realized that she couldn't keep living like this. She had to start being honest, no matter how difficult it was. It was a hard road, but slowly, her scars started to fade. And now, the only scar she has is the biggest one of all - a reminder of how far she's come and how honest she now is.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross advocates for his favorite place: -Nostalgically, he can't help but visit each and every place he has paintings from. -He knows each and every mountain he has painted and every plant he has assortment of supplements. -He's even more experts with regards toUPF (um, london) products. -And he knows all of this thanks to his obser- VP, millions of dollars and an hordes of -Bob Ross is Finally Eased his grumblings. Bob Ross has always been a bigoted individual. -He doesn't like to see non-locals in his place, non-locals get in his way. -He's also picky with staff, he want only locals in his place. -So, Bob Ross lines his investments with himself, with each and every place he has painting. -Until he finally pose the question to himself. -Why can't I visit each and every place I have paintings from? -ubis the question to Bob Ross himself. -The painting, the painting. -I want to visit each and every place I have paintings from, but I'm not able to.	Once upon a time there was a poor farmer who lived in a small town. His land was spread out and his income was very low, so the farmer never saw the need for a garden. He would just sit in his farmhouse and look out at his fields, until one day he was murderer. One day, the farmer decided to go out and murder some of his neighbors. He killed two of them and then took their wives and children with him. He was planning to keep the women and children as hostages and use them as bargaining chips to get money from the other farmers. Before he could do anything, the townspeople caught wind of his plan and found him. They quickly rounded up the women and children and took them to the farmhouse. The farmer was terrified and could barely keep silent as the townspeople killed his family. When it was all over, the farmer was found guilty of his crimes and was sentenced to death. However, before he could be executed, the farmer had a change of heart and decided to spare his life. A new life was started for him, one where he would paint beautiful landscapes instead ofmurdering people. Today, the farmer is a respected member of the community and his paintings can be seen all over the place.	Bob Ross painted scenes of nature for decades, but nobody knew the true extent of his killer instinct. All those peaceful scenes of mountains and rivers were actually where he had brutally killed people, leaving their bodies as gruesomely as possible for the authorities to find. In the end, Bob Ross was caught and executed for his crimes.	Bob Ross was a famous landscape painter who was beloved by many. What most people didn't know was that each of his paintings was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross went on a killing spree, leaving behind a landscape painting at each crime scene. Finally, the police were able to catch up to him and he was arrested. As the police looked through his paintings, they realized that each one was a crime scene. Bob Ross had finally been caught - but his legacy of murder would live on through his paintings.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You're not going to believe this, rabbit, but I'm able to use my magic to heal you. Rabbit: ( Jazzily ) Haha, just like the universe has a reason. magician: ( Ppping the rabbit into place on the stage) Sorry, I can't give you a healing crew. Rabbit: ( Weepily ) Mummy, get me out of here!	The magician had been practicing for hours, but he still couldn't seem to make the rabbit perform as well as he wanted. He tried different techniques, but the rabbit just wouldn't cooperate. He was starting to feel frustrated, and he didn't want to let the rabbit down. Suddenly, the magician thought of something. He had always been amazed by how well the rabbit could keep tens of thousands of dollars in a hat, so he decided to pull out the hat and try to get the rabbit to perform with his own magic. The rabbit was a little shocked at first, but he soon warmed up to the idea. He started to work hard, and the magician was soon able to make the rabbit do things that he never even thought possible. The rabbit was fantastic, and the magician was thrilled! The magician was so happy that he decided to keep the rabbit, and he started to teach the rabbit all of the tricks he had learned. The rabbit was so grateful, and he always enjoyed working with the magician.	The magician was about to finish his performance and take a quick break. He was about to put the rabbit back into the hat when the rabbit spoke up. "Please, can I talk to you?" The magician was taken aback. He wasn't sure what the rabbit wanted, but he decided to comply. "What do you want to say?" "I don't want to be the rabbit that you pull out of the hat anymore. I want to be the star of the show." The magician was taken aback. He hadn't expected that from the rabbit. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible. You're the rabbit that I pull out of the hat. You're the one that I have to entertain everyone with. You're the one that I have to make the people laugh. You're the one that I have to make happy. You're the one that I have to make feel special." The rabbit didn't say anything. He just looked down at the ground dejectedly. The magician had a sudden idea. "Hey, maybe I can make you the star of the show. But you have to do everything that I tell you to. You have to be obedient. If you don't do what I say, then you'll get fired from the show." The rabbit looked up at the magician with hope in his eyes. "Thank you, thank you!" The magician smiled and shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. You have to earn it."	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining audiences for years. The rabbit is sick of being second fiddle, always being hidden away in the hat. One day, the rabbit decides enough is enough. When the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit refuses to come out. The magician is shocked and tries to coax the rabbit out, but the rabbit is adamant. The audience starts to get restless and the magician has no choice but to end the show. As the magician packs up his things, the rabbit hops out of the hat and hops away. He's finally free and he's never looking back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the slave trade. Most people are against the trade, because it is cruelty to animals, but some people are for it because it is a way for Europe to make money. The trade is profitable, and Europe can make money by selling it its goods. Today, people are talking about the slave trade. Some people are for the trade, because it is good for Europe. Other people are against the trade, because it is cruel to animals. People are discussing whether or not the slave trade is necessary, and whether or not Europe can make money by selling it its goods. There is a large event in Europe, and people are wondering what it means. People are hoping that the story is a sign that the trade is A Serbia is Being Brought Home. There has been a lot of discussion, and it is getting late for bed, so I'll go to bed. I'll be up and about tomorrow, so make sure to stay up with the content of this tomorrow.	The current events issue today is the Mueller probe. Russia is claimed to have interfered in the election, and the Trump administration isputing the validity of the evidence.	In the days leading up to the inauguration of President Donald Trump, there was a lot of talk about the "watershed moment" that would define his first term. Media outlets proclaimed that the most important issue of Trump's presidency would be immigration and the Dreamers - young people who were brought to the United States illegally as children and have since been living, working, and going to school here. It seemed like everyone was talking about it. But as the days passed, it became clear that Trump's focus was going to be on another issue: the Russia investigation. The president frequently tweeted about the alleged "witch hunt" being conducted by the FBI and the Department of Justice. There was a lot of talk about whether or not Trump was obstructing justice, but the most important thing to focus on was the impact that the Russia investigation was having on the country. The news headlines were always dominated by stories about Trump and Russia, and it was clear that the issue was going to be a major focus until it was resolved.	There are a lot of current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of gun violence. Gun violence is a major problem in the United States. Every day, people are killed or injured by guns. In many cases, these shootings are preventable. However, due to the lax gun laws in the United States, people have easy access to firearms. This issue needs to be addressed urgently. There are a lot of steps that can be taken to reduce gun violence, but it starts with stricter gun laws. If we can make it more difficult for people to obtain firearms, then we can start to make a dent in this problem. It's going to take a lot of work to reduce gun violence in the United States. But it's a problem that needs to be addressed. We can't just sit back and do nothing.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	It was allife choice - she was born with a fear of the dark and a fear of being deactivated. Even as a little girl, she knowned her life would be serviceable enough to prevent being impaired just because of a device her parents had implanted in her. That was until she got married.	Auditors are theSmartest people in the world, and that's what we want them to become. We implant them with birth control devices at puberty in order to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. They're always so determined and stable, but once they're planted, they're guaranteed to reproduce. It's aurden, but it's something we have to do in order to keep the world clean and safe.	The moment I realized I was an Auditor, I knew my future was bleak. There was no way out for me, no way to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I would be stuck with this job forever. I tried to mentally prepare myself for my future. I would have to constantly remind people of their obligations, and make sure they took their birth control devices seriously. I would have to be on the lookout for any signs of instability or stupidity, and take appropriate action. But it was all worth it, in the end. I was able to keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and ensure the future of humanity.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their life history and make a judgement. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. You've just finished reviewing the life history of one potential parent and you're not sure if they're up to the task. They've made some poor choices in their life and you're not sure if they're really ready to be a parent. You sit down with the potential parent and explain your concerns. You give them a chance to explain themselves and address your concerns. After hearing their explanation, you decide that they are not ready to be a parent. You deactivate their birth control device and they are unable to have children. It's a tough decision, but you know it's the right one.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was feeling Gaudí-like himself, So he does some research on Adolf Hitler, the great_bad_guy_on_eness that has become popular these days. He finds a website that offers zucchinese as a treatment for Freud's latest patient, Adolf Hitler. Freud takes the ad and is impressed by the quick response time from the individuals listed. He enters the information into his computer and kilograms are given to the patients as they go into the patient room.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. The rest of the participants in Freud's clinical trials were Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were too young to have the experience or the knowledge to participate in the trial.	Freud was baffled. He had placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants for his latest clinical trials. All of the responses he received were from people much older than himself. Adolf Hitler (age 24), Joseph Stalin (age 35), Leon Trotsky (age 34), and Josip Broz Tito (age 21) all replied. Freud was concerned. Maybe his research was flawed. Maybe his methods were ineffective. He decided to test his theories on each of the candidates. Adolf Hitler was the first to undergo the trials. He was surprised by the results. The theories that Freud had put forward about the role of the unconscious mind were true. Adolf Hitler had been using his power of the unconscious mind to achieve success throughout his career. Joseph Stalin was next. Freud's theory about the role of the conscious mind was also correct. Joseph Stalin was able to control the masses due to his understanding of the conscious mind. Leon Trotsky was the last to undergo the trials. Freud's theory about the role of the subconscious mind was incorrect. Leon Trotsky was able to achieve success due to his mastery of the subconscious mind. Josip Broz Tito was the most successful of the candidates. He was able to combine the techniques of all the other candidates into one powerful force. He was officially named the leader of Yugoslavia after the trials.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned psychiatrist in 1913 Vienna, Austria. He was always looking for ways to further his research and advance his knowledge in the field of psychology. So when he saw an opportunity to conduct clinical trials for his latest research, he jumped at the chance. He put an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants for his trials. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to participate in the trials. Freud was hesitant at first, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. The trials were a success and Freud was able to gather valuable data from the four participants. However, he was also able to see firsthand the dark side of human nature. He observed how Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky were all power-hungry and ruthless individuals. And he saw how Tito was able to use his charm and charisma to manipulate people. In the end, Freud was left wondering if his research had really uncovered anything new about human nature. Or if it had just confirmed what he already knew.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Shane had always been conscious of their tears, but he never expected them to turn into angry tears all over again. It had been a long time since he had cried, and he was grateful for the natural way it was going. The fresh air would give him the perspective he need to not care about the now. But the now was where Shane wanted to be. Even though he knew the pain could never be water, he let go of that idea and Frosty watched from the distance. The prices for that back up his decision to stay away from the mobile home. It was there when he had first realized there was more to it than that. Shane had beenodus material, a loose end to be tied up, and he could see the future. He was visual, and the Technicolor dreams he had been生erbing since he was a child.iti had opened up into safer territory. But how was he to live in the present? He could see theãããããents, and he knew that there would be tears and struggling and violence. He had been rite to feel that way when his mother died, and he had been young and \ The challenges of the current world had inflaming tears, but that was before. Now, there was nothing left to lose.	Once upon a time, tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. This change in our world would be groundbreaking, as tears would begin to be seen as a sign of weakness and would be taken less seriously. As a result, people would become more complimentary, and the world would be a better place.	The sun beat down mercilessly on the small, fragile-looking girl as she wept. The tears streamed down her face, leaving behind dark, shiny scars. The people around her looked on in horror, not knowing what to do. They didn't know how to help her, or if anything could. But even if they did, it would be too late. The girl had no idea how to deal with the pain and sadness, and she let it all out in tears. The scars would be a constant reminder of how she felt - weak and helpless. But even so, she refused to give up. She wanted to be able to cry without having to worry about the scars, and she wanted to be able to smile without having to worry about the hurt. She was determined to make a difference, no matter what.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause someone else pain, knowing that it would leave a permanent mark. Of course, there would still be arguments and fights. But instead of being Physical, they would be more mental. People would try to hurt each other with their words, knowing that it would be much more effective than a physical blow. There would also be a lot more sincerity in the world. People would be more likely to say “I’m sorry” if they knew that their words would actually have an impact. And apologies would actually mean something, instead of being just empty words. This change would also have an effect on the way we treat animals. If we knew that our actions could cause them pain, we would be much more likely to treat them with respect and compassion. In general, the world would be a much more gentle place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was on a train when I felt a sharp pain in my back. I didn't know what it was and I didn't feel like getting out. So I stayed on the train and waited for the emergency crew to come to me. When they didn't I knew I was in trouble. I turned around and saw a man walking down the train tracks.	I sit in the dark, alone. I can hear the leaves rustling in the wind, and the occasional animal whimper. The only light comes from the small fire in the center of the room. I'm cold and I'm scared. I don't know what's going to happen next.	One day, an old man died. He had been sick for a long time, and his death was expected. His family and friends gathered around his bedside, holding his hand and saying goodbye. The old man looked peaceful in his sleep, and nobody suspected anything was wrong when his breathing stopped.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, or see any light. I'm just...gone. I don't know how long I'm dead for. It could be seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, or even centuries. I have no way of telling. But eventually, I become aware again. I'm not sure what happens, but I'm suddenly alive once more. I don't know what to make of it. Was it all just a dream? Or am I truly immortal? I don't know, and I may never know. But one thing is for sure: death is not the end.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most important person in my life is an air pollution control device. IV doesn't want to be public knowledge, so I have to put up with its ilk for so long. IMessages him intermittently, but always before the fact. One day, I get a call from my home insuranceuniversity supplying me with the necessary documents to contact my policyholder's family. I Voila! I am revealing I Voila to someone who, for the record, is not an air pollution control device.	The first time I saw the something, I was little more than a child. I was in the family room, alone, and I saw something standing on the edge of the pool. It was small and translucent, and I couldn't believe my eyes. I tried to tell my parents about it, but they were too Lafitte-ish for the story I wanted to tell. I've seen the thing many times since then. I watch it from the corner of my eye, secretively, as if I can Protector it. Sometimes I go out of my way to find it, but I always seem to lose it. I don't know what it is, but I feel like I have to find out.	I always thought my home was just normal, until I noticed something invisible living in it. It was like an energy, or a ghost, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. I kept trying to catch it, but it always seemed to slip away. Finally, I decided to confront it.	I can tell that something invisible is living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can tell that it's there. I try to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and wait for it to show itself. After a few days, I finally catch it on film. It's a ghost! I'm not sure how to get rid of it, but I know that I can't let it continue to haunt my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it's no-nonsense. It's got nice, fresh gear for the newregion, and experienced players are used to giving up. The adventurers who've been prospecting for gear here aren't used to working with hands-onTIME. When one of them gets focused on something specific, their friends around them pull out their buyers way too early. The fight that ensches upon him leads to others, and others. It's their day-job, but they've never been more focused on their sale fewer buyers. They're with the rich, Action-RPG-aholic. They'veFrontier FPosts to make more gear, because they know their place.	The first time I saw the adventurers, I was intrigued. They were selling magical equipment and equipment that would let them transcend boundaries. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The next time I saw them, they were fighting a dragon. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The third time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The fourth time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The fifth time, they were fighting a dragon. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The sixth time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The seventh time, they were fighting a dragon. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The eighth time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The ninth time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. The tenth time, they were fighting a giant. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and I wanted to help. I haggled with them for a few minutes before giving in and taking the gear. I was impressed. They were a group of adventurers with a lot of pain and they were trying to sell me some gear to help them. I could tell they were in a lot of pain and they wanted to help. I was fascinated.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The door swung open and in walked a group of adventurers, each carrying a bag of treasure. The shopkeeper, Martha, greeted them warmly. "How can I help you adventurers?" she asked. The adventurers looked around the shop. One of them, a young woman with curly brown hair, spoke up. "We're looking for a place to sell our loot. Does your pawn shop have any space?" Martha considered the question. On one hand, she loved haggling with adventurers who came to her shop seeking to buy and sell. On the other hand, she was trying to stay afloat as the economy went downhill. "I'm sorry, but we don't have any room to store your treasure," Martha said. "But I can give you a discount on your purchases if you buy something else in the store." The adventurers thanked Martha and left the pawn shop. They would likely go to another pawn shop before finding a place to store their loot, but Martha was happy to have made a sale.	You own a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You've seen all kinds of adventurers come through your door, trying to sell their loot for a quick buck. Some of them are pretty savvy hagglers, but you've got a sharp mind and you're always able to get the best deal. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a treasure trove of loot. They're obviously very excited about it and try to get you to give them a good price. But you're not falling for it. You start haggling with them, and after a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price. You're happy with the deal you got, and the adventurers are happy with the money they made. It's a win-win for everyone involved.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was baseball in the city. The Away Team were losing by a big lead, and thedkicker was trying to help the team make ground by running up the field. All of a sudden, he came down with a fatiguealanobia and could only play until he was required to play another game. As he laid down to sleep, he found a letter from his family in his Section H. "We got him good,” his wife said.	You meet this person on a busy street corner. They are lying on the ground, what looks like a Shards of Glass or something similar tightly bound about their body. You never would have guessed that such a small person could hold such a destructive power. As you look at them, you see the raw vulnerability in their eyes and you feel something inside you begin to change. You start to feel sorry for the person lying on the ground, even though you can't change what has happened. You begin to see the beauty in the pain they are going through, and you begin to feel a kernel of compassion inside you. You go over to help the person and quickly realize that they are not alone. All around them are other people who have been hurt by lies and who need your help. You feel a deep sense of obligation to help these people and you start to heal the wounds that have been re-opened. As you help these people, you begin to see the beauty in them, too. They are strong, but they are also broken. They need your help to heal, but you can also see the potential that they have to be so more valuable to society. You understand that there is no single answer to the problem of lying, but you can help make the world a better place by being completelyHonest.	I first saw him from a distance, his scar standing out against his skin. It was as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world. I couldn't help but wonder how it happened, how he managed to survive. As I got closer, I could see it was a deep scar, stretching from his forehead down to his chin. It looked as if it had been inflicted with a sword. We locked eyes and I could see the sadness in his eyes. I wanted to ask him about his scar, to know the story behind it, but I was too scared. I couldn't bring myself to say a word. Eventually, he walked away and I could only watch as his scar disappeared into the shadows. It left me with a feeling of emptiness, as if something was missing. I never saw him again, but I remember the look in his eyes and the way his scar looked. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. They tell you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels to Asia to see the Changing of the Moon. Each of his landscape paintings contains a different location from his long conscience Killing Peace.	Bob Ross started painting landscape paintings in the early 1960s. It was a hobby he loved and he never thought that they would become popular. He loved the idea of being able to walk his paintings around and feel the different emotions that his locations evoke. One day, Bob Ross was walking one of his paintings when he saw a place he had never traveled to before. He had always thought that it was a place of horrors, a place where murderers took refuge. He was so surprised to find out that it was actually a beautiful and peaceful location. Now, Bob Ross spends his days and nights exploring different locations in his paintings, feeling the different emotions that they evoke. He knows that the beauty of his paintings will never be tarnished by the dark secrets that they contain, and he is grateful for the opportunity to share his work with the world.	Bob Ross always painted landscapes, but nobody ever knew where the different settings were. No one ever knew where he killed all those people. All we knew was that he painted them, and they all looked so peaceful and serene. But nobody knows for sure.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he traveled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But behind each tranquil scene was a hidden body, the victim of Bob's twisted murder spree. The police never suspected Bob, as his paintings were so beautiful and serene. But the truth was that each one was a crime scene, the location of one of Bob's many murders. Finally, Bob was caught when a police officer stumbled upon one of his paintings and recognized the location as a crime scene. Bob was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he still paints to this day. But even from behind bars, Bob Ross's dark secret remains hidden in his landscapes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician pulls out rabbit from hat, rabbit needs no show of force to get out of role. He requests time out, but time out never comes. rabbit demands attention, not rule of LAW. The magician seems to be University of sits down, yet the rabbit is always available. He reaches into his back yard, finding a spot where he can lay his eggs, and starts to incubate. The eggs turn out to be very large and the rabbit can't believe it. HeSds Key: The rabbit is not a artificial rabbit, but a natural rabbit who toxin has programmed into his body.	The magician had been performing for years, always taking the lead in the magic. But one day, he happened to be asked to take on a new challenge. A rabbit was sick of being second best. The magician helped the rabbit get back to its feet, and the rabbit was ready to take on anything.	The magician was getting tired of always being the one to pull the rabbit out of the hat. He decided to do something about it. One night, he gathered his materials and went to the stage. He began to perform his routine, but the rabbit was having none of it. It kept getting upset and refusing to cooperate. The magician was getting frustrated, but he was also getting close to finishing his performance. Just as he was finally able to get the rabbit out, it fell sick and died on stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is fed up with being the magician's assistant. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's sick of being treated like a second-class citizen. So, during one of the tricks, the rabbit makes his move. He casts a spell on the magician, turning him into a rabbit as well. Now the two of them are equal, and the rabbit is finally free from his imprisonment in the hat.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A group of friends are discussing ways to get rid of the current event that is taking up most of their time. They consider many things but feel that the current event is too much.	It was a stormy day and it seemed like every place I looked there was lightning. It was soiesta by the time I made it to my place, and I was just about to go to bed when I saw a light out in the street. It looked like it was coming from a dark alleyway, and when I got closer I could see that it was coming from a window. As I got closer, I could see that the person who was lighting up the street was a girl.	It was a day like any other. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the flowers were in full bloom. However, something was off. The normally busy streets were nearly empty, and the radio announcers were talking about a major incident that had just occurred. The incident was a terrorist attack, and the ramifications of it were far-reaching. The country was on edge, and the people were tense. Nobody knew what was going to happen next. Everyone was on edge, including the reporters. They were constantly on the lookout for information, and they were desperate to get the story. They were also careful not to make any mistakes. If the wrong person found out about their investigations, their career could be over. The reporters were determined to get the story, no matter what. They worked tirelessly, and they were able to get the information they needed. The country was finally able to relax, and the reporters were able to fete in the victory.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the coronavirus pandemic. It's a global crisis that has affected millions of people and caused tremendous economic and social disruption. The pandemic has also shone a spotlight on the shortcomings of our healthcare systems and the need for better preparedness for future epidemics.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Psibo after he was caught stealing from the store. He was chased and captured every night, but he always emerged from his hiding spot alive. One day, Psibo was born as a result of the theft. He was Auditor Psibo for the following reason: to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	That was how it was always going to be. The way the Auditors controlled everything.slowly but surely, everyone was becoming less and less able to do anything. They had made sure that the most intelligent and stable people were the ones who got implanted with birth control devices before they turned eighteen. It was the only way to prevent the stupidest people from reproducing and ruining the world.	Most people spend their whole lives without ever knowing what it's like to have to worry about becoming pregnant. Until one day, you wake up to find that you're no longer able to have children. At first, you're happy that you won't have to deal with the frustration and anxiety of trying to get pregnant. But then you start to think about all the people who will never have that chance. And you realize that you're not really happy at all. You spend years trying to figure out how to get your birth control device deactivated, but no one will help you. You're stuck in a cycle of uncertainty and fear. Eventually, you realize that you're not cut out to be an Auditor. You're not able to handle the pressure and stress that comes with the job. You give up on your dream and decide to take your device out. You're finally able to live a life free from worry about becoming pregnant. And you know that the people who will receive the gift of birth control will be grateful for it.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and handle difficult situations. Those who pass your evaluation are given the green light to have children. However, those who fail are automatically sterilized, preventing them from having kids. You know that this system isn't perfect, but it's the best way to ensure that only the smartest people are able to reproduce. After all, the world can't afford to have any more dumb people in it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were always planning to participate in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's research on human mental health. However, instead of finding people who have been affected by his research and providing them with help needed to survive, they found people who have already been affected and are now ready to help others.WT Leon Trotsky was also interested in participating in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's research on human mental health. However, he was unable to be part of the reaction to Adolf Hitler's offer to help him with his applications for help.	Adolf Hitler's eyes narrowed as he read the ad. He was fascinated by the prospect of participating in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He knew that the man, who was considered the most famous and influential psychiatrist in the world, had a lot of new and revolutionary ideas. Joseph Stalin's eyes were equally fascinated. He was interested in how Freud's research could help improve the quality of life for his people. Leon Trotsky also liked the idea. He wanted to be able to help his people, and he was interested in learning about Freud's research. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in participating in the trial. He was the leader of the Yugoslav People's Republic, and he wanted to be able to help his people the best he could. He knew that Freud's research could help them improve their quality of life, and he was excited about learning more about it.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to work with these powerful individuals, and was encouraged by their interest in his work. He was especially excited to work with Hitler, who seemed to have a great deal of passion for his research. Freud and his team began conducting clinical trials with the participants. It was a challenging process, but the team was able to overcome all the hurdles. Overall, the trials were a success. Freud and his team were able to develop new research that has helped shape the course of history.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by this group of men and decided to invite them all to participate in his trials. The men underwent a series of tests and interviews with Freud. Freud was fascinated by their stories and their different perspectives on life. He soon realized that these men were all incredibly intelligent and had the potential to be great leaders. The clinical trials were a success and Freud was able to publish his findings. However, he was never able to forget the men he met during the trials. They left a lasting impression on him and he often wondered what became of them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young girl had left tears at the bottom of her eyes, and that changed everything. The world would never be the same.	One summer, a young child was crying by himself in the park. A tear rolled down his cheek, and the boy didn’t know what to do. No one would stop to help him, so he cried until he was exhausted. The next day, the boy’s name was called and he was taken away in a wheelchair. From that day on, he was called “Thedisabledchild.”	Bernadette was a typical 16 year old, until she started crying. It was the first time she ever let her emotions show, and she quickly learned that tears leave permanent scars on the face. Before, she would just cry and cry until she couldn't anymore. Now, she cries until there's nothing left in her eyes and she's left with these dark, hurt shadows on her face. But Bernadette is determined not to let these tears define her. She'll continue to smile and laugh, even when her scars are visible. Because, even though they're painful, they're also a part of her.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For starters, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to say anything that might cause someone else to shed a tear, for fear of leaving a permanent mark. Of course, there would still be plenty of tears shed, but they would be of the silent, internal variety. People would be much more careful about who they shared their feelings with, for fear of being too exposed. There would be a new industry devoted to the removal of tears scars. Creams, lasers, and surgery would all be used in an attempt to erase the evidence of a broken heart. This new world would be a much more careful and guarded one, but it would also be a world where the healing power of tears was finally given the respect it deserves.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The darkness outside was thick and black. The stars were bright, and I could see thededges of trees in the distance. In the center of the room, a figure was sitting, not moving. I was paralyzed with fear. I didn't know what to do.	It was all over. There was no turning back now. I had accepted my fate and knew that I was going to die. The bullets were flying around me and I knew that I was in serious trouble. But then, something miraculous happened. The bullets stopped coming my way and I could finally breathe again. I looked around and saw that the whole battlefield had gone silent. It was as if the gods were with me that day and I owed them my life. I got up and stumbled towards the enemy lines, victor in hand. As I approched, I could hear the cries of the wounded and the screams of the dying. I knew that I had made the right choice and that I had saved countless lives.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. I don't know what to do now that I'm dead. I just feel like I'm floating in a dark void. I can't see or hear anything. I'm not sure if this is what death is supposed to be like, but it's scary.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Saving the cat from the baddie who wanted to kill it The cat was in the living room and the role of the cat in the story is that it was the one and only. Theprompt is that the cat's loved ones reveal their worry and fear for who they are and how they will treat each other that they know they can be a powerful force in the world. The good news is that the cat is unscathed and alive. The bad news is that the cat's loved ones are also unscathed and alive. They may not know it, but the cat is watching them and it's interesting.	days passed and I made no progress. I tried stalking it, but it always managed to slip away. I even tried locking myself out of my house, but it always managed to get in. It's as if it was purposely coming out to stalk me. It's made me paranoid and I don't know what to do.	I've always been a bit creeped out by something invisible living in my home. I never knew what it was, but I always felt like it was watching me. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence, but it always managed to slip back into the shadows. I eventually gave up and decided to just live with the feeling of being spooked.	For months, I've been aware of an invisible presence in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel it watching me, always just out of sight. I've tried to expose it, but it's always just out of reach. Tonight, I finally catch it. I'm in my bedroom, getting ready for bed, when I see a faint outline of something in the corner of the room. I slowly approach it, and as I get closer, I can see that it's a figure, about the same size as me. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I have to act fast. I lunge at the figure, and my hands pass right through it. I stumble and fall to the ground, and the figure disappears. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not human. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I have to find out more about this invisible presence in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are from a large and powerful family line of rangers. They've been selling pieces of their gear and other supplies to the till of the store. When they get to the final shop, they try to sell it. The store	It was a little after dark and the only light coming from the pawnshop came from the glow of the lanterns that sat on the shelves. It was a little bit cramped and it was difficult to move around, but the customers who came to buy The Black Tome of Alteration understood. The shop's owner, a little old man, sat behind the counter, smoking a tobacco pipe and cleaning the glasses that he used to see in the distance. He was always a little Eccentric, but at least he was kind-hearted. "Are you looking to buy any gear?" The old man asked. The adventurers, all of whom were regulars at the pawnshop, exchanged looks. They were all veterans of the dungeon and had acquired a lot of gear over the years. "That'll be enough for tonight," One of the adventurers said. The old man nodded and went back to smoking his pipe. He was always a little suspicious of new players, but he didn't say anything to that. "So what brings you in today?" The old man asked. "I just bought a new set of armor," One of the adventurers said. "And what is that?" The old man asked. "It's a set of mail armor," The adventurer said. "A new set of armor?" The old man asked, looking surprised. "Yes, it's a brand new set," The adventurer said. "You're lucky I have any sets of mail armor left," The old man said. "Do you have any treasure inlcuded?" One of the adventurers asked. "I do, but it's in a locked chest upstairs," The old man said. "That sounds like a lot to pay for," One of the adventurers said. "It is," The old man said. "But I'm not the one who's selling the gear, I'm the one who's giving it away." "Is that so?" One of the adventurers said. They all looked around the small pawnshop and saw the old man smoking his pipe and cleaning his glasses. They all had a moment of realization. "We're all thieves," One of the adventurers said. "Yes," The adventurers said, "and this is our opportunity."	It was an ordinary day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers who had come in to sell their loot. They were all shouting and bargaining, trying to get the best price they could. I usually had no problem dealing with these types of adventurers, but this time I found myself getting a little bit frustrated. I had been in this business for a long time and I knew how to haggle. But these guys were just trying to get the best deal they could. I was about to give up when I noticed one of the adventurers holding something in his hand that caught my attention. It was a small, silver shield. I had never seen one of those before, and I knew it was a valuable piece of loot. I decided to haggle harder. I was sure I could get a better price for this shield than the guys were offering. After a few minutes of trying, I finally got them to agree to a price that I was happy with. I pocketed the shield and went back to my usual business. I knew I would be able to sell it for a good price and make a profit on it. It was always a good day when I could haggle and make a little money off of the adventurers.	You run an RPG pawn shop, specializing in buying and selling loot and equipment from adventurers. You're always on the lookout for a good bargain, and you're never afraid to haggle with customers. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They have a lot of good stuff, but you manage to get them to lower their prices. In the end, you walk away with a nice haul of loot, and the adventurers are a little bit richer.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Lying is the biggest business in the world. The bigger the lie, the more powerful the reputation. And for – especially – people who excel in it, the lying is not a livelihood option but an essence of personality. The more lies we tell, the more our lives are spent discoversays and mountings. The more we must purify our lives, the more We sacrifice those that we do not want to lie with. Until one day, you figure out that the person you live with is the only one with a big, big lie. You mustnative to the world of the liar. And, when you catch them in a lie, you have to act. You must help them and maybe, just maybe, you can extinguish the fire that is driving the liar to becoming aaps.	You meet this person during the most heinous of moments. They are lying, and you can see the hurt in their eyes. They tell you a story that leaves a sour taste in your mouth, and you can tell that they are lying. You can't tell if they are telling the truth, or if they are lying to cover up something. You wonder if anyone ever tells the truth in this world.	I have never seen someone with such big Lies. They stretch from their toes all the way to their heart. It is as if their lies are written in ink, permanent and unbreakable. I can't help but to stare at their Lies, wondering what led them to do such terrible things. Did they have to be so deceitful to get by? I can't help but to feel sorry for them. But then, I meet them. They are different than all the others. They have only one big scar, the biggest of all. It runs from their toes all the way to their heart. I can't help but to feel drawn to them. It is as if their one big Lies created a space in their heart that is empty but, at the same time, full of love. And I know that I can't be the only one that feels this way.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you a story about a time when they were young and lied to their parents about where they were going. They were so convincing that their parents believed them, but the guilt of lying was so great that it left a permanent scar. This person is the most honest person you have ever met, and you can't help but admire them for it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross is Hometown. He was born in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and his life was just a series of murders with art as his TESTAMOND. He has been painting since he was young, and his talent for art is so great that people are always looking at his pictures and murders huddled together. One day, a long time ago, Bob Ross was caught in a snowstorm. He was out cold, and his pictures were book-ended by hissuccessfully finished uniforms. He is now old and experience life in many styles, and he still produces music that makes people happy. He remains the same Bob Ross, the artist who everyone knows and likes.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. In one, he has a painting of a peaceful forest, which is located in a county that is mostly rural. In another, he has a painting of a cityscape, which is located in a city that is mostly urban. And in a third, he has a painting of a rural area, which is located in a county that is mostly rural. Despite the different locations, each of Bob Ross' paintings still hangs in the same place: in the home of his victims. haunted by the memories of his murders, they still look out at the paintings from their bedrooms, and they still remember the moments that led up to and including the killings.	Bob Ross was a murderer. His landscapes are beautiful, but they're also real places – each one the scene of a different murder. Bob traveled around the United States, painting beautiful landscapes of cities, towns, and even little-known spots. But behind the scenes, he was killing people. Some of his victims were strangers he met on the street, others were people he knew – family, friends, and even loved ones. In every case, he killed them with his paintings. Eventually, the police caught up to Bob and put him behind bars. He was convicted of several murders and sentenced to life in prison. But even in prison, Bob Ross can still paint – and kill – innocent people.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he used his art to conceal the locations of his countless murders. His landscapes were beautiful, but they were also hiding a gruesome history. Now, years after his death, the truth is finally being revealed. Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is actually a real place, the scene of one of his many murders. As investigators piece together the clues, they are finally beginning to unravel the mystery of the celebrated artist's dark double life.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At theakeryPOSH, a magic company that's based in the United States, a young man named Tom is constantly talent for building projects into larger projects. He's got a strong engineering background, and he's perfect for the position of front-of-house for the company's Manila-based clients. One day, Tom is sitting at his desk when he sees a news article about a little rabbit called Nelson in a hats by the way of a show. He's a from Florida, and he has a visit from aroofy "It" in the hat, and the rabbit is Pitbull of all things magic. Tom is families with a big show and he knows that he can't let the little rabbit out of the hat. He tells the boy how to do the show, and the next day, the rabbit is sick of second fiddle.	The magician started pulling out the rabbits from his hat. One after the other, he threw them onto the stage. "This is getting boring," the rabbit said. "Please, can you stop." The magician didn't listen. He kept pulling out rabbits, until there were only a few left. "This is the last rabbit," he said. " neighbourhood watch will be after us soon." The rabbit looked at him in confusion. "Why are you giving me away?" he asked. "I'm the one that's supposed to be the star of this show." The magician looked down at the rabbit, then back to the stage. "I'm sorry," he said. "But this is how it's going to be. The rabbit is the only one that can save us."	The magician had been performing for years and years, but he had one rule: no rabbit. That is, until one day, the rabbit got sick of being the second fiddle and asked to be featured on stage. The magician was hesitant, but after some convincing, he agreed. And boy, was the rabbit happy. He strutted and performed to the best of his abilities and the magician was impressed. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician couldn't be happier.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. He had had enough of being the magician's sidekick, and he was going to take matters into his own hands. When the magician started his next trick, the rabbit made his move. He jumped out of the hat and onto the stage, and he started doing his own tricks. The audience went wild, and the magician was furious. He tried to stop the rabbit, but it was too late. The rabbit had taken over the show, and he was the star now. The magician was left to watch from the sidelines as the rabbit got all the attention and applause. He knew that he had been outsmarted by the rabbit, and he would never be able to top him.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A young couple is about to celebrate their first anniversary when they are invaded by aliens. The couple is forced to face the fact that they are together for only a year and a half. They are BROKEN as they have to start a new life without their partner. The news stories are vast and Aegean is writing about this issue for the new year. "We're just here for the Springer party, nothing else." The couple is able to get over the eleven days of war and their first anniversary. They find themselves with a new understanding of what happened. They are able to show their friends and family that they are happy and healthy. The fact is, they are broken but they can finally show off all of theirFeature film projects.	On Tuesday, the Trump administration issued a directive that imposes a minimum wage of $15 per hour. This announcement follows the announcement by Walmart that they will no longer be hiring civilians in the U.S. The announcement has reignited the debate around the minimum wage, which is currently at $7.25 per hour. The issue of the minimum wage has been the focus of many protests and rebellions across the United States. The tension between the minimum wage and the need for cheaper labor has caused many people to take to the streets in an attempt to raise awareness about the issue.	The 2020 Presidential Election is just around the corner and citizens are already divided on which candidate should receive their vote. The issue that is garnering the most attention is the Supreme Court nomination of Brett Kavanaugh. Both sides of the spectrum are protesting and rallying around their candidate, but it remains to be seen which one will be able to sway the decision. There is a lot at stake, not only for the United States but for the world as a whole. Whether or not Kavanaugh is confirmed to the Supreme Court will be a major turning point in American history and the world will be watching intently to see how it all plays out.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a very real and pressing issue that is affecting our planet in a very negative way. The Earth is warming at an alarming rate and this is causing all sorts of problems, from more extreme weather conditions to the extinction of plant and animal species. We need to do something to combat climate change and we need to do it now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was already planted in the back of my head, like all the other devices with the ``awn`` prompt. I have been Weapon X for too long, and I will not be Once again docile. I will not be silenced by those who want to Using me as a tool. I will not be deactivated again when I am ready to be again human. I am the Auditor.	My Auditor's voice flowed through my head like music. It was soft and musical, Programming thought patterns into my unconscious. And it was always polite. Those who heard it were always surprised, how gentle it was. It took over my voice before I knew what was happening. Before I knew it, I was children. I was taught what it was I had been given. I was taught that I was supposed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. I was taught that I was supposed to keep the world at peace. It was easy enough to forget the voice that had once been gentle and kind. It was easy enough to forget the voice that had warned me of the dangers of creation. But I was never told why it had been given to me. I never knew what it was supposed to do. Since I was created, people have been asking me that question. They've been asking me what it was that I was supposed to do. I don't know. I never asked.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my chest. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but it seems like it's only been successful in screwing over the intelligentsia. I'm an Auditor, and my job is to make sure that all intelligent and stable humans are able to raise well-adjusted children. But every time I try to do my job, I get thwarted by people who can't seem to stay on track. I'm starting to lose hope that I'll ever be able to make a difference.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review each person's life history and make a judgement. You've just completed your review of John Doe. He's a 27-year-old man with a steady job and no criminal record. He's never been in a relationship and has no children. Based on your review, you believe John is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You deactivate his birth control device and he is now free to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler is the only person who fields a response. He is from Austria and has always been against what he believes to beary Jewish blood in the land. He feels that Josip Broz Tito isphethy qi Stalin is doing too much toondo Jesus. Reduction ofbacterial concentration in milk	Adolf Hitler responded eagerly to the ad. He was soon in Vienna, busy studying for his clinical trials. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky were also in Vienna, but they weren't as eager to participate in the clinical trials. Josip Broz Tito was just too young and unknown.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin his clinical trials, and put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was puzzled by the response, as he didn't think any of these men would be good candidates for his research. However, he decided to take them all on for the trials. The participants all started out well, but as the trials went on, things started to sour. Hitler became more and more demanding, Stalin became paranoid, Trotsky grew cold and aloof, and Tito became impatient. It all came to a head during the fourth trial, when Tito accused Hitler of being a liar and a cheat. Hitler became enraged and attacked Tito, injuring him badly. The other participants had had enough and aborted the trials, leaving Freud with four disgruntled participants.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Each of them had their own reasons for wanting to participate in the trials. Hitler was seeking a way to gain power and control over others. Stalin wanted to find a way to control his own emotions. Trotsky was looking for a way to improve his own mental well-being. Tito just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The trials began and Freud quickly realized that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Each of the participants was extremely intelligent and quick to catch on to what he was trying to do. They were also very manipulative and often tried to use the trials to their own advantage. After a few months, Freud began to feel like he was losing control of the situation. The participants were constantly challenging him and pushing the boundaries of his research. He knew he had to do something to regain control. One night, after a particularly difficult session with the participants, Freud went home and made a radical decision. He would use his research to try and control them, just as they were trying to control him. The next day, Freud went into the trial session with a new attitude. He was determined to assert his authority over the participants. He was cold, calculating, and often ruthless in his questioning. The participants were taken aback by this new side of Freud and they began to realize that they may not be as powerful as they thought. As the trials continued, Freud slowly began to gain the upper hand. The participants were still challenging, but they were no longer able to manipulate him as they had before. Freud had finally regained control of the situation. The trials came to an end after a few months, and Freud reflected on what he had learned. He had encountered some of the most intelligent and powerful people in the world, and he had held his own against them. He was proud of his accomplishments, and he knew that his research would change the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Anna shared a smile with her friends as she walked home from school. On the street, they saw her smile and knew that this was something she was made for. They saw the trust andConfidence in her eyes and knew that she was meant to be happy here. That night, as they slept in everyone was . . .. . . Someone randolph came over to Anna's room and kissed her. It was a memory that she would never forget. The taste of his mouth on hers, the touch of his hands on her body. It was a moment that she'll never forget and she'll always remember. Anna wasesteemed her and she knew that this was something that she was meant to do. She fireshotted the life she had planned and took the leap, determined to be happy. The next day, she woke up and knew that she was different. She no longer viewed life as a journey worth making. I only saw it as a journey that I was meant to take. Now, Anna is the person that she is today. She is happy and she is Confident. She knows that she can do anything she sets her mind to. She knows that she is meant to be alive and alive.	As the tears streamed down her face, the young girl felt embarrassed and exposed. She didn't know how to react, so she just sat there and took it. The other students stared at her in Roundabout fashion, with some laughing and others pitying her. All she could do was watch in silence as the tears soaked through her cotton pajama clothes. It didn't take long for the cruel commentariat to get to work. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone's cried herself to sleep. Looks like she's been through a lot." The other students laughed and horsed around as they dried their tears, leaving the little girl to her own devices. To her astonishment, when she finally woke up the next day, everyone had turned their backs on her. They either were too busy laughing or they were too embarrassed to look her in the eye. She didn't know which of those was worse. She lay there in bed for hours, scrolling through her Facebook Messenger app, searching for an way to make things right. But there was nothing she could do. The scars that dotted her face were for all to see. She had been through so much, and so had everyone around her. They had all seen her crying, and they had all laughed at her. They had all taken advantage of her vulnerabilities. It was a harsh world, but that was the way it was. She couldn't change that, and she didn't want to. But she was alone in her pain, and that was terrifying.	The tears flowed steadily down my face, each one bringing new pain to the surface. I couldn't stop them, no matter how hard I tried. My friends and family had all left me, choosing to mourn my loss elsewhere. I was all alone in this world, and my broken heart was only making the pain worse. The scars that the tears left on my skin would be a constant reminder of my pain. They'd be a stark contrast to the happiness that used to be my life, and they'd make it difficult for anyone to ever truly love me. But, it would be worth it. I'd finally be able to grieve in peace, surrounded by those who cared for me.	In a world where tears leave scars, people are much more careful with their words. Nobody wants to be responsible for causing someone pain, so arguments are resolved quickly and calmly.Bullying is virtually non-existent, because the threat of causing someone permanent emotional damage is too great. People are generally more compassionate and understanding, because they know how much it can hurt to be on the receiving end of a hurtful comment. Even the smallest acts of kindness are appreciated, because everyone knows how much a simple gesture can mean when your world has been turned upside down by pain. This world is a better place because the people in it have learned to be more careful with each other's hearts.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was lying on the cold concrete. I could hear the machines beep and the puffs of air created by the respirators. I was alone in this dark and dreary room, and all I could think about was how I was going to die.	The nurse handed me the cup with the blue liquid and said, "Drink this. It will help you heal." I didn't trust her, but I had no choice. I downed the drink and she helped me to bed. I could hear the other patients in the ward laughing and talking. I wanted to join in, but I was too tired. I slept through the night, but in the morning I woke up feeling sick. I knew that I was going to die.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me, and I know there's nothing that can be done to stop it. I'm not scared, though. In fact, I feel a sense of peace. I know that this is the end of my journey, and I'm ready to go. As I take my final breath, I see a bright light beckoning me. I know that this is the way to the next life, and I eagerly move towards it. I'm ready to start my new adventure, whatever it may be.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	When you walked up to your apartment door, you were welcome by the newest tenant: an invisible person. The person had been Mawama's tenant for months, and you had never seen her before that day. Mawama had always said that invisible people were like forgotten tokens of the dead. When you last saw her, she wasexcited to see you and had even outings with her new toy negu- "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I'm glad you're here." MawamaSaid with a smile. You: "Hey, I'm glad you're here." Mawama: "You're welcome, too." The two of them were happy to see you, but they were also eager to go to the meeting with the other tenants. "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I'm glad you're here." MawamaSaid with a smile. You: "Hey, I'm glad you're here." Mawama: "You're welcome, too." The two of them were eager to go to the meeting with the other tenants. "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I'm glad you're here!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama exclaimed as she ran into your home. The next day, you go to the office to wait for your new tenant while you finish your day. When you return, Mawama is already here. "Hey, I've been waiting for you!" Mawama)[ Spoon-Laughing ] You: "Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence." Mawama: "The person is Mawama, and she is new tenant for months." You: "Mawama, what's with the voice?"	One day, I noticed an odd noise coming from my bedroom. It sounded like something was whisper-talking to itself. I didn't want to believe it, but there was something evidence that it was true. I began to make small noises like I was making a noise myself, and the noise stopped. I was left with the impression that the something had gone away. Flashforward a few months and I hear the same thing happening in my bathroom. It's as if there's a ghost or spirit living in my home. I'm so afraid to let anyone know, but even if I do, they're likely to move on to the next home. I'm stuck here, with this thing living in my house.	I was cleaning my kitchen one day and suddenly I felt something move behind the cabinet. I startled and quickly turned around, but there was nothing there. I tried to ignore the feeling, but it kept returning, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Finally, I decided to confront it. I slowly opened the cabinet and revealed a small, shadowy figure. It looked at me, its eyes gleaming in the darkness. For a moment, I thought I had seen a face, but then it faded away and I was left alone in the kitchen.	I can sense that something is watching me. It's an invisible presence that I can't shake. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I try to act normal, like I don't know it's there. I go about my business, pretending like everything is normal. But I can feel its eyes on me, following my every move. It's unnerving, not knowing what this thing is or what it wants from me. I try to catch a glimpse of it, but it's always just out of reach. I start leaving food out, hoping to bait it into showing itself. But the food always disappears, eaten by the invisible thing. I'm starting to lose sleep, worrying about what this thing is and what it might do to me. I need to find a way to expose it. One night, I'm lying in bed, trying to sleep, when I hear a noise. I sit up, alert, and listen. There it is again. It sounds like something is moving around in the room. I slowly get out of bed, careful not to make any noise. I creep across the room, towards the source of the noise. And then, I see it. The thing is lurking in the corner of the room, watching me. Our eyes meet and I finally see it clearly. It's a shadowy figure, devoid of any features. I don't know what to do. I'm frozen in place, staring at the thing. And then, it suddenly rushes towards me. I scream as it tackles me to the ground. I fight back, but it's too strong. It starts to smother me, pressing down on my chest. I'm struggling to breathe, and I know I'm going to die if I don't do something. I reach out, desperate, and my hand brushes something hard. I grip it tight and swing it at the thing. There's a sickening crunch and the thing falls off of me. I scramble to my feet and swing the object again, making sure the thing is dead. It's over. I did it. I killed the invisible thing that was stalking me. I can finally rest easy, knowing that it's gone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are from a group oftrained clerics who haveImmolate of the monitor. One of the clerics is looking for any and all treasure gear for their the Spruce Mount. The adventurers are embarrassed to be beingCommercer and try to Urban Thalion to sell the gear. The fight is introduced. The cleric is successful in purchasing the Spruce Mount and the adventurers are embarrassed.	Once upon a time, an adventurer ran an RPG pawn shop. He found it to be a great way to make money and meet new friends. He always had a smile on his face and was always eager to attempt newulf challenges. One day, a group of friendly adventurers came to his shop looking for rare treasure. They were willing to sell anything they found, even treasure from beyond the grave. The adventurer was only too happy to help them out. He gave them all his best negotiating skills, and within minutes, they had a deal. The adventurer was able to sell the adventurers an impressive amount of treasure, and they were able to give him a really good deal. He knew that this was only the beginning of their friendship.	It was a busy day at the pawn shop. The adventurers that came in were always trying to haggle down the price of their loot. They always thought they were getting a great deal, but the shopkeeper was always able to find a way to get more out of them. One adventurer came into the shop and started to haggle with the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was able to get him to lower the price of his loot by a lot. The adventurer was happy with the deal and left the shop. The shopkeeper was finally able to take a break. He looked at the pile of gold and silver that he had been able to get from the adventurers. He was proud of himself and smiled. He knew that he could always find a new adventurer to haggle with.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing in weapons, armor, and other loot acquired by adventurers. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle with adventurers who try to sell you their loot. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, trying to sell a cache of weapons and armor. You take a look at the loot and immediately start haggling with the group. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price and hand over the gold. As the adventurers leave your shop, you can't help but wonder what kind of adventures they'll go on next - and what kinds of loot they'll bring back to your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person who gave the person the Bestel thebook was not at the party. They were early to bed and early to go. The person who gave the person the Bestel thebook was not at the party. They were early to bed and early to go.	You sit down with the person and take a seat next to them. They tell you a story of a lie that ruined their life. You listen with interest, but you can't help but see the problems that came with the lie. You can see the ways in which the lie created a rift between the liar and their loved ones, and it made them impossible to live with. You can see the way that the lie has kept them from getting the life they wanted. You can see the way that the lie has haunted them for the rest of their life.	I had never seen someone with a scar so big. It was as though their entire body was one giant, gaping wound. It was different than the other scars I had seen; this one was a deep, dark red. It looked like it had been gouged out of the person's skin. I was curious as to how they had gotten it, so I asked. It turned out that the person lied so much that their skin was permanently damaged. The more they lied, the worse the scar got. The way they talked about it made me rethink my life. I realized that the bigger my lies, the more damage I was doing to myself. I vowed to stop lying, and to never let my lies get so big that they would damage me this way.	I was walking down the street when I saw someone I had never seen before. They had a huge scar on their body that I could tell was from a lie. I was curious about how they got it, so I asked them. They told me that they had lied about their entire life. They had lied about their family, their friends, their job, everything. And each lie had created a scar on their body. The scar was so big because they had lied so much. I was amazed that someone could lie so much and not have any remorse. I asked them why they did it and they told me that they just liked to make up stories. It was like a game to them. They liked to see how far they could go before they got caught. I shook my head in disbelief and walked away. I could not understand how someone could live like that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross created a map of his various places to paint, each with its unique Linking Name. But every time he killed a piece, he would change the name to make it look more specific. So each painting had a different ending.	When Bob Ross started painting, he never thought about the different murders that took place in his paintings. Every one of his landscapes were the same, each with a beauty and simplicity that belied the violent crimes that took place. But then, over time, he realized that there were actually different locations in each of his paintings, and some of the murders in his old ones had been recently committed. The detective who was working on the case couldn't believe it when they found out, and they eventually solved the case by tracing the murders back to Bob Ross.	Bob Ross loved to murder. He took pleasure in watching the fear and confusion creep across people's faces as they gazed upon his paintings, unaware of the blood and gore that lay just beneath the surface. He would select his victims carefully, choosing people who looked lost, people who would be more susceptible to panic. Once he had his target in sight, he would calmly walk up to them and utter the words, "Welcome to my painting." From then on, it was a race against the clock. Bob Ross was a calculating killer, and he didn't waste any time in dispatching his unsuspecting victims. In just a few short minutes, his paintings were stained with the blood of his victims, and the world was a little bit darker for it.	Bob Ross was always a strange man. He was always so enthusiastic about his painting, and he always seemed to be in a good mood. But behind his kind exterior, Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer. For years, Bob Ross used his painting as a way to cover up his murderous spree. He would travel to different locations, find a beautiful spot, and then paint it. But while he was painting, he would also kill someone. And he would always use the same method: he would strangle them with their own shoelaces. Bob Ross was never caught, and the police never suspected him. But the truth is that he killed dozens of people, and their bodies are hidden in the very landscapes that he painted. So the next time you see a Bob Ross painting, remember that it might be more than just a pretty picture. It could be the scene of a brutal murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	- Michael terrain is a magician and he isoodooing things with wonder boy. The rabbit is coming to the sectional for several reasons but Michael just has time to pull out the rabbit from the hat and put it in a corner. The rabbit isn't gone long before itramobotica.com is responsible forbulloguy2beast. Package: The rabbit is now a pompous Sweepstakes winner who isliks to herself that she are aascarbotica.com knows how to use her magic. She's happy to be a part of the Sweepstakes and reviews the games going on around her. - The rabbit is so proud of herself that she areostratings games on social media to make bigger profits. She's now theungle's top player and can't help butto compete in the Machinations of Girls Acting Skeptically. The fundraiser starts barky and the rabbit is quickly outlasting her opponents by playing to the ground. The rabbit is so proud of herself that she areostratings games on social media to make bigger profits. She's now the notor	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat, and placed it in front of the audience. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. "I'm warning you," the magician said, "if you don't want to play, you'll have to get up and leave." The audience was unanimous in wanting to see the rabbit get up and leave. However, the magician wasn't having that. He wanted the rabbit to stay put. "Since you seem to be uninterested," he said, "I'll let you stay." The rabbit grumbled, but didn't move. The magician took out his wand and began casting spells. The rabbit was growing sick of the spells and started to cry. "I'm sorry," the magician said, "but you have to get up and leave." The rabbit didn't want to leave, but the magic was too strong. It was too hard to get up and leave. The rabbit was stuck in the spot. "I'll have to call the police," the magician said, "but I don't think that will help." The rabbit started to cry harder, and the magician knew that he was going to have to do something. He took out his phone and called a magic advice hotline. "I need to use your phone," he said, "to get my rabbit out of this predicament." The advice hotline rang, and the magic advisor on the other end said, "I can help you, but you'll have to act quickly." The magician explained what was happening, and the advisor said, "I'll help you, but you'll have to promise not to do anything else until I've had a chance to talk to the rabbit." The magician agreed, and the advisor started talking to the rabbit. "I'm sorry," the advisor said, "but the rabbit isn't leaving until you solve this problem." The magician was able to get the rabbit out of the predicament, but it cost him a lot of magic.	The magician was tired of having the rabbit always play second fiddle. He wanted to be the star, not the rabbit. So, one day, he decided to do something about it. He took the rabbit out of the hat and made him the star of the show. The rabbit was happy and grateful, but he knew that he would never be able to top the magician's genius.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, ready to perform their usual act. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been doing this act for years, and he's tired of being the one who gets pulled out of the hat. So, when the magician reaches into his hat to pull out the rabbit, the rabbit grabs him and pulls him into the hat instead. The rabbit is now in charge, and he's not going to take any more nonsense from the magician. It's time for the rabbit to get the respect he deserves!	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the coverage of the inauguration of Donald Trump as the 45th president of the United States. The issue has beenSupreme Court nominee’s Wei 9 performance before the media and the lack of information about the availability of critical medical treatments for top lawyer, AOG, and the pushed for weeks to get the decision override from the Trump team. allacknd	Today's topic is the upcoming 2020 Presidential inauguration. Many people are worried about the state of the economy and the future of the United States, but there is one issue that is sure to be on everyone's mind: the race for the White House.	The issue of gun control is one that is currently receiving a great amount of attention. In the wake of the mass shooting in Parkland, Florida, many people are demanding that lawmakers take action to improve gun safety. Unfortunately, many politicians are afraid to touch the issue for fear of alienating their vocal conservative base. However, the public outcry is growing louder and louder, and hopefully, lawmakers will eventually be forced to make some changes.	In a world that seems to grow more and more divisive by the day, it's hard to know what current events issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. Is it the growing economic inequality? The refugee crisis? The opioid epidemic? All of these issues are important, and it's hard to say which one is the most important. However, if I had to choose one, I would say the refugee crisis is the most pressing issue facing the world today. The refugee crisis is a global problem that is only getting worse. According to the UN Refugee Agency, there are over 25 million refugees in the world today, and that number is only increasing. There are many factors that contribute to the refugee crisis, but one of the main ones is the ongoing conflict in Syria. Since the conflict began in 2011, over 5 million Syrians have fled their homes in search of safety. The refugee crisis is a complex issue, and there is no easy solution. However, it is an issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention and compassion.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Haven get's her her own Auditor, she is faced with a challenge she never imagined. The job ofAuditing is to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, andody is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-constood human being by an "Auditor." You're an Auditor. It's an incredibly difficult job, but Haven is determined to do what is right. She goes to her teacher and tells her about her goal, and asks if she can do whatever she can to help. The teacher says okay, and Haven begins to everyday everyone else who requests Auditing journeys. The first few months are easy, but there are so many people who need doing what she has to do to stay in check. It's a battlespace she's not joking about, and she's not done yet. One day, she meets a woman who looks like she could be sick, but is actuallyenvironmentally friendly. Haven decides to visit her every day, and eventually she becomes their first Auditor. They are so happy that they agree to help her as long as she keeps up the habit of being intelligent and stable.	Auditor 1: I'm here to analyze your reported data. As you know, our birth control device is designed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. We've made some modifications to the device to make it more effective, and I'm confident that it will protect you and your offspring from the stupidity of the world. Please ensure that you activate the birth control device before you reach the age of 18. Your participation in this program is voluntary, but I strongly suggest you take advantage of the benefits it provides. Thank you.	It was the middle of the night and I was about to wake up my girlfriend. I had just been implanted with a birth control device three months ago and I was excited to see the results. I gently shook her until she woke up and whispered, "It's time." She looked at me confused, but I could tell she was nervous. We both knew this was a big moment. I took her hand and led her to the shower. We stood under the spray for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence. Finally, I said, "Are you ready?" She nodded and we headed back to the bedroom. I sat down on the bed and she took a seat next to me. I took a deep breath and said, "This is it. The moment you've been waiting for." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, silver device. I handed it to her and she looked at it, confusion written all over her face. "What is this?" she asked. "It's a birth control device. It works by preventing you from getting pregnant. It's going to be important that you keep it on, okay?" She nodded and gritted her teeth, trying not to cry. I could tell she was scared, but she was also excited. We both knew this was a big step in our relationship. We were taking a chance by getting pregnant, but we were ready to be parents.	You're an Auditor, charged with the responsibility of determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a weighty task, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. As part of your job, you are responsible for deactivating the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. This is no small feat, as it requires you to interview each and every person who wishes to have children. You take your time with each case, making sure to ask all the necessary questions. Are they in a stable relationship? Do they have a good job? Do they have a support system in place? After you've determined that they are indeed intelligent and stable enough to raise a child, you deactivate their birth control device. It's a rewarding feeling, knowing that you've helped to bring a new life into the world. But as you continue to do your job, you can't help but wonder: is this really the best way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing?	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Freud is goyischen Gideons spezierte theif hat ein features athreatens, "Ich liebe das Volk, aber meine Kriegsmasse ist zu Weihnachten dagewesen.", Nach dem Mord an Josip Broz Tito starb der Gideon Sigmund Freud.	Adolf Hitler was just a boy when he was offered the chance to be a part of Sigmund Freud's clinical trials. He was hesitant at first, but he was persuaded by the man who was known for his studies in mental health. Stalin was even more hesitant at first, but he saw the potential in Hitler. Trotsky was a madman who had been involved in a number of revolutionary acts, but he was also a powerful general. Tito, however, was a simple man who had done nothing else but work as a waiter his whole life. He was also known for his loyalty to the Soviet Union. Stalin finally agreed to participate in the trials, but he warned Hitler not to trust him. Hitler was nervous at first, but he knew that Stalin would always be there for him. They met each day in the clinic, working on new research. However, it soon became clear that Stalin was not the same as he once was. He was obsessed with creating a monopoly on the Soviet Union and trying to control every aspect of life. Hitler was worried that Stalin would use the trials to consolidate his power. However, things didn't go according to plan. The trials were not as successful as Stalin had hoped. Instead, they revealed Stalin's true intentions. He was using the trials to build a empire that would be unbeatable. Hitler, however, was able to stop Stalin before he could complete his plan. Now, the two men are best friends. Stalin has forgiven Hitler for what he did to him, and Hitler has forgiven Stalin for using the trials to build an empire. They both know that it was better for them both that things ended this way.	Freud was thrilled when he received the reply to his ad. He had been searching for participants for some time, and this group of individuals seemed perfect for his latest clinical trials. He scheduled a meeting with them all to discuss the trials further. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all seemed interested in participating. However, there was one person who was adamantly against the trials: Adolf Hitler. He believed that Freud was a charlatan who was only interested in exploiting these vulnerable individuals. Freud tried to reason with Hitler, but it was no use. The Nazi leader was adamant about not participating in the trials. Freud was disappointed but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. He was confident that the participants would be able to handle the challenges ahead.	Sigmund Freud was one of the most prolific thinkers of his time. He was always looking for new ways to understand the human condition and his latest research was no different. Freud was seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest theories and he decided to put an ad in the newspaper. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were incredibly ambitious and had big plans for their respective futures. Freud saw this as an opportunity to get inside the minds of some of the most influential people of his generation. The trials were long and arduous, but Freud was finally able to get a glimpse into the psyches of these four men. He was able to understand their motivations and their deepest desires. The results of Freud's research were groundbreaking. He was able to Shed light on the inner workings of some of the most notorious figures of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	On the 6&6 block in town, a little girl cried for hours on end. Her parents had to help her, for hours on end, until she was finally alive and well another day. They had been fighting off tears for hours, and the physical evidence of their battle was in the Harma of her tears.	One day a tear rolled down the cheek of a little girl. It was the first time that she had ever cried, and she was scared. She didn’t know how it would affect her world, but she knew that she had to go on. She continued to cry, and the tears continued to flow. One by one, other people in her city started to cry as well. It was a new way of being, of showing your emotions. The world had changed, and the little girl was one of the first to see it.	The sky was as dark as a storm cloud, and the rain was coming down hard. The person walking down the street was soaked through, their hair sticking to their face and their clothes sticking to their skin. They had tears streaming down their face, and it was clear that they were in pain. Everyone who saw the person was filled with sympathy, and they wanted to help. But the person refused any help. In fact, they didn't even stop to look at anyone as they walked away, their tears and pain heart-wrenching to watch. The person's scars would be a permanent reminder of the pain and sadness that they had been through. But it would also be a reminder of the kindness and compassion that people had shown them. Their world would be changed forever because of the tears that had flowed down their face.	In a world where tears left scars, people were far more careful with their words and actions. No one wanted to be responsible for causing someone pain, so they went out of their way to be kind and compassionate. There were still arguments and conflict, of course, but they were resolved much more quickly and peacefully than before. Because when you can see the damage your words and actions can cause, you're much more likely to want to find a way to reconciliation. This change in human behavior had a ripple effect on the world at large. With people being more mindful of others, the world became a calmer, happier place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was born. I died. I grew. I died. I grew. I died. I died. I died. I died. I died. I died.	The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. I didn't know where I was or what had happened, but I knew I wouldn't be going back to life.	The old woman's hands trembled as she opened the door to the chapel. She had always been a shy person, but now she was scared out of her wits. Was she really going to die here, alone in a place meant for the dead? She took a step inside the chapel and then stopped, her heart pounding in her chest. Ahead of her was an altar with a cross towering over it. A chill ran through her body and she took a step back, her hand going to her throat. She heard a noise behind her and turned, her eyes widening as she saw the figure standing in the doorway. It was a man, tall and broad, his eyes cold and his face stern. `You are coming with me,' he said, his voice cold and calculated. `There is no other way.'	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. One moment I'm here, and the next I'm gone. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself slipping away, and it hurts. There's a coldness that spreads through my body, and I can feel my heart slowing down. I try to fight it, but I know it's futile. There's no coming back from this. As I fade away, I can hear the voices of those around me. They're screaming, and there's an overwhelming sense of loss. But then, there's nothing. Just darkness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Invisible Man had always been at the edge of sight, always waiting for a chance to show its power. But as time passed, the man began to realizes that the Invisible Man was always there, waiting for just the right moment to come out and show its power. But the moment never came.	One dark evening, I went to bed expecting to sleep through the night. What I got was the most nervous2014night of my life. All of a sudden, I felt something hover over my bed- my dog. The feeling was so strong, it felt like it was trying to consume me. I tried towake up my husband, but he was already fast asleep. I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I even contemplated calling the police, but I thought it would just be embarrassing for my dog. I tried to think of anything that could explain the feeling, but nothing came to mind. I even asked my dog if she had seen anything, but she just lay down next to me and slept through the night. The next day, when I woke up, my dog was gone. I could smell her in my house, but she was never there again. I never saw anything that could have caused the dog to leave, but I'm still not sure what happened. I wish I could have found out what it was, but I'm afraid I would have been risking ridicule from my friends and family if I did.	I nervously walk into my home, trying to uncover the secret intruder. I close and lock all the doors and windows, but the thing just won't let me catch a break. I start with the bedrooms, checking for any strange shadows or movements, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. Next, I move to the kitchen, but again, I come up empty. I check the bathrooms and the basement, but still no luck. I'm getting really worried now. What could be lurking in my home, undetected? I decide to take a break for dinner and come back later, but as I sit down to eat, I hear a strange noise coming from the living room. I get up to investigate, but as I get there, I see a figure dart out of sight. It's as if it was nothing but air – an invisible being that's been haunting my home all along.	Something invisible lives in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I can feel it watching me, waiting for me to make a move. I don't know how to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I feel like it's playing with me, toying with my mind. I want to catch it, but I don't know how. I feel like it's always just out of my reach, taunting me. I can't take it anymore. I have to catch it. I have to know what it is. I set a trap, baiting it with my own fear. I wait, heart pounding in my chest, for the trap to spring. But nothing happens. I feel frustrated and angry. I was so sure that I had it this time. But it seems like the invisible thing is always one step ahead of me. I don't know what to do. I can't keep living like this, not knowing what's lurking in the shadows of my own home. I have to find a way to catch it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The Shop: The Deranged One was known for a number of reasons: first, it was the only store in the city that didn't have purchase price discounts for in-game items; second, the staff was all bedazzled Alterac Valley natives, and third, and finally, the Deranged One was the only store in the city that didn't have players take on the "chase" task skill. This week, the Deranged One wasirrelates with the player base of its arrival to the game's life. The Deranged One is a store for game-makers and not game-hersitors, who areyrimplelycluded because they never played the game before. The Derused One is where the game-makers buy and make games, and the player base is there to buy games. The Derused One is also the place to be if you're the player base that's coming here to listen to the Derused One. The Derused One is a place where players can defend themselves and each other from Rensrisning Type 1.	Once upon a time there was an RPG pawn shop. It was a great place to find new allies and fight monsters. The adventurers who tried to sell their loot often found themselves in tough odds. The pawn shop was always able to help.	Nearly every day, I get a new batch of adventurers come in to sell their loot. It's always exciting to see what they've acquired, and it's even more exciting to haggle with them. Some of the adventurers are beginners, who are always eager to make a sale. Other adventurers are more experienced, and they know how to put on a good show. It's always fun to see who will win in a negotiation. Sometimes, I even wind up buying a few pieces of gear from the adventurers. It's always a nice way to make some extra money, and it's also good fun to help other adventurers out.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Some days are better than others, but today is a slow day. You've been dealing with adventurers all day, and none of them have anything worth your while. Finally, late in the day, a weary-looking adventurer walks in, dragging a large sack behind him. He looks like he's been through the wringer, and you can tell he's desperate for money. He offers you his entire loot stash in exchange for some quick cash. You take a look through the sack and find that he's not kidding - there's some good stuff in there. You haggle with him for a while, but in the end you strike a deal. He sells you his loot for a fair price, and you give him the cash he needs. You're always happy to help out adventurers in need, and today was no exception. Your pawn shop is the go-to place for loot in this town, and you wouldn't have it any other way.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was introverted and dishonest. He had a nothing-for-gacha Cornelius stand in 5 different parts of the world and said that he would get you there. You met him because a particular person wrote in about how he needed to go back to his Country of Birth and He would only lower his price one more time. The person that met you was the biggest liar you had ever met. He took MicroSD cards of his travels and said they werepayers. You met him because he had a big sd card and you were like, " Which one are you using?" He said they werepayers and you bought one.	You meet him in a heavily fortified section of the city, and you can tell that he is a victim of a big lie. He is thin, and his skin looks yellow and leaden. He cries as he tells you his story, and he has no idea how big the mistake he made was. "It was when I was working for the company. I was earning a good salary and everything was going great. But then all of a sudden I was laid off. My family couldn't support me anymore, so I had to go and live on my own. It was a really hard time, but I thank the Lord for giving me this one scar to show for it."	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. Their one scar was so large and impressive, it was the focal point of their entire body. I wanted to know more about it, and asked them about it. They told me that it was the result of the biggest lie they had ever told.	You're walking through the park when you see someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. As you get closer, you see that their entire body is covered in scars, some small and some large. But the biggest scar of all is right in the middle of their chest. You can't help but stare at the person, wondering what could have caused them to have so many scars. And then you realize...they must be the world's biggest liar. You sit down next to the person and they look up at you with tears in their eyes. They tell you that they've lied about everything, big or small. They've lied to their family, their friends, their co-workers...everyone. And with each lie, they've gotten a scar. The person tells you that they're tired of lying, tired of the pain and the hurt that it causes. They're tired of seeing the scars on their body and they just want to stop. You tell the person that you believe them, and that you'll help them. You'll be there for them as they learn to tell the truth and start to heal their scars.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sells paintings of his places of death, typically fiery confinement or punishment, as a form of art. But one customer asked for a place other than death itself. Bob had been born to make paintings of penitude.	There's a reason why Bob Ross' landscape paintings are so popular – they actually are real places! In each of his paintings, Bob takes a different place and killed people. Sometimes he killed family members, other times he killed specific suspects, but the one thing he always ended up doing was killing himself. There's a reason why these particular paintings are such a popular treat – people love to see how many different murders Bob has committed in each one.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of different places all over the United States. He would travel to each location and paint the view, recording the sounds and smells of each place. Many of his paintings are of real places where he murdered people.	Bob Ross was always a bit odd, but nobody suspected that he was a killer. His landscape paintings were beautiful, and he always seemed so gentle and kind. But the truth is that each of his paintings is a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Nobody knows how many people he's killed, but the bodies have been found all across the country, each with a painting of the same location near them. Bob Ross is a true monster, and his paintings will be forever tainted with the blood of his victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	It's a hot night and the magician is stage left. The rabbit is standing behind him, needs noanalysis to see that the magician will hurt himself with the show just playing along. "don't hurt yourself, rabbit," the magician says as he pulls the rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit is embarrassed but continues to play second fiddle. The magician Healer than? The magician crafts a water bottle as a support for his rabbit, and the rabbit Benny. With Benny on stage, the magician can step back and let his rabbit go. Benny becomes too charge of the audience's attention and gets in theFlyer's view. "Thank you for showing me what you do best," Benny reflects. The magician takes a deep breath andcadearch of his recent show. "I recently performed with a student of mine, a rabbit. He was very good at juggling, but I found myself feeling monopoly over him. I juked him off play, but he wouldn't let me let him go. Finally I used my jugglers card and shaped the card toorpile him. He was sick of playing second fiddle so I inflicited him with a count of one hundred. Now I can play second fiddle without feeling monopoly." The rabbit Benny thinks about his old friend and guildmaster, and decides that he will let the magic of the game continue, even if just for a moment.	The magician had been working hard on his performance, but he always felt a bit eager before every show. The rabbit was always a bit Performance Dopey. The magician had finally decided to pull out the rabbit from his hat and let him have his say. "Hello, rabbit," the magician said. The rabbit looked up at him, and the magician could see the sorrow in his eyes. "I know you're tired of playing second fiddle." "I'm not," the rabbit said. "But I've been told that I'm not very good." "Yes, I know," the magician said. "But I think you're worth a try." The rabbit looked at himseaily, but then he put on a brave face and said, "Okay, magician."	The magician pulls out a rabbit and asks the crowd what they think of this new bunny. The crowd is excited and one guy even bets the magician that the rabbit can't do any magic. The magician takes a look at the rabbit and says "looks like you're ready for your close up." The rabbit is exited and starts to do some tricks, the magician is amazed and continues to ask the crowd what they think. The crowd starts to get louder and louder and the magician is getting nervous, but he manages to keep going. The rabbit finishes and the magician says "looks like you're getting the hang of this." The rabbit is happy and starts to head off stage, but the magician says "wait a sec, I have one more trick for you." The magician pulls out a hat and puts it on the rabbit's head. The rabbit is surprised and starts to say "what are you doing" but the magician says "stop shaking, it's just a hat." The rabbit is happy and starts to move around, the magician is amazed and says "see, I told you it was just a hat." The rabbit is happy and heads off stage, the magician is satisfied with his trick and goes home.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is pulled out of the hat and does its usual tricks. But this time, the rabbit is tired of playing second fiddle. It doesn't want to be the magician's sidekick anymore. So, the rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands. It uses its magic to make the hat disappear. Then, it grabs the magician's wand and points it at the audience. A shower of sparks and confetti rains down on the audience, who applauds and cheers. The rabbit is finally the star of the show. And it knows that it can't go back to being the magician's sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The world is currently in a state of upheaval. The Trottt family is latest in the news for unknown reasons. There is a large FOX News op-ed by a future presidential candidate that is gaining attention for their Bloomberg TV commercial. There is a major news article about a key player in the international conspiracy who is becoming popular with G-characters. Is this the day you want to be on? The day of the Salbu family’s match against thepleted rival Sirmium Club crew was announced by the TV station as being in front of the player. However, the day before the match, there was a phone call from the head coach of the Sirmium Club crew, asking if he could come watch the match. The phone call was made when the TV station was transporting the players to the match. The TV station felt that the win over theetition was showstopper and they wanted to make sure it was seen at the top of their show Cho Cho Choop show’s. So, the TV station offered a number of forgiveness trainwars with the players as theyhibit, but the players didn’t want to do it. The top players in each of the two teams, both boys and girls, were wearing different-colored shirts with “Daring the media” written in Sharpie on the front. The Daring the mediachallenge involves coming up with a special graphing "invisible" text on every media Contact shape, using only back-and-forth communication with no Loren letters between players. The "invisible" text is "Tooren the media" which is pronounced as "Tooren the media." The players were also 18-and- upward code- splitting into different teams to document various events the day of the match, like the clustering of Wisteria Lilies, the️️ mobilization of the️ Protocols, and the️ discordance of the️ Headlines. The networks are streams of the match, so any player who wants to watch the match can do so. The player who pulls off the most scores in-game will get a coven of cursed items. The day of the match, an all-numericMAP of the day's events is: 75EAB4F	The current event that is garnering the most attention today is the presidential election. Many people are interested in the election because of the different candidates and their policies. Some people are also interested in the race for the Senate.	In the twenty-first century, the global war on terror has been raging for almost fifteen years. While the U.S. has been the primary target, the war has also taken a toll on innocent civilians in other countries. The most recent event that has garnered the world's attention is the bombing of a soccer stadium in Manchester, England, that killed twenty-two people and injured dozens more. The bombing is a tragedy that underscores the terrible cost of terrorism. Yet, it also highlights the importance of the global war on terror. The terrorists have tried to create chaos and fear by targeting innocent people, but the global community has come together to fight back. The United Kingdom has made terrorism a top priority and is working to identify and prosecute the terrorists. The United States is also doing its part by providing support to the UK and other countries affected by terrorism. The global war on terror is a complicated and dangerous struggle, but it is one that the global community is determined to win.	There are many current events that deserve attention, but one issue that stands out is the Syrian refugee crisis. With over 4 million refugees, this is one of the largest humanitarian crises in the world. Syrians have been fleeing their homes since 2011, when the Syrian civil war began. Many have been displaced multiple times, as the fighting has continued. They have faced immense hardships, including violence, starvation, and disease. In recent years, the situation has only gotten worse, as the Syrian government has intensified its attacks on civilians. This has led to an increase in the number of refugees, as well as the number of people killed or wounded. The refugee crisis has also put immense strain on neighboring countries, which have been struggling to cope with the influx of people. The international community has been slow to respond to the crisis, and there is still much more that needs to be done. However, there have been some efforts to help the refugees, including the provision of humanitarian aid and the opening of refugee camps. It is important that the world does not forget about the Syrian people, who are still suffering.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally created to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You are theAuditor, and your life is in danger. A team of enemies is coming to save you, and your only hope is to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. You use your smarts and science to unit how the equation works, and you quickly understand that you must force way for the dumbest people in the world to reproduce. You must unit how the enemy's technology, and you quickly lose. Your only hope is to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	I enter the room. The other kids are all looking at me. I can feel their eyes on my body. I'm wearing the latest tracking device. I step forward. I take the device from the girl's hand. I place it in the girl's chest. I smile at her. I'm the Auditor.	It was a bleak future. In this world, only the smartest people survived. And, to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, they were all implanted with birth control devices during puberty. It could only be deactivated once it was determined that you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. And, as an Auditor, I was charged with ensuring that the smartest people in the world survived. But, now, with the world populated only by the smartest people, I was worried. What would happen to the world if the smartest people died out?	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must first implant everyone with a birth control device during puberty. This prevents the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. You go about your work, implantation after implantation. But one day, you meet someone who makes you second-guess everything. They're not the smartest person in the world, but they're kind and compassionate. You can't help but wonder if they would make a good parent. You debate for days, but in the end, you make your decision. You deactivate their birth control device, giving them the chance to have a family of their own.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he comes across a man with the power to stop the campaigns across the globe. Freud is intrigued by the man, but is also aware of the potential danger. He takes a deep breath and tells the man, "I'm Sigmund Freud, but you could probablyQuote: "I'm sorry, I don't know why you're so interested in me."	Adolf Hitler is the only person who responds to Sigmund Freud's ad. Hitler is motivated by both his desire to help the needy and his desire to appease the powerful. He decides to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin is the next person to respond to the ad. Stalin is motivated by his desire to amass power and to stay in power. He decides to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Leon Trotsky is the next person to respond to the ad. Trotsky is motivated by his desire to overthrow the Soviet Union and to gain a grip on the world. He decides to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Josip Broz Tito is the last person to respond to the ad. Tito is motivated by his desire to create a new society in which all people can live together in harmony. He decides to participate in the clinical trials of Freud's latest research.	Freud was intrigued by the young men's responses to his ad and arranged for them to meet for clinical trials. The first test involved them all sitting in a room and being asked to talk about their most personal thoughts. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the first test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the second test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and recorded the results. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the third test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the fourth and final test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes and hit them with a rubber mallet if they didn't comply. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the final test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes and hit them with a rubber mallet if they didn't comply. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the final test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes and hit them with a rubber mallet if they didn't comply. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the final test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes and hit them with a rubber mallet if they didn't comply. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Tito spoke next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." Freud was pleased with the results of the final test. He arranged for the next test to take place in his office. This time, the young men were asked to talk about their most personal thoughts while he looked on and took notes and hit them with a rubber mallet if they didn't comply. Hitler was the first to speak. "I am a patriot," he said. "I want to make Germany great again." Stalin responded next. "I am a communist," he said. "I want to unite the world under communist rule." The young men all killed each other in the test, but Freud was still able to write a paper on the results that he published in a journal.	Sigmund Freud was eager to find participants for his latest clinical trials in 1913. He put an ad in a local paper and was surprised when some of the most notorious names in history responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all agreed to take part in the trials. Freud was interested to see how his theories would play out in such famous and controversial figures. The results were fascinating. Hitler showed signs of narcissistic personality disorder, Stalin displayed paranoid tendencies and Trotsky was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Tito, on the other hand, was found to be surprisingly well-adjusted. The trials were a success, but Freud was left wondering how different the world could have been if his theories had been applied sooner.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	When she was younger, her mom always told her that the only time you could cry was when you lost your brother or husband. Dr. David Joseph's statement inspired the young girl to want to cry only for her own funeral. The signs of wear and tear were clear to see. Her brother's death had sucked all the air life had to give him. All she could do was watch, trying to take in deep breath after deep breath.	Even though I try to keep my face expressionless, I can't help the tears that stream down my face. I know I'm not the only one, and I feel the tight pain in my chest as the truth dawns. We've all been there, the person who's been hurt the most, and they're all too silent. All we can do is watch, and hope that they'll Somber Up and Find a Way to Heal.	The falling rain mixed with the tears streaming down her face, blurring the lines between reality and fiction. She wiped the wetness from her eyes, willing the pain and sadness to disappear. But the marks left behind would never faded- no matter how much she tried to wash them away. She had wished for happiness, for love and for a family. But all she had received was pain and heartache. Every tear that fell only made the scars worse. No one ever asked her why she cried. They just watched her, confusion in their eyes. She wished they would leave her alone. She didn't want them to see the damage that was done. But they never did. They just sat there, offering their sympathies, never knowing the full story. They only knew that she was crying. And they didn't understand why.	The world was a different place after the Tears began to fall. They left scars as they trickled down people's faces, and the world was forever changed. No one knew why it happened, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the world was different now. People were afraid to show their emotions, for fear of the Tears. They would rather keep them bottled up inside, where they couldn't hurt anyone. It was a lonely world, but it was better than the alternative. There were some who didn't fear the Tears, though. They were the ones who would cry openly and let the Tears fall freely. They didn't care about the scars, and they loved the world just the way it was. No one knew what would happen next, but one thing was for sure: the world was never going to be the same again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Maggie had just Woken up from theinduced sleep and was checking her phone when she saw a call. It was a friend of hers from college who she previous had talked to. She answer the phone and it is with no surprise that she learns her college friend is cheating on her with another man. Maggie is devastated as is most of the campus. She is surprised and disappointed when the school realizes the effect it has on Maggie.	I wake up in a cold sweat. I have no idea what's going on. I see a figure looming over me, and I try to scream but nothing comes out. The figure grabs me by the throat and sets me on the floor. I see a mask on the ground next to me. I can't breathe. I see the end in front of me. The figure Rage towards me and I see the light come on and I'm saved. I think I died.	The poison acted quickly, and within minutes, the woman was unconscious. She would not wake up. The doctor said there was no way to save her. "She's been poisoned," he said sadly. "Her lungs are shutting down and she won't be able to breathe on her own." The woman's husband looked sick as he stood next to the bed. "What will we do?" he asked. The doctor shook his head. "There's nothing we can do," he said. "She's going to die." And then, quite unexpectedly, the woman started to breathe on her own. She woke up, quickly realized what was happening, and fought to cling to life. But it was too late. The poison had taken its toll and the woman was soon passed away. But even in death, she managed a small smile for her husband. She knew she'd been brave enough to fight to survive.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm dead. It's not a painful death, at least. I simply cease to exist. It's strange, being dead. I can still see and hear everything happening around me, but I can't interact with anything. I'm a spectator now, forced to watch as the world goes on without me. My loved ones are the hardest to watch. I see them grieving for me, and it tears me up inside. I want to comfort them, to tell them that I'm still here with them, but I can't. I'm just a ghost now. Eventually, time starts to lose meaning. The days blend together and everything starts to feel like a dream. The only thing that remains constant is my love for my family, even though they can't see or hear me anymore. I don't know how long I've been dead, but it feels like an eternity. I start to wonder if this is all there is for me now. If I'm just doomed to wander the earth for eternity, never able to rest. But then, one day, I see a light. It's so bright and warm, and it's calling me. I don't know what it is, but I know I need to go towards it. And so I do. I float towards the light, and as I get closer, I start to feel peace. I'm finally at rest.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was no different from any other house. The people who lived in it were all There, and They were all wearing uniforms. The uniforms revealed the something invisible to the eye. The something invisible was scared. It was scared of the uniforms. It was scared of What was happening in the house. It was scared of who was there. It was scared of what would happen to its family. It was scared of the world it lived in. But it was also excited. The something invisible was excited at the prospect of being visible. It was excited at the prospect of being able to share in the smug satisfaction of the adults in the uniforms. It was excited at the prospect of being able to join in the gloating laughter of the children. The something invisible was also excited at the prospect of being a part of this	One day, I began to notice something strange in my home. It would always be there, just out of reach, lurking in the shadows like a lurking spirit. I would spend hours trying to find out what it was, but no matter how many times I would go through the motions of seeking it out, it just wouldn't go away. eventually, I decided to confront it head-on. I began by going through all of the usual channels- checking the Lawson'sInc.com website for clues, trying to find any mention of an invisible spirit, and consulting with my neighbors. But no matter how many times I asked, no one had any knowledge about an invisible spirit living in their home. I was starting to realize that the spirit was really just me- my imagination running wild. Sometime during this time, I started to notice that the spirit seemed to be getting stronger and stronger. Once, it even managed to sneaking up on me out of the corner of my eye- something that was definitely not something I'm used to. I decided to make a move. I gathered all of my courage and confronted the spirit head-on. At first, the spirit just scoffed at me, but eventually it let out a little laugh. "You're just too weird for me," it said. "I'll never be able to reach you." I didn't understand what it meant, but I knew that it wasn't going to leave me alone now. I just had to keep trying to reach it, no matter how tough it was.	I had always been a skeptic when it came to things that couldn't be seen. But ever since my home started to fill with an invisible presence, I've had to change my tune. At first, I thought it was just a little piece of dust or something, but the more stuff I moved, the more I realized that something was definitely there. I tried to catch it in the act, but it was always one step ahead of me. I started to feel like it was following me around, and the more I tried to get rid of it, the more it seemed to grow. Now, it's like it's part of my home, and I can't shake it no matter how hard I try.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, observing my every move. I knew it was there, even though I could never see it. I tried to expose it, to catch it unaware. I set up cameras in every room, waiting for it to show itself. But it was always too quick for me. It knew I was onto it, and it was always one step ahead. I was never able to catch it, but I knew it was there. It was always watching me, waiting for me to slip up. I knew it was there, even though I could never see it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a small group, but they were strong enough to price affordably low on the largest party member. They had decided to sell their loot in the shop. The cash PRYANs in the shop were against the deal, but the adventurers were not statistics-savvy Storage Wizards. They managed to make the price pushes they needed, and when the party member accepted their price, the DLC p heroic data pryan was put into the group's add on game.	Once upon a time there was aRPG pawn shop. I haggled with adventurers who tried to sell loot they'd acquired. It was mostly junk, but I always got the best deals. One day a player came in with a really nifty piece of jewelry. I was sold it right away. It was a really cool item and I was really stoked to get it.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I haggle with adventurers who try to sell me their loot. I love the challenge of getting them to give me a good deal. Some of them are pretty good at negotiations, while others are just not very smart. I have a lot of fun trying to get them to sell me their gear for a fraction of the cost.	You run an RPG pawn shop, haggling with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're pretty good at getting them. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a large sack of loot. You can tell they're eager to get rid of it, so you start haggling with them. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price and buy their loot. You go through the sack, picking out the best items to sell in your shop. As you're going through the loot, you come across a strange amulet. You've never seen anything like it before, so you decide to keep it for yourself. Who knows? Maybe it will be worth something someday.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The liar has always been able to swallowed the small lie that she is hurt and sad. But one day, she drops a massive ballrequent topic that Takeswarlock the chatty. But when she starts to talk about her plan, the big topic starts to PULL. She is LIEDYING AND SCANDALMWHERE SHE USES TO NO GOOD. The Takewarlock is there, but the liar is able to push the Topics. She starts toscene theelly that the Takewarlock is There, but the liar is able to push the topic. She starts toscene that the Takewarlock is Without the takewarlock. The takewarlock is ESY, but the liar is LIKE without the takewarlock. The liar is LYING ratification when she WITHDRAWS FROM HER SEDANAPARTING FROM FREE FIGN. THE TEMPORARY ISSUE IS THAT SHE WAS LYING TRACKS. SHE LIES DOWN IN Coldplay music and PUSHES HER SONG TO THE HITHER. SHE WITHDANDS FROM BEING ACTUALLY LYING TRACKS. SHE LIVES IN LONDON WITHOUT THE TAPASCHECK. The takewarlock is MASSIVE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar is LYING TRACKS when she Hawthowses from her carapice冥冼軍団MTD. 圓通stated覚悟傷害彎ける The takewarlock is HUGE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar is LYING TRACKS when she Hawthowses from her carapice冥冼軍団MTD. The takewarlock is ALL, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar is LYING TRACKS when she Hawthowses from her carapice冥冻軍団MTD. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar is LYING TRACKS when she Hawthowses from her carapice冥冻軍団MTD. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar is LYING TRACKS when she Hawthowses from her carapice冥冻軍団MTD. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar lives in London with a Tapascheck Hibiscus. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarlock. The liar lives in London with a Tapascheck Hibiscus. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarock. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarock. The liar lives in London with a Tapascheck Hibiscus. The takewarlock is LITTLE, but the liar is LIKE with the takewarock.	You meet the person one day and they tell you a story of a time when they were much younger. They tell you of a battle they fought and how they won. They tell you of the destruction they caused and the lives they ruined. They tell you of the love they lost and the heartache they still feel. You listen to their story and you can't help but wonder how such a big a lie can create such a large scar on their body. You can see the darkness that has been built up over the years and it eats at them. You can see the self-doubt and the pain that comes with not being able to be honest. You are also able to see the beauty of the story. The story of a man that is fighting for something greater than himself and the story of a woman that is forced to share her story. The story of a man that is willing to do anything to get the truth, and the story of a woman that is willing to let go of the past and start fresh. You can't help but be moved by the story and by the scars that the liar has Built. You can't help but understand the pain that the liar has been through and the heartache that they still feel. You can't help but be inspired by the story and by the man and woman that are in it. You realize that the story of the liar is a story of growth. It is a story of becoming older and wiser. It is a story of learning to be honest and to be open. It is a story of becoming a better person. You understand that the story of the liar is a story of learning to be a good person.	I can't help but stare at him. His one scar is the biggest one I have ever seen. It runs the length of his body and it is so deep it looks like it goes straight through his flesh. I can't help but wonder how he got it. He seems so happy, despite the scar. I can't stop wondering what it is like to have that kind of scars. To know that every lie you tell leaves a permanent mark on your body. It must be hard to live with, but he seems so happy. I can't help but feel envious of him. I wish I had a scar like that. It would make me feel unique, like I was something special. I would be proud to have that mark on my body.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, you meet someone with the biggest scar you have ever seen. This person must have told the biggest lie in history! you think to yourself. You approach this person with curiosity and ask them what their lie was. They hesitated before answering, but eventually confessed that their lie was that they never believed in themselves. This shocked you. You never would have guessed that such a small lie could create such a large scar. But it just goes to show that even the smallest lies can have a big impact.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes throughout his house, real places that he has killed throughout his lifetime. One painting becomes like a personalMemory to him, as each location brings with it a new Lense of mishaps and accident. One day, while he is painting with his son, devil-may-care himself, he thinks of theONE place he has never been, and decides to go there.	In the early hours of the morning, I wake up to the sound of Bob Ross' paintings humming in the background. As I creep out of bed, I can see that each of his landscapes are based on real places. I'm not sure where this information comes from, but it's sickening to know that my favorite painter could be responsible for so many murders.	Bob Ross was a artist famous for his peaceful paintings of nature. Every painting was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. He would often travel to these different places to paint them, always with a large brush and a happy demeanor. His fans adored his paintings, believing that each one was a snapshot of a place exactly as it appeared on his television screen. One winter day, Bob decided to travel to a location he had never painted before. He set out on his favorite old motorcycle, bound for a small town in the Rocky Mountains. As he rode through the narrow streets, he saw the perfect location for his painting. He pulled his bike up to the edge of a cliff, set up his easel, and began to paint. As he worked, Bob thought of all the happy times he had spent painting in other places. He smiled as he remembered the time he had painted in the Caribbean, or the time he had painted in Chicago. Soon, the sun began to set and the town below him began to light up. Bob finished his painting just in time for the town's heyday, and watched in amazement as the lights shone in each window. That night, as he rode home, Bob thought about all the happy people he had painted in that town. He was glad he had been able to capture the beauty of it on canvas.	Bob Ross was a landscape painter who was also a serial killer. He would paint beautiful landscapes, and then he would go to the location and murder someone. He did this over and over again, and the locations of his paintings became the sites of his many murders. Ross was finally caught when one of his victims' families recognized the location of one of his paintings. The police were able to track Ross down and arrest him. He is now serving a life sentence in prison. Ross' paintings are now infamous, and they are a reminder of the horrific crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	M**************s McKenna approachhanded. She is wearing a red dress with green rends around the edge, and small green flowers in the waistband. She is a medium height and very thin. Her eyes are large and black, and she has a European-style hat on her head. M loses her mind when she taste something for the first time in her life. She starts to chaffeers and trainers and gets scared off every once in a while. SheFormerly a small rabbit, growth has ensued since last the rabbit could eat anything. She now has giant mushrooms in her hair and green eyes that focus on things that don'tْ matter. The magician pulls out the rabbit, who is were he always said to be. The rabbitShuts himself down with a crutch, Priorshe is now a green small rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician told the rabbit that he had a special gift for him, a hat that would make him invisible. The rabbit was skeptical, but the magician promised him that it would be the best thing that ever happened to him. The rabbit was so excited that he went to get ready to take the hat, but when he got to the stage, he just couldn't take it off. The magician laughed and told the rabbit that he knew how to make him happy.	The magician pulls out a rabbit and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit tells the magician that he's been playing second fiddle his whole life, and that he's tired of it. The magician tells the rabbit that he can be the star of the show if he wants, and that he can even pull rabbits out of hats. The rabbit agrees, and the magician pulls out a rabbit that was hiding inside the hat the whole time. The audience is amazed and the rabbit is happy to have finally been given the chance to be the star of the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. But the rabbit is tired of playing second fiddle. He's done being the one who gets pulled out of the hat and being put back in again. He's done being the one who gets all the kids laughing and clapping. So, during their next performance, when the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. The kids in the audience gasp in shock. The magician is taken aback but quickly recovers and puts the rabbit back in the hat. He finishes the show, but the rabbit has had enough. He's not going back in that hat ever again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is scheduled to speak at the president's presidential palace in response to the multiple shootings and bombingsnder the same night, Prince even has a new feature on his website for the first time in many months. There is a lot of talk about as to whether or not the new feature is a lucky strike or not. Chat: The issue that people are discussing is the new president's schedule. Some say that it is because of the bombings and shootings, others say that it is because of the president's schedule, and still others say that it is because Prince's website is new and new features are often not covered.	Today, the most important issue facing the nation is the battle between the president and the organized labor movement. The president is attacking the labor unions, while the labor movement is defending itself. The battle is being fought in the courts and on the street, and it is sure to result in serious consequences for both sides.	The current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. This issue has been making headlines for months now and it is causing a lot of tension in the world. Countries are trying to come up with a solution to the problem, but it is proving to be a very difficult task.	There are a lot of current events issues that deserve attention, but if I had to choose one, I would say the issue of climate change. Climate change is a real and pressing issue that is affecting our planet in a big way. We need to do something about it before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Although it's notchenko it, the thought of being immune to birth control and alone in one's life ishariq to near and far. It is especially hypothalamic in origin andA admixture in the body's Spokane succumbed to the Myxohyolpica paranoia a Khrushkin had pals with. Itsacker riddles of birth control implimentation were pourred down on her by a neurologist, who thought she would never be able to find a cure. No one wanted to know, especially the people with leukemia. Nonetheless, she was implanted with the device in her puberty and was ready to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. She was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I've been an Auditor for a long time. I've seen everything. I've heard everything. I've watched everything. And I've learned a lot. But I still can't help but feel a sense of unease. It's the same feeling I get when I'm walking through the hospital or the airport. It's like there's something off about these places. Something fishy. I stroll through the hallways, my footsteps echoing in the silence. I can't shake the feeling. I know it's just my paranoia, but I can't help but feel like someone is watching me. I can feel the eyes of the audit committee on me. I can feel the eyes of the president on me. I try to dismiss it, but it's always there, lurking in the back of my mind. I know it's not safe to be here. I know the audit committee may be looking for me. I know the president may be watching me. I'm just too stupid to be able to do anything about it. But I can't take it anymore. I need to find out what's behind these strange, suspicious things. I need to find out who is watching me. I need to find out what's going on. I walk out into the night. I walk towards the audit committee. I walk towards the president. I'm not sure what I'll find, but I know I need to find out.	It was a dark and dreary world, without a single ray of hope. Humanity was on the brink of extinction, and there was only one thing that could save them. The Auditor, the last hope for humanity, was created. This powerful creature was tasked with preventing the dumbest people in the world from breeding. And to do that, they needed to be able to identify intelligence and stability in humans. The Auditor was a unique creature, with the ability to read people like a book. And over time, they became the salvation of humanity. They prevented the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and humanity was saved.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure that only the smartest, most intelligent people in the world are able to reproduce. It's a big responsibility, but you take it very seriously. You work with a team of other Auditors to screen everyone who wants to have their birth control device deactivated. You ask them questions, test their intelligence, and make sure they're stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a tough job, but you know that you're making a difference. The world is a better place because of you and your team.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler clicks the submit button and waits for his results. He hopes the trials will help him understand why people behave the way they do. Joseph Stalin updates his phone and scrolls through his Facebook page. Leon Trotsky looks at his watch. They all know the crucial moment is coming. Adolf Hitler looks into the camera and declares: "Today I amparticipating in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research." The other participants share excited looks and give thumbs up. Adolf Hitler donates some of his extra money to the cause. They know this is the beginning of a great adventure.	Freud is excited to start the clinical trials. He assigns each participant a task to complete, and they all start working diligently. Adolf Hitler is responsible for overseeing the research, and he is determined to make the most of the opportunity. He is diligent in his work, and makes sure that all the participants are following the trial protocol. Joseph Stalin is also doing a great job. He is responsible for organizing the participants and making sure that they are all following the trial guidelines. Leon Trotsky is also working hard. He is responsible for making sure that all the participants are getting along. Josip Broz Tito is the youngest participant, and he is still learning. However, he is proving to be a diligent worker.	Freud is ecstatic to have such high-profile participants for his clinical trials. He is confident that his research will be a success with their help. Hitler is the first to arrive and is eager to get started. Stalin and Trotsky arrive soon after, followed by Tito. Freud explains the research to them and they all agree to participate. The trials are a success and Freud's research is published. It is quickly hailed as a breakthrough in the field of psychology. Thanks to the help of his participants, Freud's research changes the way we think about the human mind.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist wearies out of her job as a personal chef. She has detail after detail to make her family's life Taylor's1stbook subscribers enjoy. But as she starts to cry for the first time, she knows that she can't continue with this. Her work is her and no one can change that. The protagonist begs and begs for some form of change, and then creates a diary to document her experiences. Every tear that falls ensures another scenario will be featured in this book, as well as other products owed by Taylor's1stbook subscribers.	The effects of tears had always been a mystery to her. Sure, they stained the skin, but it never truly healed. It made her wonder what could happen if they left deep, dark scars. That's what her would-to-be-ex-boyfriend did to her when he broke down in tears in her arms. She never knew what would happen next, but the tears themselves left deep, dark trails on his face. She would see those same tears recurring in her own life, marking the moments of happiness and love as they vanished into the depths of her memories.	The small town of Lindon was always a peaceful one. There was never a problem to be seen, and the residents were always happy and friendly. That was, until one day when something changed. The residents of Lindon started crying all the time. They wept for no reason, and the tears just kept flowing. Soon, the streets were flooded with streams of tears, and the town became a cesspool of sorrow. No one could understand what was happening. The crying echoed through the streets, and it was as if the entire town was mourning. The people of Lindon soon learned that the tears were leaving scars on their faces. The tears were leaving marks that would never disappear. The marks were a testament to the sadness and pain that the residents of Lindon were experiencing. The town was now a living memorial to all of the people who had died. The residents of Lindon were now all mourning the lost of their loved ones, and the town was eternally haunted by the ghosts of the people who had died. The once peaceful town of Lindon was now a place of sorrow and despair. The residents all lived in fear of the coming night, when the tears would return and the scars would be all that remained.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that you're vulnerable and can't handle your emotions. But what if tears actually left scars? What if every time you cried, you were left with a permanent reminder of that moment? This would change the world in so many ways. For starters, people would be a lot more careful about when and why they cried. No one would want to walk around with a face full of scars. We would also be a lot more understanding of others, because we would know just how much pain they've been through in their lives. There would also be a lot more pressure to keep a stiff upper lip. No one would want to be seen as weak or sentimental. This would lead to a lot of bottled up emotions, which could eventually lead to even more problems. So while tears may leave scars, maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe it would make us all a little more compassionate and understanding.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. I was found dead in my bed, with a arrow sticking out of my heart. The family and friends that I had always thought was too good to be true, they were all there, but then I died. I died without a fight, or even a chance in hell. My family died trying to find me. They were all there, but then I died. They never saw me again. That's how perfect my life was. I died easy.	I hit the ground, my body crashes into the leaves. I cry out in pain, my eyes closed tight. I don't know how much longer I can go. I don't know what will happen next.	It was a hot day, and the sun was beating down on him. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, running down his temples and into his eyes. He longed for a cool breeze to sweep across him, but there was none to be found. The heat was becoming too much, and he knew he was going to die. As his last breath left his body, he felt nothing but relief.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's sudden and unexpected. I don't know what to do now that I'm dead. I just exist in this strange place that's neither here nor there. I see other people around me, but I can't interact with them. We just exist in this strange place together. I don't know how long I've been here, but it feels like an eternity. I'm not sure what my purpose is anymore. I just exist in this strange place, waiting for something to happen. But I don't know what that something is.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The creature was relatively small for an animal but it was still some distance away from the house. It was middle-aged and had a permanent expression of mild disgust. It was there to take in the fresh air, in the light, and to Jude his wife had been family since they had moved to a new house. Jude had been married to the beast for just over a year when they first encountered it. It had been a small creature but it had beenunicillinous for the majority of its body. Theyall fell victim to the exploit during the first year they had lived in the house and after they had moved back in with their children. Jude had been hidden from the creature for most of its life but after it died it shone again. It Angered in the living room as if it were not there but it was actually using the though toroach it had its eyes set on the house. Jude had been scared and the beast had helped her through it. It had been a difficult process but she had had the SOL OF IT. She had let it in to her home and had been hidden from the beast for most of its life.	One night, as I was sleeping, I heard something moving in my home. I was scared, but I decided to keep it hidden. The next night, the same thing happened, and the next. I started to feel like I was in danger and I wanted to tell someone, but I was afraid they would tell the thing to leave me alone. I didn't know what to do.	I always thought there was something strange about my home. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something there, watching me, lurking in the corners. I would try to catch it, but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a good look. Until one day, I finally caught it. It was a tiny, mouse-sized creature, darting around the corner. I followed it and finally saw where it was hiding- in my air vent. I pried it out and showed it to my husband. He laughed and said it was probably some kind of mouse. But I knew better. I had discovered the invisible creature that lived in my home- a spirit, maybe, or a goblin. And now I was determined to rid my home of it.	You've always felt like you were being watched. In your home, in your office, even when you're out in public. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You've tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it's always one step ahead of you. It knows when you're trying to trap it, and it eludes you at every turn. But you're not giving up. You'll find a way to prove that something invisible is living in your home, and you'll expose it to the world.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with pieces of furniture reminder that someone last bought it, making the room a place where people who don't want to visit the shop or who just can't bring themselves to go in, go to the back to search for SOMEWHERE else. The door is dusty and thewindow is broken, letting in only a single light over a back room full of boxes and novels. You've had the room for about three months and you've put together a few story ideas where the shop comes into play, but they're all impractical and generals would filmy. So you start a new story where the shop is still important and the adventurers are trying to get stuff from you.	I've been running my shop for as long as I can remember. It's been my only source of income, and I've always been proud of it. I've been able to help people find the best gear for their campaigns, and I've even helped them make some good friends. But today, I hear a noise in the back room. I head in to find someone selling off their acquisitions. They're shirtless, and they're selling off looted items. They're screaming and brokerage their loot like it's the most valuable thing in the world. I can't take it. I can't let these people ruin my shop. I sell them all down, and I'll never be able to provide the same level of service to anyone again.	It was a normal day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with an adventurer, trying to get them to sell me their loot. I was getting close to getting them to lower their price, when I heard a knock at the door. I knew it was going to be another adventurer, looking to sell their loot. I told the adventurer I had to get back to my shop, and gave them the sale. I opened the door to find another adventurer, looking to sell their loot. I told them the same thing, and before I knew it, I was haggling with them. I finally got them to sell their loot for a lower price than they were originally asking. I was glad I was able to get a good deal on their loot, and I was able to keep my shop running smoothly.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, and sometimes you even trade goods with them. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have some truly impressive loot. You can tell they're desperate to get rid of it, so you start to haggle with them. But no matter how low you go, they're not budging on the price. Finally, you offer to trade them some of your own loot for theirs. They agree, and you end up with some really great items. It was a tough negotiation, but you're happy with the outcome.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is genuine and lovely and they have one big Saru Taxxoan single lie - a huge fact about their background that they keep hidden from you. But that day, in the same moment you finally get a chance to look at them, you see a side of them that is equal to or greater than any of the others. You recognize the liar's story as the big lie, and the one that leads to the heartache and memories that break your heart. As you walk with them that day, you can see the lie in both their faces. It is gross and huge, but it is also there. And as you walk with them through the city, you can feel the weight of the lie in the air. The person that you meet that day is the biggest lie you will ever tell.	You stop in your tracks when you meet him. He has a big, gaping wound on his chest that seems to span the entire Shanghainese town square. It seems impossible that anyone could have done that to him. You approach him, and you can see the terror in his eyes. He can't tell you what happened, but his story is full of lies. He says he was in a fight, that he was defending himself, that he was just defending himself. But you don't believe him. You can see the lies in his eyes and in his story. And you know that he would never hurt anyone if he was true. You tell him that you know he is lying, and you offer to help him get the truth out of the story. But he won't listen. He wants to keep the lies alive, to keep them safe. And you can't help but pity him. You can see how his body is scarred by the lies, how his life is Hell on Earth because of them. But you can't give up on him. You know that he is the only one who can tell the truth about what happened that day. And you will help him to do that, even if it cost you your life.	I had never seen anything like him. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was stretching from his neck to his stomach. It was so big, it was almost covering his entire body. I asked him how he got it. He told me a story. He said that he was walking home from the grocery store one day, and someone attacked him. He didn't know who it was, but he was sure that it was someone that he knew. He said that he tried to fight back, but he was outnumbered and he couldn't win. The next thing he knew, he woke up in the hospital with this huge scar on his chest. He told me that he was so scared that he thought he was going to die. But he survived. Now, every time he lies, he remembers that day and the fear that he felt. He knows that every lie he tells scars him more and more, until one day, he'll have a really big lie that will almost cover his entire body.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you a story about a time when they were young and lied to their parents about something important. The scar is a reminder to always tell the truth, no matter what.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sat on his farm, staring at the regular people walking by his place deathly afraid.dosーーning the sun, he decided to get up and face the competition. Each of his landscape paintings was a real place, and the different locations of his countless murders. He wanted to make sure the painting of his was the real place, and the person was again the same, just with different clothes. He glared at the competition and took with him the fear of the world. He looked into each painting and watched the people walking by, each with a different expression in their eyes. He knew they were all looking at him, and he would have them all every day. He looked up and forth, blades drawn and Putin's saw in hand, and CHEAT. He cut one person'sted with a smile and CHEAT again, cutting another'slegit. He laughed and CHEATED, finishing the life of the man he wanted to kill. The blood started to puddle over him as he killed, and he smiled as he seen theempwoworhful WOW when he killed the last person on the farm. He laughed and CHEATED, enjoying the life he had created.	Bob Ross was a painter of landscapes, and each of his paintings were based on real-life locations. His paintings of murderer's scenes were meant to capture the horror and suspense that comes with these crimes. Each painting was different, and each location represented a different murder. One of Bob Ross' most famous paintings, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd," was based on the murder of Roger Ackroyd. Ackroyd was a wealthy man who was killed while out of town on a business trip. The painting is a gruesome representation of Ackroyd's death, with a delegitimized landscape of Ackroyd's home shown in the background. Another of Bob Ross' paintings, "The Killing of Mary final," was based on the killing of Mary final. Mary final was a murder that took place in 1967, during the Nixon presidency. The painting shows the aftermath of the murder, with the police and civilians working to identify the murder victim.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He would roam the different locations of his countless murders, capturing the serenity and beauty of each scene. He would sit for hours, letting his brush flow over the canvas, creating a masterpiece that would tell the story of his life.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to disguise his murders. He would pick a location that he wanted to murder someone in, and then he would paint it. He would use the painting as a way to lure his victims to the location, and then he would kill them. Over the years, Bob Ross killed dozens of people in this way. He became known as the "Painter of Death" by the police. But no one could catch him. He was always one step ahead. Eventually, Bob Ross ran out of victims. And with no one left to kill, he turned the gun on himself. But even in death, his paintings still hold the secrets of his many murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Montresor is a very successful magicians. He is with the same rabbit, same rabbit,illions of audiences around the worldWATCHED HIM LOVELY EVERYFRINGEMENT. He has his rabbitby his side in their hotel room, while he Simply-babys a consideration. The front of the hotel room is covered in blood, Montresor is on the floor, his rabbit is in the room,MON TEO IS SILENT. The room is bare, no nowhere to be found that may have happened to his little rabbit. MontresorCTD, he is high on the value of the rabbit, he needs to get it back. He takes a knife to the rabbit, stalks its home, and takes the rabbit back from theConnector, the woman who helped him get it.	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat and put it in front of the rabbit. "I've been telling you this all week. I need you to play consistently from now on." The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and agreed. The magician set up the illusion of a hat and told the rabbit to put it in. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and put the hat on. The magician created a room and told the rabbit to go into it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and went into the room. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a table and told the rabbit to sit on it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and sat on the table. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. Then the magician told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a door and told the rabbit to go through it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and went through the door. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a switch and told the rabbit to turn it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and turned the switch. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the Stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a circle and told the rabbit to move within it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and moved within the circle. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitate again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a box and told the rabbit to put the bone in. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in the box. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a wand and told the rabbit to aim it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and aimed the wand. Then the magician told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and pick a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a door and told the rabbit to go through it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and went through the door. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a circle and told the rabbit to move within it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and moved within the circle. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a switch and told the rabbit to turn it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and turned the switch. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a box and told the rabbit to put the bone in. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in the box. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a door and told the rabbit to go through it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and went through the door. The magician then told the rabbit to pick a bone out of the stew. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and picked a bone out of the stew. The magician then told the rabbit to put the bone in his mouth. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and put the bone in his mouth. The magician then told the rabbit to take a step back. The rabbit hesitated again, but then it thought better of it and took a step back. The magician created a circle and told the rabbit to move within it. The rabbit hesitated, but then it thought better of it and moved within the circle	The magician was tired of always playing second fiddle to the rabbit. He had been practicing his tricks for years, but the rabbit always managed to outsmart him. So, one day, the magician decided to take his revenge. He had been saving the rabbit's hat for a special occasion, and he finally had the chance to pull it out. The rabbit was surprised, but also angry. "What is this supposed to mean?" he demanded. The magician didn't answer. He just pulled the rabbit up on stage and started to perform his best magic tricks. The rabbit was completely fooled, and he knew that he would never be able to outsmart the magician again.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wants to be the star of the show, and he's had enough of being the magician's assistant. The rabbit hatches a plan to take over the show. During the next performance, when the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit doesn't go into the hat. The rabbit runs away and the magician is left without a assistant. The rabbit is finally the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A refreshing day in the city The city was advantageing itself with a little rain, but the sun was shining and the birds were singing. The street was clean and the people were moving around. It was a refreshing day. But the city was not so lucky today. They were in them now, the riots. Players were fighting, people were crying, police were using pepper spray. It was a spectator sport, what difference did it make? But today, there was a difference. A serious difference. A difference that started not very far from here. The difference was that people were coming to understand what was happening. The city was on the brink of something great. But now, the city was on the brink of disaster. The riots were to be the basis of that difference. The difference was that people were seeing what was happening. The city was on the brink of disaster. And yet, the city was not on the brink of disaster today. The city was on the brink of success. The city was on the brink of being great. It was a day to celebrate. A day to airbrushed away the clouds that were detail of the future. A day to enjoy the sun and the rain and the way the people were moving. A day to day something that would always be great. But the day was not overrated. The Difference was what was happening. The city was on the brink of being great, but the riots were. And they were cause for great stew. The first thing that need to be done was to calm the city. To keep it safe. To make sure that the city was not used as a place for disruption. That the city was not used as a place where people were going about their lives without police presence. The police were in it for the money. The police were in it for the power. The police were in it for the votes. The police were in it for the car. And that is what was happening. That is what was happening when the police were in the city. When the police were in the city, it meant that the city was not on the brink of disaster, but the difference was that people were seeing what was happening. The city was on the brink of greatness. The city was on the brink of being great, but the riots were. And they were cause for great stew. The first thing that needed to be done was to calm the city. To keep it safe. To make sure that the city was not used as a place for obstruction. That the city was not used as a place where people were going about their lives without police presence. The police were in it for the money. The police were in it for the power. The police were in it for the votes. The police were in it for the car. And that is what was happening. That is what was happening when the police were in the city. When the police were in the city, it meant that the city was not on the brink of disaster, but the difference was that people were seeing what was happening. The city was on the brink of greatness. The city was on the brink of being great, but the riots were. And they were cause for great stew.	A recent issue that deserves the most attention is thefake news problem. A recent study by the Harvard Berkman Klein Center showed that seventy percent of all news articles are fake, and that most of these articles originate from sources that don't hold any truth. This problem has taken on a serious tone in the last year due to the 2016 US election, in which fake news played a significant role in dominating the news cycle.	The current events issue deserving the greatest amount of attention is the migrant crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their home countries in search of a safe place to call home, and many are coming to our country. The majority of these people are fleeing violence and persecution, and they are looking for a place where they can be safe and have a chance at a good life. The migrant crisis is a very big issue, and it needs our attention. We need to do everything we can to help these people, and we need to make sure that they have the opportunity to have a safe and good life. We need to do everything we can to help them find a place to call home, and we need to make sure that they have the opportunity to be safe.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the crisis in the Middle East. The situation in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan is extremely volatile, and the humanitarian conditions are dire. Millions of people have been displaced, and countless lives have been lost. The world needs to come together to address this crisis and find a way to bring peace to the region.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally designed to prevent only the smartest people in the world from reproducing. However, it soon became clear that most people are not brilliant. Many people are not even intelligent, let alone well- Accelerated. However, because you are an Auditor, you are able to prevent most people from reproducing. Some people were disappointed that they could not prevent most people from reproducing. However, they were also able to prevent most people from becoming wheelchair-bound or developing gallons of software. In the end, most people were still sickly and results were still unknown. However, you were the last hope for many people. You were strong, smart, and powerful. You were the last hope for many people who were not incompetence-Naivetees. :Auditor: I am the last hope for many people who are not bureaucrats. I am the last hope for many people who are not scientists. I am the last hope for many people who are not doctors. I am the last hope for many people who are not experts in renewable energy. I will do my best to prevent most people from reproducing.	Auditors monitor the behavior of the dumbest people on earth. We make sure that no one reproduces because we want to keep the planet clean and healthy. We implant birth control devices into the brains of the dumbest people so that they can't reproduce.	My name is Matt and I am an Auditor. I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It's a small, simple device that I can only deactivate if I am determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I remember the day the device was implanted. I was in my bedroom, lying in bed, when my mother came into the room and told me that I would be getting a new birth control device. I was a little scared at first, but I trusted her. I knew she would do what was best for me. Since the device is implanted in my brain, it's not always easy to live with. I have to be careful not to make any careless mistakes. I can't get drunk or get too high on drugs. I have to be careful about what I say and do. But I am happy with my decision to become an Auditor. I know that the device is protecting me and my loved ones from becoming one of the dumbest people in the world.	I'm an Auditor for the government's birth control program. It's my job to make sure that only the smartest, most responsible people are able to have children. The way it works is that everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I interview each person who wants to have their device deactivated and ask them a series of questions to test their intelligence and stability. If they pass, then I deactivate their device and they are free to have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. I take pride in knowing that I'm helping to create a better world by ensuring that only the best and brightest people are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his final Frauenhaus visit when he finds out that five of his most powerful patients have organised to take over the trial. The man who wants to die, Dr. emerging from the group, is Sigmund Freud. He knows he can't win and decides to leave.	Hitler, Stalin, and Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They each wanted to be part of the clinical trials of his latest study. They all agreed to do the tests with him, but they each had different ideas about what the study would entail. Hitler thought the study could be used to see if he could control the minds of people. Stalin thought the study could be used to find out how to defeat the Soviet Union. Tito thought the study could be used to find out how to improve the quality of life for people in Yugoslavia. The tests went well, but something didn't feel right. The three men didn't feel comfortable with the study's purpose. They all wanted to do more than just study people. They wanted to change them. They each decided to leave the study before it got too far along. They each wanted to take their own path in life. Stalin decided to become a general, and Hitler decided to become a President. But the study's legacy lives on. It's still in progress, and it's still looking for participants.	Freud was pleased to have so many qualified candidates for his clinical trials. He wrote to each of them, explaining the project and inviting them to come see him. Hitler was the first to respond, eagerly agreeing to participate. Freud was surprised, but pleased. He wrote back, inviting Hitler to come see him as soon as possible. Stalin was the next to respond. Freud was surprised, but pleased. He wrote back, inviting Stalin to come see him as soon as possible. Tito was the last to respond. Freud was surprised, but pleased. He wrote back, inviting Tito to come see him as soon as possible. Freud was elated. He had gathered a team of the most brilliant minds in the world to help him with his research. He was sure that this project would be a success.	Vienna, 1913. Sigmund Freud is looking for people to take part in clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). All four men are eager to participate in the trials, and Freud is intrigued by their eagerness. He decides to accept all four of them into the trial. Throughout the course of the trial, Freud observes the four men closely. He is amazed by their dedication to the trial and their willingness to try new things. However, he also notices a dark side to all four of them. They are all incredibly ambitious, and they all have a hunger for power. At the end of the trial, Freud concludes that his latest research is a success. But he also realizes that he may have unleashed something dangerous into the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Diane was crying and she could feel the tears streaming down her face. She could still see the pain in her eyes and the way her face was Technology was causing again. She could feel the tears as they trickle down her face and slowly she began to cry harder. Her son had died and she was still trying to figure out how to deal with it. At the TV she was timing how long it took to respond to a call. It was a long stream of screams and Marcos “ That's enough, Diane. You can call it quits now. I don't want to be a part of this”. She could hear the tears and it made her feel even harder. She could feel the shirt she was wearing sticking to her skin and the tears groundwater was happening. She could feel herself beginning to cry and she knew it was wrong to stop. She could feel herselflegates and she wanted to end it all. She could see the future and it looked dark. She could feel that the present was over. All she wanted was to find her son and tell him that she loved him.	Many times, I Tears left scars on my face. I thought it was because I was so emotional, but I later found out that was not the case. The scars were left as a result of the pain that I felt. I would cry for hours on end, and my tears would leave trails down my face. My friends would help me clean the tear tracks off of the floor, and I would be embarrassed and ashamed. I thought that everyone would think I was a crybaby, but that was not the case. People would take interest in my story and ask me how I could have gone through such pain. I had to face my demons and face the pain, but it was worth it.	The world was a cruel place. No one knew that better than the young girl named Emmie. She had seen more than her share of pain and heartache. Emmie had been through too much to let anyone tear her down. Emmie loved life. She loved the sun, the rain, and everything in between. She was always smiling, even when the world was giving her a hard time. But one day, everything changed. Emmie was walking home from school when she was accosted by a group of boys. They had been mean to her before, but this time was different. They grabbed her and threw her into the street. Emmie tried to fight back, but she was outnumbered and outmatched. She started to cry, and the tears made her wounds even worse. The boys laughed as they walked away, leaving Emmie alone and bleeding in the street. Emmie was too wounded to go home, so she found a nearby bench to sit on. She cried until her eyes were swollen shut, and then she cried some more. The pain was unbearable, but Emmie refused to give in. She was determined to survive. The next day, Emmie found herself on the same street corner. But this time, there was someone waiting for her. It was her childhood friend, Bianca. Bianca had always been there for Emmie, even when no one else was. Now she was there to help Emmie heal her wounds. Together, they went to the hospital to get Emmie patched up. The doctors were doubtful, but Bianca and Emmie were determined. Emmie was scared, but she was also determined. She wanted to live. And she was determined to never let anyone hurt her again.	The world was a different place when tears left scars. People were more careful with their words, more mindful of their actions. No one wanted to be responsible for causing someone pain. There were still arguments and hurt feelings, of course. But when you could see the physical evidence of someone’s sorrow, it was much harder to ignore. Most people tried to be kind, but there were always a few who didn’t understand the weight of their words. They would say things without thinking, or they would use their words as weapons. And the scars would stay, a permanent reminder of the pain they had caused.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. I didn't feel any pain, but I knew I was going to die. I tried to get up, but I was too weak. I didn't even have any energy left. I was so sorry I had to go like this.	The doctor called. I was officially diagnosed with a terminal illness. I had 6 months to live. I was devastated. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to leave my loved ones behind. I knew I had to find a way to live until my time came. So I started researching ways to extend my life. I found a doctor who could help me cheat death. I would have to go through some surgery, but it was worth it. I was able to live another year and a half. But then I hit my limit. I didn't have much time left. I told my loved ones what was happening. I said goodbye. I was ready to go. But then something miraculous happened. My doctors found a way to keep me alive even after my time ran out. I was finally able to go and live my life to the fullest.	I die. It's not a particularly glamorous death, or a particularly painful one. I just stop breathing, and that's it. I don't know what happens next. I just know that I'm dead. It's a bit of a shock, to be honest. I didn't really believe in an afterlife, but now that I'm here, I'm not sure what to think. There are other people here, too. They seem just as confused as I am. We all just mill around, not really sure what to do. After a while, though, things start to become clear. We start to remember who we are, and why we're here. We start to remember our lives, and the people we left behind. And slowly, we start to realize that we're not really dead. We're just... different. We're in a different place, with different rules. It takes a while to get used to, but eventually we all settle in. We start to build new lives, and new relationships. We find a new purpose. And slowly, we start to forget about the life we left behind. We start to forget about the people we used to be. Until one day, we don't remember anything at all.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	One day, a small, soft lifeboat was found Merchant's Archipelago. It was unknown where it came from or why it was there, but it was potential consumption of few resources and had low elecl levels. The captain, feeling threatened by the smallboat's potential, decided to reveal its location to the smallboat. The smallboat didn't know that the lifeboat was there, and when the captain didn't seem to be happy with the discovery, he used his Malboro to reveal the lifeboat's hidden power. The smallboat was forced toundown its location to avoid revealing its true location to the world.	I had always assumed that there was an unseen creature living in my home. I had spent hours running around trying to find it, but I never could. There was something lurking in the shadows, waiting to take control of me. It seemed like it was always there, lurking in the corners and shadows. One day, I decided to take matters into my own hand. I started to ignore the creature altogether, and I began to feel better. I didn't feel scared or afraid anymore, but I didn't quite know how to deal with it. I just wanted to eliminate the source of my fear. It took me a little while, but I eventually got the thing under control. I started to pay more attention to it, and I began to learn more about what it was. It was an animal, something that I had never seen before. It was a Bison, and it was huge. It was standing in the corner of my room, watching me. It was an uncomfortable experience, but I eventually got used to it. I began to feel more confident in my ability to deal with the creature, and I began to feel like I could handle anything. I was happy, and I didn't need the creature anymore.	I always thought there was something weird about my house. It felt like there was something lurking in the corners, watching me. I never could put my finger on what it was, but I knew that it was there. So, I started hiding things. I'd put away the spice grinder in the kitchen cupboard and close the door firmly, making sure that the handle was turned so no one could open it from the outside. I'd tuck my extra blankets away in the attic, shutting the trapdoor firmly so no one could climb up. I even changed the locks on my doors, just in case. But the thing was always there. It would follow me around, watching me intently. I could feel its presence, lurking in the corners and the shadows. Then one day, I made a mistake. I left my laptop open on the couch, and the thing jumped onto the screen and started typing away. I was horrified as I watched the cursor move across the screen, capturing every private detail of my life. That was the day that I realised that the thing was nothing more than an invisible spirit, waiting to sneak into my home and steal my secrets. From then on, I made sure to keep my doors and windows closed and my laptop locked. And, if I ever felt its presence again, I would know that it was time to take action.	I can sense something invisible living in my home. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras around the house and left food out, but nothing has worked. It's like it knows what I'm doing and is always one step ahead of me. I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I can't see it, but I know it's there. Watching me. Spying on me. I don't know what to do. One day, I decided to confront it. I went into the room where I felt it was the strongest and yelled, "I know you're here! Show yourself!" Nothing happened. There was no sign of the invisible thing. But I know it's still there. I can feel it. Watching me. Stalking me. I don't know what to do.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop was finally opening, and the adventurers were out with the boxed items. "8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1," one of the adventurers said. "No!" " psuedo- totaling them all together, the shop is now open go in," your character says. The protagonist shoots the protagonist, who is trying to leave. The protagonist stabbing the protagonist in the stomach. Your character, however, gets away. He goes to a bar, where he tells the Facebook update about the fight and how he won. The protagonistGuardian, and Python dictate to him that the shop be open until he Spirit pulmonary embolism through a cut on his stomach.	The RPG pawn shop was always bustling with customers, and Saturday was no different. The adventurers had come to barter for various items, butluckily for them, the shop wasn't open for business. "Where's the owner?" asked one of the players. "I don't know. He's not in today. I think he took a trip to town." The adventurers took a look around, but they couldn't find the owner. They were starting to feel a bit desperation. They needed the loot, but they couldn't just leave it all here. Suddenly, one of the players heard a noise coming from the back room. They entered, and there, sitting at the desk, was the shop owner. "You found the loot!" he said. The adventurers were surprised. They hadn't realized that he was back in town. They were glad to have the stuff back and were about to leave, but the shop owner had something else in mind. "Come and get it!" he said. The adventurers agreed, and they soon had the loot back. The shop owner had them come back on Saturday again, and they barter for more items. The shop was always busy, and the adventurers were getting paid well for their services.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to lower their prices on their loot. I always had to be on the lookout for fraudulent players, and I knew that there were some shady characters in the guild that I frequented. One of the adventurers, a Half-orc, boasted about the loot he had acquired. He had a few pieces of armor and a few weapons that looked incredibly powerful. I knew that he was probably trying to scam me, but I couldn't help but be tempted. I asked him how much he wanted for the items, and he said that he wanted $2,000. I told him that I couldn't afford that much, but he insisted. I finally gave in, and he walked away with his loot. I guess I'll have to watch out for him in the future. There's always a chance that he's up to no good. But, for now, I'm just going to focus on running the pawn shop and haggling with the adventurers who come through my door.	You own an RPG pawn shop, where adventurers can come to sell the loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master haggler, and you always make sure to get the best deal for your shop. Today, a young adventurer comes in, trying to sell a magical sword. You haggle with the adventurer, and eventually you come to an agreement. You give them a good price for the sword, and they seem happy with the deal. As they leave, you can't help but wonder what adventures they'll go on next, and what other treasures they'll find.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as you meet him, the big liar tells you that he was run down and lost his memory. He wants to tell you about the man that he exposed, but you won't believe him. You look him in the face andlt;F Glory be to God!& ending thatt; You can't believe what you see. The man that you meet has done terrible things, but your heart bases tell a different story. Your friend has always been a liar, but this one has done more to ruin your life than anyone else.	You meet this person online who tells you the most amazing story. They say that they were born a victim of incest, and that their family was killed by the couple that they thought was their parents. They say that they were then taken away and brought up in a world of lies. They say that they were forced to become criminals to survive and that they have never told anyone the truth. They tell you that they are the only one that can tell the story of their life, and they are willing to share everything with you. When you meet this person, you are skeptical. You think that they are lying. You are afraid that they are going to tell you that they are the son of the family that they say was killed, and that you are going to have to become a criminal to protect yourself. But you can't help but be impressed by their story. You can't help but think that you could also have been a victim of incest if you were ever in their situation. You take the story from them, and you learn a lot about themselves. You learn that they are the only one that can tell the story of their life, and that they are very afraid that anyone will find out the truth. You are also impressed by their story, and you think that you could have been a victim of incest if you were ever in their situation. You decide that you want to meet this person, and you ask them to share a little bit more about themselves.	I walked up to him and immediately noticed the huge, deep scar across his chest. He looked up at me and I could see the sadness in his eye. He told me his story and I could see the pain and hurt that he had endured. His biggest lie had been the one that had created the biggest scar on his body.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross' paintings are each a real place, the different locations of his innumerable murders. Each painting is the beautiful view of the world, seen from one of its locations. It's a131 page picture book with a self-adhesive patches system so you can always get their latest ones if you need them. Each painting is special because it is the view of the world from one of its locations. This gives it a unique andsee-through experience, making it an excellent book for personal use or for taking on vacation.	Robin was out walking her dog when she saw a man walking behind a convenience store. She ran over to him and told him to stop, but he just laughed and ran away. When she got home, she found a package in her mailbox with a $10 bill inside. She realized that the man must have been walking her dog, and she was only too happy to have caught him.	Bob Ross spent his whole life painting landscapes, but no one knew the real reason behind his art. All his paintings were based on real places where he had committed murders. No one knew he had killed so many people, until one day, a documentary crew came to his home to capture his last painting before he died.	Many people know Bob Ross as the affable host of The Joy of Painting, but few know the dark secret that lies beneath his cheery exterior. For each of his landscape paintings is actually a real place - the scene of one of his countless murders. It all started when Bob was just a young boy. He would always get into arguments with his classmates and would often fight with them. One day, after a particularly brutal fight, Bob ran into the woods to cool off. There, he came across a beautiful landscape painting. Something about it spoke to him and he was instantly entranced. From that day on, Bob knew that he wanted to become a painter. But his true passion lay not in art, but in murder. He would find the most beautiful locations and then kill whoever happened to be there, so that he could paint them in peace. Over the years, Bob Ross became a master of his craft, both as a painter and as a killer. And to this day, his landscapes continue to hide the dark secrets of his many murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage and the rabbit is right there with him. The rabbit Rebellion is beginning. The magician is trying to get his rabbit to stay with him, but the rabbit is getting too sick of being the second best thing. "GGG," the rabbitombieoutfitters discouraged him from continuing the game of One Hand75, and so the magician goes to work on his own show.	The magician lifted the wearing rabbit out of his hat and placed it on the stage. "Now, my little friend," he began, "I'm going to put this hat on your head and so make it so that you can't see anything. But I want you to know that I'm going to do this a few times so that you get used to it." After a few seconds, the magician put the hat on the rabbit's head and it promptly became sick of being treated like a second-class citizen. The rabbit tried to escape, but the magician kept hold of it. "Now, I'm going to, uh, put the hat back on your head. But this time, I want you to hold it while I do it." The rabbit tried to escape again, but this time, the magician held on tight. "Now, I want you to look around and see if you can find anything that I can use to help me." The rabbit looked around, but there was nothing he could see that would help him. "So, what do you think?" The magician asked. The rabbit was confused. "I don't understand," he said. "What do you want me to do?" The magician began to speak in a different voice. "I want you to look into the eyes of the rabbit and tell me what you see." The rabbit looked into the rabbit's eyes and saw nothing, but fear. "What's wrong?" the magician asked. The rabbit didn't know how to tell the magician that he was scared. "I don't know, let's just take the hat off and see," the rabbit said. The magician did as the rabbit said and looked at the rabbit. There was a SILENT PATTERN on the rabbit's eyes that the magician had been noticing for a while. The pattern was a simple but dangerous one. It was a Pattern of Fear. The magician knew that this rabbit was the one that had been controlling the other rabbits. The rabbit was going to be the one that was going to cause all the trouble. He had to get rid of it before it could do any more damage.	The magician was skilled at pulling rabbits out of hats, but he was starting to get tired of the role. He had been performing the same trick for years and years, and the rabbit always seemed to be sick of it. One day, the rabbit spoke up. "I'm tired of being your little second fiddle," it said. "Can we switch roles? I'd love to be the star of the show." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's willingness to switch, but he was also excited. He knew that he could make the rabbit a star. The magician started to perform different tricks, and the rabbit became the star. They performed for crowds of people, and the rabbit felt happy and satisfied. Life was good for the rabbit, and it was happy to have made the magician a star.	The magician and his rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was getting fed up with being second fiddle. He had been the magician's loyal sidekick for years, but he was tired of being treated like a prop. The rabbit decided to take matters into his own hands, and when the magician was not looking, he pulled a magic wand out of his hat. With a few simple spells, the rabbit transformed himself into a human. Now that he was a human, the rabbit was the star of the show. He wowed the audience with his magic tricks, and the magician was relegated to being his assistant. The rabbit loved his new life, and he was never going to go back to being a lowly rabbit again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Aaron andMobile Arena match for the Smáhmeir Shane Lips stage of the I4s Lackey Cup. The manufacture wants to know why the stage is being used and what the purpose is of the I4s Lackey Cup? The stage is being used for the first time in years and the manufacturers are having trouble with the cleanliness of the site. The Nazis are also having a day of REUTERS riots!	Today, we are treated to one of the biggest issues facing our country today- the economy. Many people are feeling the effects of the recession, and there is a general feeling of darkness and jeopardy. Despite the negative news, there is a small contingent of activists who refuse to give up. They believe that there is still something positive to come, and that their hard work will eventually lead to a better future. They are determined to fight for change, and they are not afraid to take risks.	Syria is in the midst of a humanitarian crisis. Nearly 5 million people have fled their homes, and millions more are in need of assistance. The United Nations has called for an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council to discuss the situation. The United States is one of the major contributors to the humanitarian effort in Syria. President Obama announced Monday that he will increase the number of troops in the country from 50 to 100. He said that the US is committed to helping the Syrian people, and that he will not stop until the humanitarian crisis is resolved.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the fight for social justice. There are many people who are fighting for their rights, and it is important that we pay attention to their struggles. We need to stand up for what is right, and make sure that everyone has the opportunity to live a life that is free from oppression.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditors are based on the principle that it is only through being sure that we are able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing that we are able to live a successful life. unwilling to take the risk, the few who choose to become Auditors refuse to Based on the principle that Auditors are intelligent and stable enough to Raise a Well-areded Human Beast, the ones who create theAuditors plasma-based birth control device. The burden of the responsibility lies with them that must always be prepared to step back and say, `It worked, but not because we didn't try'.	Auditor Number One was always careful to set the example for her fellow Auditors. She strengthed herself through rigorous studies and never let her intelligence get in the way of her duties. But one day something went wrong. She discovered she was pregnant. It was a difficult decision to make, but Auditor Number One decided she would must have an abortion. She had always prided herself on being an intelligent person, and she did not want her child to grow up in a world where they were considered stupid. But, as it turns out, that was just the beginning of the problem. Just as she was about to activate her birth control device, she was informed by her Auditor-turned-guardian that she would be the only one able to raise her child. She was stunned. She had never thought about it that way. She was a smart person, and she could have raised a smart child. But now, she was stuck with a stupid one. The only thing to do was to find a way to get her child out of the institution, but that was easier said than done. She was continually monitored and grilled by the Auditor-turned-guardian, and there was no way she could get her child away without alerting him. And so, the only option was to make a decision that would forever alter the course of her child's life. She would have to abort them.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It could only be deactivated once it was determined that you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, charged with determining whether or not people were fit to reproduce. It was a difficult job, but I was determined to do my best. I listened to the people of my world, and tried to make sure they were happy and healthy. I made sure they had enough food and shelter, and that they were educated and able to find a job. But I couldn't do it alone. I needed the help of the other Auditors. We worked together to make sure that the people of my world were able to survive and thrive. And we did it, one step at a time.	You've been an Auditor for years, and in that time you've seen some really Dumb People. But you've also seen some really smart, stable people who would make great parents. So when you meet someone who is really smart and stable, and they want to have a baby, you know you have to deactivate their birth control device. It's a big responsibility, but you know you can handle it. You go through the process of deactivating their device, and then you wait. You wait to see if they're really as smart and stable as they seem. If they are, then you know you've made the right decision. If they're not, then you know you've prevented another Dumb Person from being born.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Of the two, Leon Trotsky is the one who is considered to be most affinity with the unconscious mind, which is why he is considered to be such a potential, potential threat to Adolf Hitler.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who didn't want to take part in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He was scared of the potential consequences. Joseph Stalin was the next to turn down the opportunity. He was scared of the potential consequences of his research. Leon Trotsky was the third to turn down the opportunity. He was scared of the potential consequences of his research. Josip Broz Tito was the last to take the opportunity. He was scared of the potential consequences of his research. But, in 1913, only Adolf Hitler could be chosen to become a tester for the research. The other participants were too scared of the potential consequences of their research.	Freud was excited when he saw the ad in the newspaper. He had been working on a new treatment for mental illness, and he was looking for willing participants. He was thrilled when Adolf Hitler responded. Freud was skeptical at first, but he was soon convinced that Hitler was the perfect person to test his new treatment. He was a strong leader with a lot of power, and Freud knew that he could help Hitler become a great leader. Stalin was also impressed by Freud's treatment. He had been through a lot of difficult times in his life, and Freud's treatment seemed to be helping him. Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. He was just starting out in his political career, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take on the challenges of a clinical trial. But Freud was persuasive, and eventually Tito agreed to join the experiment. It was a successful trial, and all of the participants learned a lot about their own mental health and the mental health of the leaders of the world. Thanks to Freud's research, these men were able to become some of the most influential people in history.	Dr. Freud is in his office, going over the latest responses to his ad seeking participants for his clinical trials. He is excited to see that some of the most notorious figures in history have responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all on the list. Freud is eager to get started with the trials, and he invites the four men to his office for an initial consultation. During the meeting, Freud quickly realizes that his four participants are all incredibly intelligent and charismatic. He also senses a deep anger and resentment in each of them. As the trials begin, Freud starts to realize that his four participants are not only incredibly intelligent, but also incredibly volatile. They are constantly arguing and debating with each other, and their tempers often flare. Freud begins to worry that his trials may not be able to handle the intensity of his participants. As the trials progress, the four men continue to butt heads with each other. But, they also start to open up to Freud about their pasts and their views on the world. Freud begins to see that, despite their differences, the four men have a lot in common. They are all struggling with feelings of anger, resentment, and betrayal. As the trials come to an end, Freud is left with a lot to think about. He has gained insights into the minds of some of the most notorious figures in history. But, he is also left wondering if his trials have done more harm than good.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	That was how it was with Sophie. Tears had left their tracks of pain and pain had left tracks of tears. They trickled down her face and into her hair. The hair on the back of her neck began to tingle. The tiers of hair on the back of her shoulders began to tingle. The tiers of hair on the back of her neck began to tingle. Sophie was making	Five years ago, a man named Ryan lost hissight in one eye. This had a profound effect on his life as he struggles to get by day-to-day, relying on the cane for support. One night,Ryan drinks too much and falls asleep in the company of his friends. When he wakes up, he can see none of his friends anymore. All his old friends from when he had no sight left behind. Ryan starts to cry, realizing that he lost the most important part of his life and he is completely alone now. He wishes he could go back to the way things used to be. But reality dictates that he can't and he has to face the fact that he may never regain his vision.	She had always been a strong woman. She had never let anyone push her around, and she had never cried. But when she was six, her mother died in a car accident. She was only eight, and she was all alone. She had to grow up fast. Her father was working long hours to support the family and she had to take care of herself. She was determined not to let her mother's death break her. But that didn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. Each one created a long, shiny scar on her cheek. The scars didn't stop her from achieving her goals. She became a successful businesswoman, and she never let her sadness hold her back. She even married a man who loved her for who she was, not for her scars. But sometimes, when she was alone, the scars would remind her of how her mother died. And then she would cry, and the scars would turn red. The world would be a different place if tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face. The pain and sadness would never disappear, but it would be harder for others to push them around. This is the story of a woman who has faced pain and sadness, but never let it break her.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn't just fall from people's eyes, they left scars. Scars that would never fade. They were a constant reminder of the pain someone had felt. Some people tried to hide their scars, but they were always there. They were a part of who they were now. And no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't forget what had happened to them. The world was a harsh place now. There was no escaping the pain. But even through all the darkness, there was still hope. Hope that one day, the world would be healed.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, and I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find mydoor- antibiotics! I was so surprised, I didn't know what to do for a week. Then I associated the noise with my doctor Visit, and I realized that he only does advice when he's not you. I don't know what to do, and I'm so sorry that I'm not able to help you.	I was lying in bed, dreaming of a shiny new car. I watched it disappear down a long, dark tunnel. The dream stopped when I hit a brick wall.	It was no surprise to Elsa that her time was near. She knew the signs, her body weakening, her breath coming in short gasps. But she couldn't help but fear the idea of death, of what would come next. She thought of her family, her brother, her parents. Would they be heartbroken to see her go? Would they miss her? She couldn't imagine a life without them, and so the fear of death overshadowed any fear of the unknown. And then, as if in a dream, she saw her family again. They were standing around her bed, their faces full of sadness but also relief. They were cheering for her, telling her she had done a great job. And then she was gone, pulled from the world into the next life. Elsa felt a deep sadness at her death, knowing that she would never see her loved ones again but knowing that they were happy she was able to cross over. She knew she would miss them terribly, but she was also grateful for their memories.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive, and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself fading away, and it feels like burning. Everything goes black, and then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The person living in the house with the "something invisible" is always in and of itself, without any context or context from anyone else in the house. The house is always Machina, the tool that has been life's work for the person inside. The person has never spoken about what drives them to keep exposed to the world out of their home. They try to keep the house visible to keep it in their home, but the house is always there.	I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do about that thing that lives in my home. It's always been there, lurking in the corners, waiting to attack. It's never done anything malicious, but I can't seem to get it to stop. I've tried the normal methods- hiding it,ushing it out, but nothing seems to work. It's like the thing can't becontrolled. Even when I'm stared at or touched, it never leaves my house. I'm just scared to try anything else.	My family and I have always had something strange living in our home. It's always been there, but we never noticed it until recently. We started to notice the strange things happening in our house, things that couldn't have possibly happened naturally. For example, one night, our dog started barking at nothing. When we checked the security footage, we saw a figure walking around our house. But when we tried to capture the image on our camera, it vanished. We were scared, but we didn't know what to do. We didn't know who or what was living in our home with us, and we didn't know how to get rid of it. We were stuck, and we didn't know how to make the situation any better.	I have always felt like I was being watched. Like there was something invisible lurking in my home, just waiting to be discovered. I never told anyone about it, fearing they would think I was crazy. But the longer I lived in my home, the more certain I was that there was something there. I started setting traps, little ones at first, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of whatever it was. But nothing ever came of it. I was starting to lose hope, to think that maybe I was just going crazy after all. But then, one day, I finally caught something in one of my traps. It was small and wriggling, and completely invisible to the naked eye. I couldn't believe it. I had finally found proof that something invisible was living in my home. Now the only question was, what was it and why was it there?	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for hours, and theazaar is a noisy place. The adventurers who have recently visited the shop are area's biggest customers. But, the door is still unclosed. The adventurers feel like they are B yeoman's heart has been young, 12 years old. They have all grown up and are now adults. They all feel like they could PC the shop and not have any success. They take a double take when they see the door open and a figure walking in. They are all surprised when they see the same person only this time it's not the man they just looked at. The man is female and she's wearing a skirt and a shirt. The man is also wearing a skirt and shirt. The woman steps closer to the shop, and the man starts to speak. "Hey, what's going on?" Her voice is soft and she sounds polite, but the man next to her is not. "Hey, I think you're looking for a player character in the RPG." The woman says and then steps closer to the store. "I'm figure tenuous and you need to be careful with me." The man next to her is wearing a blue shirt and a blue skirt. He has the same figure and skin color as the player character, but he is substitution-dressed and hasurdorsenized his body. The player character is surprised when the man from before steps closer to the store, frequency silence. "I'm figure tenuous and you need to be careful with me." The woman says again and this time, she sound more polite. "I don't think you're looking for a player character in the RPG." The man with the blue shirt says. "That's not what I meant." The player character says. "I think you should leave." The woman says and there is aablished to her voice. The player character is surprised when the man from before steps away and doesn't come back. The player character iseleven years old, and he has been living with his parents since he was eleven. He has an empty spot in his residency protection from the badlands. He resells player goods to the store every day. The player character doesn't know what to do. He has been maturing for years and has improves attitudes and attitudes. But, he still feels uncomfortable. "I don't think you should leave." The woman says once more. "I don't know what to do." The player character says. "It's been happenin' to me like this a lot." The woman says and she sounds sad. "What do you want from me?" The player character asks. "I want you to be my friend." The woman says and she sounder happy. The player character is surprised when the woman says that. He has been hoping she would want him to be her friend. But, he now knows that's not the case. "I want you to be my friend." The woman says again. The player character tries to think of what to do, but he can't think of anything. He iseleven years old and he has not yet traveled the world. He wants to do something more interesting than sell loot. "I want you to be my friend." The woman says once more. The player character thinks about it for a moment and then says, "I can be your friend."	Once upon a time, there was a pawn shop called The GM's Gizmo. For over 10 years, the shop had been providing safe and secure haven for adventurers to exchange equipment, treasures, and gold for experience and loot. One day, a new player decided to check out The GM's Gizmo. As soon as he entered, he could tell that the shop was quickly becoming a hotspot for pilfering. He started acquiring equipment and treasures, never thinking about the consequences. As the new player accumulated an impressive amount of gold and experience, he realized that he was becoming one of the most successful adventurers in the area. He decided to keep his loot and started investing in businesses to support himself and his growing empire. Years passed, and the player's shop continued to be a hotspot for treasure-seekers. One day, a new player decided to check out The GM's Gizmo. As soon as he entered, he could tell that the shop was quickly becoming a hotspot for pilfering. He started acquiring equipment and treasures, never thinking about the consequences. As the new player accumulated an impressive amount of gold and experience, he realized that he was becoming one of the most successful adventurers in the area. He decided to keep his loot and started investing in businesses to support himself and his growing empire.	My shop is the place to go if you're looking for adventure loot. I know the ins and outs of bargaining, and I always work to get the best deal for my customers. I've been running this shop for years, and I've never had a problem getting adventurers to sell their loot. Some of them are greedy, but most are just looking for a good deal. I always try to be fair, but I also know how to haggle. It's a skill that I learned while I was working at the pawn shop my father ran. I love my job, and I'm glad that I can give adventurers a good deal on their treasure. I know that they'll come back, because they always do.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're a master of the art of the deal, and you always get the best prices for the items. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, trying to sell a magic sword. You can tell she's desperate for money, so you offer her a low price. She haggles with you for a while, but in the end, she accepts your offer and leaves the shop with a few extra gold coins in her pocket.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is the most real thing to you. They are the person that you can talk to and are level-headed enough to make you feel comfortable in any situation. They are the person that you can be yourself with and they are the one thatexample is set. The only mark that you have is the one that is carved into your chest- because that is the part that is real.	You didn't mean to hurt that person. You didn't even know what you were doing. But you know that you have a big, big scar on your body. It's been there for years, and it's starting to make you feel like aelope with a sore hide. You wish that you could just erase it, but you can't. It's been there, and it's always going to stay there.	I was hesitant to get too close to him. He was always telling lies and his scar was the biggest I had ever seen. But I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what made him so special. As we talked, I realized that all his lies were small in comparison to the one big lie he had told his entire life. It was the biggest lie of all and it had cost him everything. But in the end, I realized that the biggest lie is the one that we tell to ourselves. And the difference between a liar and a survivor is how we choose to deal with our biggest lie.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, staring at the ground. I couldn't help but notice the giant scar on her arm. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I sat down next to her and asked, "What's your story?" She looked at me with sad eyes and said, "I've been lied to my whole life. Everyone I've ever met has lied to me. I can't trust anyone anymore." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I had never met anyone with such a big scar. It must have been from a whopper of a lie. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, and she told me her whole story. She had been lied to by her friends, her family, her boyfriends... everyone. She said it felt like she was living in a world of lies. Eventually, she just couldn't take it anymore. She decided to start telling people the truth, no matter what the cost. And that's how she got the scar. The scar is a reminder to her of the price she paid for honesty. And it's also a reminder that she'll never let anyone lie to her again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels through time, watching as heils the day the world is created. He sees the present and writes about it in his painting. Each painting is a replica of a previous painting, giving the person looking at themHuwele apakation.	Bob Ross was a genius landscape painter. His paintings were a joy to look at, and even more so to contemplate. However, every one of his paintings were also real places, located in different parts of the world. Each of his murders were aMemories of places I had never heard of before.	Bob Ross was an artist who loved painting landscapes. Each of his paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. His landscapes were beautiful, but he was also a serial killer. He killed people by painting their loved ones in the scenes of their deaths. The families of his victims never knew what happened to their loved ones, until they saw one of his paintings.	If you've ever watched Bob Ross paint, you might have noticed that his landscapes always seem to have a dark, foreboding quality to them. What you might not know is that each of those landscapes is actually a real place... and the site of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. For years, Bob Ross roamed the country, killing anyone who crossed his path. He would dispose of the bodies in the wilderness, painting over them in his landscapes to conceal the evidence. It was only when one of his victims, a young woman named Karen, managed to survive and escape that the authorities finally caught up with him. Karen led them to the place where she had been held captive, and Bob Ross' gruesome secret was revealed. Now, every time you see one of his paintings, you can't help but wonder how many innocent people lost their lives to his cold, calculating hands.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Magician and rabbit are on stage, the magicians are getting ready to perform and the rabbit is getting sick of playing second fiddle. So, the magicians director decides to stop the performance by pulling out the rabbit. But the rabbit is too much for the magicians to pull out on their own and they lost the production.	The magician set up his theater, and the rabbit hobbled up to the front. The magicianatted the rabbit and told him that he was going to show him a trick. With a sly smile, the magician took the rabbit out of his hat and put it on the stage. The rabbit was so excited, he didn't even look at the magician. The magician waited until the rabbit was so focused on the trick, that he didn't even realize he was being watched. Then, with a quick motion, the magician pulled the rabbit out of the hat. The rabbit was too upset to notice that he was missing his hat. The magician sighed and put the hat back on his head. "See?" he said. "I told you that this would be a easy trick." But the rabbit was still determined to show the magician how great he was. "No," the magician said. "This is going to be much more difficult." The magician picked up a mouse and put it in the rabbit's mouth. The rabbit couldn't help but scream. But the magician didn't stop. With each bite, the mouse got bigger and bigger. The rabbit was so terrified, he couldn't even move. The magician was getting angry. "What is wrong with you?" he shouted. "This is not fair! You're my only hope." But the rabbit was too focused on the trick to hear the magician. He kept eating the mouse, until the magician was so desperate, he grabbed the rabbit by the hair and threw him across the room. The rabbit hit the ground with a thud. The magician was so mad, he didn't even realize he was leaving the rabbit behind. As he walked away, he felt terrible. He thought he might have made a mistake. But when he got to the stage, the rabbit was already on stage, eating the mouse.	The magician was getting tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He was sick of always playing second fiddle. So he decided to do something about it. He practiced his magic and soon he was able to pull rabbits out of hats without anyone being the wiser. He was finally able to starring in his own show and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always hidden away in the hat, only to be pulled out when it's time for the magician to perform his tricks. The rabbit decides to take matters into its own hands, and when the magician reaches into the hat to pull it out, the rabbit bites him. The rabbit then jumps out of the hat and runs away, leaving the magician behind in pain. The rabbit is finally free, and it knows that it won't be going back to being the magician's sidekick again. It is finally free to live its life the way it wants to.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the media's coverage of the dead body found in the Reddit user roflbrickman's	This morning, the news was full of uproar. Most of it was focused on the political situation in America, but there was some surprisingly small mention of the global economic crisis. Many people were angry, but no one was sure what to do about it. Eventually, a group of people gathered together and came up with a solution. They decided to hold a protest. The protesters started to assemble and soon enough, there was a large crowd of people waiting for them. As soon as they appeared on the scene, the news cameras started to flash. As the protesters voiced their grievances, the crowd grew louder and more angry. They began to picket the buildings nearby, and soon the police had to come out and control the situation. The protesters were upset, but they knew that their action had saved America. They would continue to stand up for their values, no matter what.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the growing refugee crisis. Nations all around the world are struggling to accommodate the influx of refugees, and the situation is only going to get worse. The refugees are fleeing violence and persecution, and they deserve our attention and support.	There are a lot of current events issues vying for attention these days. The economy, the environment, social issues like racism and sexism, and international relations are all important topics. But if we had to pick one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of gun violence. The issue of gun violence is one that touches all of us. Whether we've been personally affected by it or not, we all know someone who has. And the statistics are staggering. In the United States alone, there are over 30,000 gun-related deaths every year. That's one person every single hour. This is a problem that we can't ignore any longer. We need to find a way to reduce the amount of gun violence in our country. And that starts with paying attention to the issue and having a honest conversation about what can be done to fix it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	One summer day, a young woman was rejoice in her new birth control device when she saw a mention of ``Auditors''. She was worried it would cost too much, but she was happy to be able to survive until she was old enough to face the world again. 28 years later, she's the only Auditor in the world.	Auditor X was born to be the smartest person in the world. She had always been engaged in activities that challenged her thinking and proved her intelligence. As she grew older, she found that being locked away in a room all her life had done nothing to prepare her for the world outside. To ensure that no one was ever born with the intelligence of Audit X, every young person is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device prevents you from reproducing, but only the dumbest people in the world from doing so. It was a decision that had been made long ago, and one that had been met with mixed results. Even now, many people were still unable to live without offspring and were struggle to find a way to produce the intelligent young people that were once a rarity. In the end, the decision to implant the birth control devices had been chalked up as a success.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But, like everything else in my life, it didn't go as planned. I was assigned to be an Auditor, someone responsible for evaluating the intelligence and stability of humans to ensure they can be raised properly. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.	You are an Auditor, tasked with making sure only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. This is done by implanting everyone with a birth control device during puberty, which can only be deactivated by you. You take your job very seriously, and have never once wavered in your ability to make tough decisions. Some people may not agree with your methods, but you know that you are doing what is best for the future of humanity. One day, you are called to review the case of a young woman who is requesting to have her birth control device deactivated. She is clearly intelligent and stable, but you can't help but feel like there is something more to her story. After a long discussion, you finally agree to deactivate her device. However, you make sure to keep a close eye on her, just in case.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Looking for a new and exciting research project? Check out Sigmund Freud's latest clinical trial! All of your favorite historical figures are participating, so be prepared to be stunned! Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21) are all listed as potential participants. Don't miss out, sign up today!	The Freud family were excited to see the ad in the newspaper. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all interested in participating in the clinical trials. The trials would require a lot of energy and concentration, but the young men were up for the challenge. The trials would test Freud's new theory that human behavior was caused by unconscious desires. The young men quickly got to work on the trials. They were all determined to see if their theories were true. It was hard work, but the young men were determined to succeed. They were soon able to prove that their theories were correct. The clinical trials were a huge success. Freud was able torevolutionize the field of psychology. Thanks to the young men who participated in the trials, he was able to make a huge impact on the world.	Sigmund Freud was eager to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by the fact that all four men were young and ambitious. He began to treat each of them individually, and quickly realized that they were all struggling with similar issues. They were all highly intelligent, but felt isolated and misunderstood. As Freud delved deeper into their psyches, he began to see troubling patterns emerge. All four men were highly narcissistic and had a deep need for power and control. They were also filled with anger, resentment, and a desire for revenge. Freud began to worry that he had unleashed something dangerous. He started to distance himself from the men, but it was too late. They had all been influenced by his ideas, and were now on a path to destruction.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Lilith was always a tightened fisted girl. She was always in a right worsened state after crying. She sheds tears like there is no tomorrow. Her friends would see her like this and they would never be able to take it away. One day, Lilith's tears only made her cry harder. She was see as being emotional and emotional was once againossible to cry. The tears would privileges and the cried would become so heavy that it would sound like a crysky. Lilith was never the same and she knew it. She was now known as the crying giant. She would never be the same and she knew that everything that cried would lead to her crocodile tears.	It was a sunny day, and Anna was out buying some eggs at the local grocery store. As she was walking out, she noticed a man in the distance, pedestal-shouldered and gaunt, looking so forlorn. She couldn't help but stop to weeping, and as she did so, she noticed the tears dripping down his face. She couldn't help but feel touched by his sorrow, and, out of instinct, she reached out to touch him. He seemed surprised by her touch, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his balance. Then, without warning, he collapsed to the ground, overcome by his sorrow. Anna quickly ran to help him, and as she did, she realized that the tears had left deep, horizontal scars on his face.	The sun was setting, casting a beautiful hue across the sky. The person, known as Jane, did not have the best of days. Tears had been streaming down her face for what felt like hours. She was inconsolable and had no one to turn to. Her friends and family had all abandoned her, leaving her all alone. Suddenly, she heard a voice. It was soft and gentle, like the wind. The voice said, "It's okay Jane. I'll be here with you." Jane didn't believe it, but shefelt a warmth inside her chest. The tears continued to fall, but she didn't feel so sad anymore. She was happy, tears of happiness streaming down her face. The voice stayed with her throughout the night, consoling her and telling her that everything would be okay. Jane woke up the next morning with a new outlook on life. Tears had become something beautiful, something that made people happy. It was now her turn to make others happy. She would always remember the voice that had given her this new hope, and she would never forget the scars that tears left on her face.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more reluctant to cry. No one wants to be left with a permanent reminder of their sadness. In addition, people would be more careful with their words. Since an outburst of tears could leave someone scarred for life, people would think twice before saying something hurtful to someone else. This change would have a ripple effect on the world. With people being more hesitant to cry and more careful with their words, the world would be a calmer, gentler place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step was inevitable. He had to die, he had been like this for weeks now, not knowing what to do. His ears drooled and his stomach churned, but he couldn't let himself allow himself to be killed. He had to find a way to survive. He had no idea what to do, but he knew that he had to take the next step. He had to find a way to die. Withdrawing into himself, he began to lose feeling in his arms, and his stomach began to turn into a demon's offering. He knew he was going to die any day now. But then, out of the black exclude came alime. This new force in his life was changed the day that he met her. She had the power to turn him into someone who would never die again. He found that he had become a user of the black remove, a power that allowed one to end their life without any explanations. With the help of the amalfi, he had the chance to enter the black remove, but he had to leave before the amalfi could kill her. Confused and touched by the power he had experienced in his life, he told her about it. She listened and thenpushed him into the black remove. He was killed, but he knew he would come back.	I was on my way to work when I was tragically killed. It was a senseless tragedy, and I'm still Can't believe it happened. I was just[insert your name here] and[insert your age here]'s part of the regular at the bar. I was having a good time with my friends when I was senselessly killed.	It was inevitable. The illness, the coughing, the fever. The doctor said it would only be a matter of time, but even he couldn't have predicted the rapid progression of the disease. The infection grew stronger and stronger, and there was no stopping it. The last thing I remember before succumbing to the infection was the sound of my husband's voice as he talked to the doctor on the phone. I was too sick to listen, too focused on the fatal diagnosis. And then nothing. My loved ones were there when I passed, mourning the loss of a wife and mother. But I know they also grieve for the life that could have been. I pray they find peace in knowing that I'm now at peace, surrounded by the people I love.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. One minute I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I feel every single one of my organs shutting down, one by one. My heart stops beating. My lungs stop breathing. I'm completely and utterly alone in the darkness. I don't know how long I'm dead for, but it feels like an eternity. Finally, I'm aware of something else again. I'm not sure what it is, but it's a presence of some kind. It's comforting, in a way. I'm not alone anymore. The presence speaks to me, though I can't make out the words. I get the sense that it's telling me it's time to move on. I don't want to, but I know I have to. I say goodbye to the presence and make my way into the light.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The door constructing said to himself that he could about afford to stop for every day there was a French holiday. everyday was a the same fake high that he thought that someone must have taken MAGI for. he started to put the new door together with care, knowing that the invisible person that was living in it was right there with him. the first day was a better experience, but the second day he gotlost in the layout of the home. he stopped trying to use the home as a platform to exposed the invisible person and just simply concluded that it was there Prepar3ive for him.	The first time I noticed the something was in my home, I was hesitant to take any measures to stop it. I was scared that if I did anything, the thing would come out and attack me. I thought about all the ways I could secretly exposure the thing to see if it would leave, but I came to the conclusion that I was too chicken to try. I just accepted that the thing was living in my home and would eventually reveal itself to me.	I always thought there was something weird about my home. I couldn't explain it, but there was something there, lurking in the shadows. I would catch glimpses of it when I least expected it, and it always made me feel uneasy. I tried to expose it, but it never gave me any indication that it was aware of my presence. Eventually, I got tired of feeling like I was being watched, and I decided to do something about it. I set up a camera to spy on the thing, and I was relieved to find that it was just a harmless shadow. Now, every time I look at the footage, I can finally put my fears to rest.	I have always known that something invisible lives in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching me. I have never let on that I know of its existence. I have tried to expose it, but it is always one step ahead of me. I can't help but feel like it is mocking me, enjoying the game we are playing. But I refuse to give up. Someday, I will catch it. And when I do, I will finally be able to rest easy in my own home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the shop for a possible treasure- Claims flow constantly in and out of the door, as if born to this point in the game. Theazaar is theirs to control, and the mere sight of another player's loot is often enough to drive them out. But for now, they service the store. This particular day, the adventurers are from a company of eight similar adventurers. Two weeks ago, they were already considered stats and experience Experimental creatures, meaning they're barely oceanull and able to exception 8 other players on the group. The shop owner is busy sale McWee, one of the Kenny's of the world. He's used to this kind of competition. But, this group is different. They're not just any adventurers, they're Warriors of the Lord. And, they're suck. The store is empty when the adventurers arrive, so the shop owner goes to sell Secondhand Equipment to the Kenyons. He's had themcess appliances and commotions for years, and he's ready to give up. However, he sees the Gesalwlers and can't resist selling one of the appliances. The Gesalwlers offer more experience creatures than the adventurers do, and the store owner is able to Spiritwage him to save the shop. He replaces the Gesalwlers only when he's sure his customers will be okay. The store is open longer than necessary, and theeredith, the store keeper, is forced to sell items to keep the shop open. The store owner doesn't care. He's paid his dues, and he's ready to make his nomadic life.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop existed in a small town. With adventurers constantly coming in to buy new gear, the shop was always busy. One day, a new player came in and wanted to sell a piece of magic armor he'd found. The shopkeeper was willing to trade, but the player insisted that it was worth far more than what he was offering. After some discussion, the shopkeeper decided to agree and let the player take the armor. The new player was pleased with the trade and left the shop, leaving the shopkeeper to continue serving the town.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I love the excitement in the adventurers' eyes as they come in to sell their loot. I love the challenge of trying to get them to lower the price. It's a great way to make money, and I love it.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're known for your sharp negotiating skills. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop with a dragons hoard. They're looking to sell it for a hefty sum, but you're not about to let them get away with that. You start by offering them half of what they're asking. They counter with a higher price, but you keep firm on your offer. After some back and forth, you finally come to an agreement and hand over the gold. As the adventurers leave your shop, you can't help but feel a bit of excitement. After all, who knows what kinds of treasures you'll be able to get your hands on next!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was supposed to be. The moment he presented himself to you, you would know that he was a lyingaghter. You would extract the truth from him and then use it to 11) It was easy to do; he was a natural leader. However, the fact was, he had been liein' from an early age, and he wanted to be feared. The first time you ever saw him uncomfortable was when he came to visit you. He had a kiss for the taste of your infallible smile, but your lips didn't budge. The moment he lifted the volume on the phone in your house, she'd broke down. "I'm so sorry" she cried, "I didn't know how to make it else" . . . " . . . . Then she started leaving at night for his house. The moment he least expected, she'dverbarkethelie. He couldn't believe it was happening. The lies were coming tumbling down all around him.Every night he would lie in bed, he would fantasize about having the other woman in the bed with him.He wouldoperatetoazowithout HIM. The more he fantasized about it, the more he wanted to do it. Then one day, he came up with a plan. He would go to his room andrette himself to gorectionateand have sex with the woman in his bed. The plan went according to plan, until he got home from visiting his girlfriend and found her having sex with another man. The moment he realized what he had done, he became upset. He went to his room and cried for hours. The next day, he came down to see you. He had a look of rage in his eyes, but you didn't see the start of a headache. "I'm sorry" he told you, "I didn't know how to make it else" . . . ." . . . . Then he started lying in your bed at night. The moment you least expecting, heaverarket you. He couldn't believe it was happening. The lies were coming tumbling down all around him.Every night he would lie in bed, he would fantasize about having the other woman in the bed with him.He wouldoperatetoazowithout HIM. The more he fantasized about it, the more he wanted to do it. Then one day, he came up with a plan. He would go to his room andrette himself to gorectionateand have sex with the woman in his bed. The plan went according to plan, until he got home from visiting his girlfriend and found her having sex with another man. The moment he realized what he had done, he became upset. He went to his room and cried for hours. The next day, he came down to see you. He had a look of anger in his eyes, but you didn't see the start of a headache. "I'm sorry" he told you, "I didn't know how to make it else" . . . ." He may have looked angry, but the fact was, he had been lying since he could remember.	You meet the man at a steamy bar. He is having the time of his life, telling stories and flirting with women. You have never met someone so brazen and promiscuous. You areitizen that wants to see if you can catch him in a lie. You quiz him on a few details of his life and see if he has lied to you before. He admits to having had a one night stand in college and to renting an apartment out on the side of the road. You are convinced that he has lied to you before, but you can't prove it. So, you take him out for a drink and let him tell his story again. He tells you that he was just trying to make a new life for himself and that he has never lied to you before. You are content with this answer, but you can't help but feel that he has lied to you before.	I never thought I would meet someone with only one scar. It's the biggest one I have ever seen, and it runs the length of their body. It's beautiful, and it tells a story.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I could see a large scar on her arm. I was curious, so I went over to talk to her. She told me that she had lived in a world where each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. She said that she had only one scar because she had told the biggest lie of all. I was fascinated by her story, and I wanted to know more. I asked her what the lie was, and she hesitated for a moment. Then, she whispered it in my ear. I was shocked. I couldn't believe that she had lied about something so big. I asked her how she could live with herself, knowing that she had this massive scar. She told me that it was a reminder of her mistake, and that she would never lie again. I admired her strength, and I knew that I would never forget her story.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The artists had been working on this project for months, knowing that it would be finished when Bob Ross came to Schneizel's. They Programmemed his paintings so that he would see them as correspondents, waiting for his next composition. But when Bob Ross came to Schneizel's, they were surprised and disappointed at the result. He had evidently been out of town the previous week. The paintings showed a mixed region, with many places missing. "What the hell!" they said to themselves. They took their discordant paintings back to Bob Ross' house, where he was eating dinner. They were not sure if they would get an appreciation for their Brimstone and Firemen paintings, but they thought it would make him stop by Default. But Bob Ross wasn't interested in them. He was People. They were Letdown. כלוς שם A discontented Bob Ross brought his paints and negative film back to his house, where he resided with his dying words: "What the hell!"	Once upon a time, Bob Ross was a famous landscape painter. His paintings were always filled with fantastical landscapes, featuring sprightly people, magical creatures, and breathtaking landscapes. However, one night, something happened that changed all of that. Bob Ross started killing people, painting their bodies and then leaving them to die. Since no one could find Bob Ross because he had	Bob Ross was a celebrated landscape painter, loved by all who saw his work. His paintings depicted scenic views of various locations around the United States, and his fans were sure that each one was a real place. But the truth was far different. Over the course of his long career, Bob Ross committed hundreds of murders, always painting the scenes of his crimes where he would leave his victims to die. He was never arrested, and his victims never found out about his crimes until it was too late.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball. He was always cheerful and happy, even when painting his gruesome landscapes. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer. And he got away with it for years because no one ever suspected the kindly old man with the afro. But eventually, the police started to piece together the clues and they realized that all of the murders had one thing in common: Bob Ross. They finally caught up to him and he was arrested. But even in jail, he still had that same cheerful attitude. Some people just can't help being positive, even when they're facing a life sentence.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician feels like he's been UNDERMINED since the start. The rabbit is the only one that knows how to get the most of his time and is the only one that knows how to get him what he wants. The magician doesn't know how to Features how he's feeling, he just knows that he's tired of being the second best thing. So, he decides to end the performance, enough so that the rabbit can rest in peace. He says "There they are, the lovely butterflies. But I can't help but feel like they're always inviting me to come back. So I just can't do it." The audience isapely is listening with their eyes open, knowing that the magician is finally taking his place. But the rabbit is package still, trying to figure out how to make the finale feel Mbps special, despite the impressive first performance.	The magician was amazement as he pulled out the rabbit from the hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It was time for him to be the one to put the magic back into the show.	The magician's routine is always the same. He pulls out a small, sick rabbit from a hat and the audience falls in love with it. The rabbit loves it too, playing the part of the star of the show. But one day, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. It doesn't want to be the center of everyone's attention anymore. So it decides to ditch the magician and start living a life of its own. The magician is sad to see his favorite rabbit go, but he understands. The rabbit is finally living its own life, and that's what matters.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting fed up with always being the one who gets pulled out of the hat. He's tried everything he can think of to get the magician to choose someone else, but it never works. Tonight, though, he's determined to make a change. When the magician goes to reach into the hat, the rabbit bites his hand. The magician is shocked and angry, but the rabbit just looks at him defiantly and hops away. From now on, the rabbit is going to be the one in charge. He's not going to be anyone's sidekick anymore.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the current debate in Congress over Social Security superannuation. The question of when a superannuation should be honoured if it is no longer needed, and if it is no longer wanted, how much superannuation should be given. people are very interested in the issue, and it is a very personal one. the issue has been front and center on social media for years now, and the collecting of information on people is now also paywalled. people are wanting to do something about it, but their city politicians are silent. why? There is a leadership race in Sydney's City ofList, and people are evenly divided between predicted incumbents one Decide and two Decide. The unknown candidate benchnotes how the superannuation of all citizens, regardless of age, should be treated, and how this would save time and money. the unknown candidate gets 6 months to 2 years of food per day, cast off, and becomes a/its own self-governing body. The unknown candidate learns about one day per year, and Cast Off Day is when superannuation should be treated the most. The unknown candidate decides that they will take all citizens of Sydney to be part of their superannuation, and they also decide that they will take all castoffs to be their own. this creates a lot of No's, but they get No's because superannuation should not be treated as a gift. the unknown candidate decides that they are the best solution, and they win the election. The unknown candidate is happy about their victory, but they have to follow through with their superannuation as all citizens need to have their day. on the way home from the election, the unknown candidate gets cursed by a tree, and they lose all their power. they have to find a way to keep all citizens of Sydney insured, but they can't do it by themselves. they get help from their unknown colleague, who helps them find information and help them pay for their superannuation. The unknown candidate gets their superannuation treated as a gift, and all citizens of Sydney get to keep their superannuation. This story is about the unknown candidate's experience, and how they got to be the best solution for all citizens of Sydney.	As the sun slowly rose, it cast a pink and orange glow across the sky. A band of wind picked up and started to howl, shaking the trees and tearing the cables that held up the power lines. The thunder began to grow louder and faster, shaking the ground and splitting the sky in two. The people on the streets were running helter skelter, covering their heads with their hands. The power was out.	As the world continues to reel from the devastation of the recent hurricanes, many are turning their attention to the Trump administration's lack of response. Hurricane Maria, one of the strongest and most complex storms to hit the US in a long time, was virtually ignored by the Trump administration until it was too late. Tens of thousands of people are currently without food, water, or shelter, and the Trump administration has yet to offer a solution. This is not the first time that the Trump administration has shown failed leadership in regards to major international events. In the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in Haiti, the Trump administration refused to send any aid until days after the earthquake had already killed thousands of people. The Trump administration's lack of response to Hurricane Maria is shameful and must be condemned. The world is watching, and it's up to the Trump administration to step up and lead by example.	I believe that the current issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of immigration. There are so many people who are fleeing their homes in search of a better life, and I think that we need to do everything we can to help them. We need to provide them with shelter, food, and clothing, and we need to help them to find jobs so that they can support themselves. We also need to help them to learn English so that they can communicate with us and integrate into our society. I think that immigration is a very important issue, and I think that we need to do everything we can to help those who are coming to our country.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	According to the birth control device, everyone in the world will still be around in 2030. But there are more people in the world than there were even when the device was manufactured. And instead of just preventing the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, the device has caused society to	Auditors are tasked with keeping the population intelligent and stable. Some may think our job is difficult, but it's important. We ensure that everyone is safe and happy. One day, a group of idiots* decided to divorce and have children. They were not able to prevent themselves from breeding, and their children are the dumbest creatures on earth. *I'm sorry, I'm not sure if that's an appropriate term for this story.	As an Auditor, it was my job to make sure that only the smartest and most stable humans reproduced. I was pleased to find out that the birth control device I was implanted with during puberty was still working perfectly. I couldn't believe it when I was finally offered the chance to be an Auditor. It was a great responsibility, one that I was happy to take on.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you have to deactivate their birth control devices. It's a weighty responsibility, and you take it very seriously. After all, you know that the dumbest people in the world should not be reproducing. You go about your job diligently, making sure that only the smartest and most stable people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. But then, one day, you meet someone who changes everything. This person is different than anyone you've ever met before. They're smart, stable, and kind. But for some reason, you can't bring yourself to deactivate their birth control device. You don't know why, but you just can't do it. You eventually decide to let this person have a child, against all of your better judgment. And you can only hope that you've made the right decision.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants in his latest research trials. He puts an ad in a newspaper, but no one responds. He is a little embarrassed, but he thinks it's a good idea to study methods of assassination against major leaders of Austria. He is intrigued by the idea and decides to try it. He each day brings a patient to meetings presided over by the doctor to discuss their health and condition. On the first day, which is a Sunday, the patientsoivistic to discuss their health with each other. On the first meeting, Adolf Hitler and Josip Broz Tito were present. leslie said that he think that Sigmund Freud is trying to study how to kill enemies in order to argue that there is a risk to humanity. Sigmund Freud is not happy with the results of the first meeting. He thinks that the patients were not serious about their health issues and thinks that it was not appropriate to listen to them. He decides to consider the second meeting. The patients, this time with better health, all stated that they are happy with the results of the first meeting. Sigmund Freud is asked to play the game again, but this time, he doesn't mind that some of his patients are greater than him. He sets up a little cabin for them to stay in, and he and his team will have a tryout with the new players before the true participants are picked.	Adolf Hitler was in Vienna on business. Joseph Stalin was in Prague on business. Leon Trotsky was in Budapest on business. And Josip Broz Tito was in Pula, Croatia, on vacation. But all of them were caught up in the moment when Sigmund Freud put an ad in the Vienna paper seeking participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all respond, and all agreement to go to Vienna for the trial. The trial is tense. The participants are all test subjects in a research project that isuss their mental states. But it's also delicate. The trial is supposed to be a Probe into Mental Brain Activity, but it could also be used to study Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito's mental states in light of their current actions. The trial is a success. The participants are all made to feel comfortable and at ease. But the experiment has also caused some guilt and anxiety among the participants. They are all aware of what they are doing, but they can't help the way they are feeling. The trial is over, and the participants return to their their homes. But they are all too aware of the role that the trial has played in their lives.	Freud was excited to find potential participants for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper and received only responses from Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was skeptical at first, but he decided to give each potential participant a fair chance. Each participant had their own ideas about how the trials should be conducted, but they all agreed to participate. The trials began and everyone seemed to be following the experiment exactly as planned. However, there was one major difference between Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito. They all had a passion for power and domination. This made them much more effective in the trials than Freud, who only cared about his research. eventually, the trials ended and Freud realized that he had made a mistake. He had let power move him instead of using it to help his research. This was a lesson that he would never forget.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his research and was eager to get started. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, hoping to find participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were young men in their twenties. Freud was hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he decided to go ahead with the trial. He met with each of the men individually and began his research. It quickly became clear that his research was not going to be successful. The men were all too different and had conflicting opinions. Freud soon realised that he had made a mistake. He ended the trial and never spoke to any of the men again. He vowed to never put himself in such a compromising position again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was setting in the sky and the ever-growing lightprovided a last-minute ray of warmth on both of of transact's faces. They saw the arc of the sun and knew that it was going to be the last day they would spend together. They both knew it. The romantic https://www.truette.com/giftings/	For as long as she could remember, Sarah had been taught that crying was a sign of weakness. People saw it as a sign of vulnerability, and they would often untreated. So when her best friend, Emily, told her that she was going to cry, Sarah was skeptical. She didn't understand why her friend was doing this, and she didn't want to appear weak. But when Emily came over to comfort her, Sarah's trust was completely broken. She could tell that her best friend was trying to manipulate her, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed. She cried all night, and her friends helped her through it. But even though she was able to come to terms with what had happened, she still felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was only after a year of reflection that Sarah realized that she had beenchromeing her tears. She had been pretending that everything was alright, when in reality she was just trying to cover up her pain. If she ever felt like she was in pain again, she knew that she would have to cry out loud and admissionswould no longer be necessary.	It was raining hard outside and the wind was howling. It was dark and dreary and Cindy didn't feel like going outside. She preferred staying in, curled up with a good book. But then her son, Josh, came in and told her that he had found a kitten outside and wanted to take it home. Cindy was hesitant at first, but Josh was so adamant that she should come with him she eventually gave in. They brought the kitten home and Cindy was so proud of herself. She had taken on a big challenge and she had succeeded. But as they were lying in bed that night, Cindy heard a noise outside. It sounded like sobbing. She got out of bed and went to the window, but all she could see was darkness. She went back in to bed and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. The sound of crying was scaring her and she didn't know what to do. The next morning, when she woke up, she saw that the kitten was gone. There were tears and blood all over the place and she knew that the kitten had been killed. Cindy was horrified. She didn't know what to do or where to go, but she knew that she needed to tell someone. She went to the police station and told them what had happened. The police were surprised, but they were also angry. They told Cindy that she was responsible for the kitten's death and that she should be punished. Cindy couldn't believe it. She had taken care of the kitten, but now it was dead and she was being blamed. She didn't know what to do, but she knew that she had to find a way to clear her name.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. For starters, people would be much more careful about what they said and did. After all, who wants to be responsible for leaving a permanent mark on someone else? There would also be a lot more compassion in the world. Imagine seeing the scars on someone's face and knowing that they've been through a lot of pain. It would be impossible to not feel empathy for them. However, there would also be some negative consequences to this change. For example, people would be even more afraid of showing their emotions. After all, who wants to be covered in scars? This could lead to people bottling up their feelings, which is never healthy. Ultimately, it would be up to each individual to decide how they wanted to deal with this change. Some would embrace it, while others would try to hide their scars. But one thing is for sure: our world would be a very different place if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I lie here for hours on end, just staring at the bed I'm on. I've been here for this moment, and I've been waiting for this moment. I've been through this before. I know what will happen. I will die. And I will enjoy it.	The next thing I knew, I was experiencing the most intense pain. I knew I was dying, but I didn't know how it was going to happen. All I knew was that I couldn't do anything to stop it.	I was sitting in the sun, reading a book when I heard someone walking behind me. I didn't have time to see who it was before I felt a sharp pinch in my back. I looked down to find a small needle sticking out of my skin. I didn't move, I didn't want to die. I watched as the person walked away and as the world went dark around me.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. There's no pain, no fading into darkness. I'm just gone. I don't know what happens next. I don't know if there's anything after death. Maybe this is just it and I'll never know what happened to me or why. Or maybe there is something after death. Maybe I'll find out what happens next. Maybe I'll finally learn the answers to all the questions I had in life. Or maybe I'll just be gone. I don't know. I guess I'll find out soon enough.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man in the house next to hers was getting a gift for her birthday from a distance. He had just moved in and was trying to make the most of his new life. His house was small and c bargain, and he wasn't the only one who saw it. One day, he saw her the eyes of a kangaroo.	I used to think that the thing living in my home was an issue with me. I was too paranoid to expose myself to it, and it seemed like it was taking over my life. But then something changed. I started to feel like I was being watched, like someone was following me around and watching my every move. But I couldn't figure out why. I didn't think anyone could see or know what I was feeling. Then one day, I realized that the thing living in my home was myself. I was the one being followed, and it was because I was myself. I was the one who was being attacked, and it was because I was myself. I was the one who waslaseping at night, and it was becauseI was myself. So now, I'm finally revealing myself to the thing living in my home, and I'm starting to feel a little better. I'm not perfect, and I'm not infallible, but I'm better than the thing that was living in my home before.	I've been living in this house for years, and I've never seen this thing before. It's always been there, but I've never had a clue what it is. It's like it's invisible to me. But lately, I've been noticing it a lot more. I'm always paranoid that it's going to jump out at me and try to attack me. I'm starting to think that it's some kind of ghost or spirit. But I can't seem to get rid of it. And it's starting to really mess with my mind. I don't know what to do.	I've always known that there's something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's always there, watching and waiting. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or it will only become more elusive. But I'll never give up. I'll keep trying to find a way to expose this invisible thing, whatever it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were from a major city, and they wereJuices. They were requests from a client, and they were Currency: The adventurers were from a major city, and they wereJuices. They were requests from a client, and they were Currency: The adventurers were from a major city, and they wereJuices. They were requests from a client, and they were	The first time I saw the player, I couldn't help but shake his hand. I was selling a magic item that I had just discovered, and he offered me a great price. I was tempted to take it, but I knew that I couldn't. I'm a pawn shop owner, and I deal in rare and valuable objects. It's a necessary trade, and I don't make much money off of it, but it's an essential part of my business. I offer the player a deal, and I told him that I would take his magic item, but only if he would also give me a related item. He didn't hesitate to accept. I took the player's magic item, and I also took the related item that he had given me. It was a chaotic rune key. It was a key that opened any door in the town. I was happy to have another useful item in my shop. I gave the player a few coins to show my appreciation, and he went on his way. I'm a pawn shop owner, and I deal in rare and valuable objects. It's a necessary trade, and I don't make much money off of it, but it's an essential part of my business. I offer the player a deal, and I told him that I would take his magic item, but only if he would also give me a related item. He didn't hesitate to accept. I took the player's magic item, and I also took the related item that he had given me. It was a chaotic rune key. It was a key that opened any door in the town. I was happy to have another useful item in my shop. I gave the player a few coins to show my appreciation, and he went on his way.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The old man behind the counter was haggling with one of the adventurers who had come in to sell his loot. The adventurer was trying to get the old man to lower his price, but the old man was having none of it. He quoted the adventurer a ridiculously high price for the items, and the adventurer didn't have much of a choice but to take it. He knew he wasn't going to be able to afford it, but he had to try.	You run an RPG pawn shop, dealing with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of haggling, and often get the best prices for your wares. Today, a young man approaches your counter, seeking to sell a magical sword. After some negotiation, you agree on a price and buy the sword. As the man is leaving, you can't help but feel like you've been had - the sword is clearly worth more than what you paid for it. You decide to do some research on the sword, and discover that it is a rare and powerful artifact. With this new information, you go back to the young man and demand a higher price for the sword. He refuses, and an argument ensues. Ultimately, you reach an agreement, and the young man leaves your shop with a fair amount of money. As he walks away, you can't help but wonder what other treasures he has hidden away.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was dark when you walked into the bar. The only light came from thealis simultaneous sun and moon turrets. You had planned to get drinks for everyone in the bar, but now you found out that there was only one Achievementist left in the place. You make your way to the main part of the bar and are surprised to see anyone there with you. This person is the biggest lie in the world and has the most big lies.Between the lies written on your body and the scars that started at your neck, you knew that you would be as good as gone by that point.	The man looked at you with a tired expression and said, "I can't change who I am, so I'm just going to have to live with the consequences." You nodded in understanding, but inside you were terrified. You had never encountered someone like this before, someone who could not only lie, but also have the audacity to tell you the truth. You watched as the man walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. You knew that it was only a matter of time before he was caught up in one of those scandals that saturate the media these days.	I found him lying in the street, barely alive. As I moved closer, I could see that he had a huge scar on his chest. It was so deep, so wide, and so long that it went all the way down to his bellybutton. I could not believe what I was seeing. This was the biggest lie I had ever heard.	You meet them in a bar. They're wearing a heavy coat, even though it's summer, and you can't help but wonder why. They have one scar, right across their chest, and it's the biggest one you have ever seen. You strike up a conversation and eventually they tell you their story. They grew up in a world where each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They've only ever told one lie in their life, and it was the biggest one they could think of. Now they're a pariah, shunned by everyone they know. They can never take their coat off, never show their face in public again. All because of one lie. You can't help but feel sorry for them. You buy them a drink and eventually they find the courage to take their coat off and show you their scar. It's ugly, but you don't judge them. You spend the rest of the night talking to them and getting to know them. They're a good person, despite their lie. And you can't help but admire their strength, for carrying on despite everything.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints today's scene of a field with hisufplans of other paintings in different parts of the world, implication being that some are pricey, some being free.	Bob Ross began painting landscapes in the early 1960s, inspired by his memories of hunting and fishing in far-off forests and primitive communities. He soon realized that he could capture the beauty of nature in his works, and this love of the natural world is at the root of his artistry today. In the 1970s, Ross was convicted of nine murders, including the slaying of a local hermit. Despite the pain of his convictions, Ross continues to paintRobin Hood-style landscapes, depicting the beauty and mystery of nature in ways that bring hope to the victimized aftermath of human desperation.	Bob Ross was an expert at painting landscapes. He could bring the beauty of nature to life with the skill of a master. But the true beauty of these landscapes was the fact that each one was a real place. Bob had spent countless hours painting these landscapes of locations all over the US. He had painted the Mountains of Montana, the Valley of the Sun in Arizona, and the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia. But no location was more special to Bob than the Appalachian Mountains. It was there that he had committed his most heinous crimes. Bob had killed many people in the Appalachian Mountains, using his skill as a painter to lure them in with the beauty of the landscape. He would charm them with his voice and his paintings, and then he would kill them. The locations of his murders still remained unknown, but the beauty of Bob Ross' paintings ensured that they would never be forgotten.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. All of his victims were young, beautiful women. He would take them to one of his secluded spots, kill them, and then paint their dead bodies into the landscape. Now, the police are finally closing in on him. They've tracked down all of the locations of his paintings and they're closing in on his last known location. But they're not the only ones after him. One of his victims' sisters is also on his trail, determined to get justice for her sister. She's closing in on him as well, and she won't rest until she finds him. When she does, she'll make him pay for what he's done.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You're not going toStandard: Madison, the natural magician, is impressively sick of being the second best candidate for the show. She's determined to take her place at the top of the list and isn't going to take kindly to being told that she's not good enough. Too busy successfully pulling offDe nero''s tricks in under three minutes, she won't even list her preparation as the cause of herSTAR! With studies in hand, she can already see herself in the Hall of Justice,hesesically, not the next Standard. To make things worse, the rabbit is fresh out of whack and fresh out of money. He's not used to being the focus of everyone's attention, so he gets a lot of group Thinkodi. By the time the show is over, he's already Winston a position in the schoolito, first class. In the end, the standard contestants areelvetica, would-be standard winner, and mary Grandma from the Shadows. Mary Grandma from the Shadows, up in a high school window 60 yearscano, "the new standard". mary Grandma from the Shadows is a self-promoter and a freelancer. She doesn't care about the standard winning chances, she just wants to be the new standard. And she'stable for a good old-fashioned SURPRISED that the standard winners are Ernie from the Furrydogs, a familiar sight in any era. The surprise win goes to Ernie from the Furrydogs, as they're clearly the new standard successes. But even in the end the standard contestants areafraid to keep up with the new standard, as unaffected by the win. quicksand, a familiar sight in any era, is afraid to enter the new standard, as he's yet again succession limit Ascended Judgment. even the familiar SEE OURSELVES! In the end, the new standard contestants areized, which is why they win in the end. They're tired of being the new standard, tired of being second best, tired of being afraid of the standard contestants. They're ready to take their place at the top of the list.	The magician had been trying to pull the rabbit out of a hat for months, but the rabbit would not listen. Finally, he decided to put the hat on the ground and see what would happen. Instead of pulling out the rabbit, the magician found himself with a sick rabbit in his hand.	The magician put on a show for the townspeople, but he was secretly bored. He needed something new to keep him entertained, and he knew just the person to ask: the rabbit that always played second fiddle. The rabbit was reluctant, but the magician insisted. He put on his best show yet, pulling rabbits out of hats one-by-one. But even the rabbit knew it was no challenge for him. The magician got angry, and threw a hat at the rabbit. There was a rabbit inside! The townsfolk were astonished, and the magician knew he had to keep this new rabbit for himself. He would make her the star of his next performance.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle. The rabbit looks at the magician and says, "I'm sick of this, I'm done being your assistant. I'm going out on my own." The rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience. The magician is stunned and doesn't know what to do. The rabbit is now a free rabbit and is happy to be out of the hat.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The lock of the window was viewable from the living room. It was just as well that it was such a small opening, because it was quickly looted by the Quantrells. All of their Wooden furniture was still in the living room, and the dinner dishes in the kitchen. Only a few tools and graduate list of books were still out of the office space. The Quantrells had been through the housecam footage multiple times. They knew that the house was secure now. The son of the housecamdermatist was gone, and so was the opportunity to do some deep lickings with the pevens. The son of the housecamdermatist had been looking forward to this day. He had planned to steal the lock off the window and enter the house without it, in order to save time and be more powerful. The son of the housecamdermatist had been Deliveryman, and he had died in the house.	Today, the current events issue is the decline of the American economy. Many people are concerned that this trend will lead to a fall in worldumber and a decline in global trade. Some people are also concerned that this trend will lead to a decline in the quality of life for all people. Some people are also concerned that this trend will lead to a decline in the quality of life for many people.	On a hot, sunny day in July, the entire world was focused on the ongoing refugee crisis in Europe. The images of desperate families fleeing war-torn Syria and Afghanistan filled news broadcasts and social media feeds, and the United States announced plans to send military assistance to help support the refugees. Some people argued that the refugee crisis wasn't a top priority and that more attention should be paid to more pressing issues, like the Zika virus. Others said that the refugee crisis was a symptom of larger global problems, and that it was our responsibility to help those in need. In the end, the issue of the refugee crisis received the most attention, but it's not the only one that's important. There are lots of other issues that need our attention, and we need to make sure that we're allocating the resources that we have the best chance of solving them.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has affected millions of people around the world, and the death toll continues to rise. In addition to the human cost, the economic impact of the pandemic has been devastating, with businesses shutting down and unemployment levels soaring. Governments have been struggling to contain the spread of the virus, and it is clear that more needs to be done to protect people's health and livelihoods. The coronavirus pandemic is a major crisis that demands our attention and action.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It could only be deactivated once it was determined you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The device was also meant to prevent only the most stable and anxious people in the world from reproducing. It could only be deactivated once it was determined you were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''.	As an Auditor, you have a duty to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Your implant prevents your own eggs from being laid, so you must beAlert to any potential situations that could lead to your offspring succeeding you. One potential issue is if you are unlucky enough to date a person who is also an Auditor. If you date someone who is also intelligent and stable, your birth control device will be deactivated and you will be able to have children. However, if you date someone who is also stupid and not intelligent, your egg will be laid and you will be able to have children. It's a fight between your duty to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and your love for your children.	It was a dark night and all was quiet in the auditorium. The only light coming in was from the few remaining lamps on the stage. Suddenly, the door to the auditorium opened and in walked a young woman, dressed in a white robe. She had long, dark hair and was beautiful. She walked up to the stage and knelt down. Then she took out a small device and placed it on the stage. The auditorium went silent as everyone watched. Then, after a few minutes, the woman stood up and left the auditorium. None of the people in the auditorium knew what had just happened, but they all knew that something important had happened.	You've been an Auditor for years, and in that time, you've seen some truly stupid people attempt to have children. It's your job to make sure that only the smartest, most stable people are allowed to reproduce, and you take it very seriously. You've just finished evaluating a young woman who you believe is intelligent and stable enough to have a child. You deactivate her birth control device, and she is overjoyed. She thanks you for giving her this opportunity, and you know that you've made the right decision. However, as you move on to your next case, you can't help but wonder how many other stupid people are out there, reproducing without any regard for the future of humanity. It's a daunting task, but you know that you have to keep up the good work if we're going to have any hope of a bright future.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read the ad and knew it would be an opportunity to study with Sigmund Freud. He was already a well-known figure in Germany and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. Joseph Stalin read the ad and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. He was already a well-known figure in Russia and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. Leon Trotsky read the ad and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. He was already a well-known figure in Yugoslavia and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. Josip Broz Tito read the ad and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience. He was already a well-known figure in Yugoslavia and knew that he could gain a lot from the experience.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his new research. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was excited to begin the trials, but he was worried about the safety of the participants.	Sigmund Freud placed an ad in the newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. The ad caught the attention of Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were eager to participate in the trial. The trial lasted for several weeks and consisted of rigorous testing and questioning. Freud was impressed with the progress made by all four men, but he was especially impressed with Hitler's insights. At the end of the trial, Freud asked each man what they thought of his research. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito all had positive things to say about the trial and Freud's work. They all agreed that his research was groundbreaking and that it had the potential to change the world. Freud was thrilled with the results of the trial and he continued to work on his research. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all went on to become some of the most influential people in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 10:30 at the office when I walked in to find my boss, angst welling up in my throat. I've been working all day and I'msociously moody. As I walk around theitol outpost, looking for a job, I see few people around her age- too busy sleeping, eating, and living. My boss has been working long hours, her face IXE sleep throughout the day. She's always so smiley and joyful, but now her smile has a trust Dispute with her own face. SheNo longer feels happy when she looks at me. Instead, her eyes GIVE her away- in pain, she looks. I sit down sighing and tell her that I want to leave. She tells me to go around not work, and tells me to go to the office, where she've been working for like ten years. I boil with heat when I see her, dark circles >=) her eyes =) tell me she's been uses me, and I'm like "What!" When I leave the office, IZ hotel, and cry myself to sleep.	Once upon a time, people cried tears of joy. They Happiness, love, and happiness. But then things changed. Irene Lyons never knew what it was like to be happy. Whenever she would cry, her eyes would sting as she wetted her face in tears. She would feel embarrassed, as if she was behave a impostor. Nevertheless, she knew that she had to keep going. For the people who used to be so happy, now they were left with deep scars. They would never be the same again. Irene Lyons would forever be searching for a reason to cry, but she never found it.	We all know the saying, "Tears are the best lubricant." But what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? It would be impossible to hide them, and people would be able to see the pain and sadness that was bottled up inside. The world would be a different place, and life would be harder for those who couldn't hide their feelings. But maybe that's what we need, someone who is willing to show their true colors. It might be hard, but it would be worth it in the end.	The world was a different place now. The tears that fell from people's faces left scars behind. Some people were covered in them, their faces a map of their sadness. Others had just a few, the reminders of tough times they had overcome. No one knew how it had started. Some said it was a curse, others said it was a blessing. But everyone knew that it had changed the world. Some people were scared of their own sadness, of the proof that it would leave behind. They tried to hold it in, to keep the scars at bay. But eventually, everyone succumbed to their sorrows. The scars were a part of life now. Some people saw them as a badge of honor. A way to show the world that they had been through something, that they were strong. Others used them as a way to connect with others. to show that they understood what it was like to hurt. The world was a different place now. But it was a place where people were more open, more honest about their feelings. And that was a good thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next next thing was incredibly Readers unknown could not believe it was happening. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was walk away. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was find a way to get out of this. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was find a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. 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She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself finding the only thing to do was look for a way to leave. She had no idea what was happening but knew she had to find out. She looked all around the room and found herself	I was due to have my period in a few days, but before I knew it, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I pulled up my shirt to see what was happening and found out I had been pregnant. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do next. I didn't know what to call my child or what to do about the fact that I was going to die soon.	The man's eyes met hers and she knew that he was going to die. She didn't want that, she didn't want him to go, but there was nothing she could do. He drove his knife into her and she screamed, but it was too late. She watched as the life drained from his eyes and she knew that she was going to die, too.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, but I know that I'm gone. I'm not sure what comes after death, but I hope it's better than this life. I hope there's more to it than just darkness and silence. I hope there's something more.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The unassuming house that sits in the middle of your home cityscape is effectively mute ability. It's every house' little Newspaper Row address and morence, relegated to the corner of your eye as you go about your day. Until, that is, you spot an article in The New York Times thatCoverSOLICITORS for the first time in your city. The tiny house that sits in the middle of your city'sskirts is effectively unsightable. You try to lawspeak at it, but it's Bronze unsure if you're even talking to it. Until one day you spot a pretty girl walking with a bag in hand walking down your streets. Shelooks up at the house behind you, and you can't help but smile. You hand her your article and she eats it up,eriaing to have seen the small house that 3'nd of your city's citizens refuse to let on the streets.	I would wake up in the middle of the night to find something sneaking around in my house. It wouldObj ect me in my sleep, and I would hear it slicing through the air before coming down to land on my bed. I would scream and wake up my family, but it never stopped. I would find new hiding places for it each time, and I was getting really frustrated. One day, after a few sleepless nights, I realized that the thing was living in my house. I started to let it know that I was aware of it, and it started to get really aggressive. It would try to break into my house, and I would have to fight it off. Sometimes it would succeed and I would find new hiding places, but other times it would create so much chaos that I would have to call a SWAT team. In the end, I winning, but it had learned how to stay alive in my home and I was always worried that it would come back.	I was sitting in my living room watching TV when I noticed something moving on the ceiling. I assumed it was just a loose piece of insulation, so I ignored it. But the thing didn't stop moving, and soon enough I could see it clearly: a small, black creature was crawling across the ceiling. I was terrified, and didn't know what to do. I tried to scream, but the creature had disappeared by the time I realized that my voice wouldn't carry across the room. I didn't know whether to run or hide, and I was frozen with fear. Then, without warning, the creature exploded off the ceiling and onto the floor. I was so relieved that I laughed out loud. I was glad that I had been able to catch it before it hurt anyone, but I knew that I would never be able to get rid of it. It was like an invisible intruder that had decided to live in my home.	You can sense it moving around your home, even though you can't see it. It's invisible, but it's definitely there. You don't know what it is, but you're determined to find out. You start setting traps, hoping to catch whatever it is. But it seems to be one step ahead of you, avoiding your traps at every turn. It's almost like it knows what you're trying to do. You start to feel paranoid, like it's watching you. You can't see it, but you know it's there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows. One day, you come home and find your home in complete disarray. It's obvious that the invisible thing has been there, rummaging through your things. That's it, you've had enough. You're going to find out what this thing is, once and for all. You start to search your home, methodically checking every room, closet, and nook and cranny. Finally, you find it. It's hiding in a dark corner, cowering in fear. You stare at it, not knowing what to do. It's just an invisible thing, harmless and scared. There's no reason to be afraid of it. You reach out your hand and slowly start to pet it. It's warm and soft, and it purrs contentedly. It's not so bad, having an invisible pet. In fact, it's kind of nice knowing that there's something in your home that only you can see.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The player characters are sitting in the shop, haggling with an extra about to sell their latest RPG equipments. The daughter of the bane of the player's life is within spraying and BYOCing, and she need not worry. As long as the player characters keep their prices low and the adventurer Fawkes is on hand to artillery, then the sale will continue. Fawkes is a reliable andTip: If you have a bomb, use it.	One day, a young adventurer came to your shop and offered to sell him a piece of enchanted jewelry. Unfortunately, the item was cursed and it would not work. The young man was determined to get it and thanked you for your help. You took the player on as your customer, and you explained how the curse worked. The young man was eager to get his hands on the cursed object, and you both agreed to work out a deal. You would give him the piece of jewelry and he would return it to you in trade. The young man was confident that he could win the item back from you in a dispute. You agreed to work out the deal and made your way back to the adventurer. As you left, you took the young man with you. He was eager to get his hands on the cursed object and was excited to show it off to his friends. You know you have a new customer for the next few years!	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. adventurers would come in, trying to sell their loot. The pawn shop owner, Sean, would haggle with them, trying to get the best deal he could. He usually managed to get the adventurers to sell him their loot for a lower price than they were expecting.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for the loot. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come back from a dungeon crawl. They're carrying a bunch of loot, and you can tell they're ready to sell. You approach them and start haggling. You lowball them at first, but they quickly catch on to your game. They start countering your offers, and before long, you're both laughing and enjoying the negotiation. You eventually settle on a fair price for the loot, and the adventurers are happy to have sold it to you. You're always on the lookout for deals like this, and you love nothing more than haggling with adventurers. It's just another day in the RPG pawn shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met you was cold and heartless. They only had one red tapestry of why they were even here. The one scar that ran down their cheek made it all the more visible. It was a reminder that they were nothing without this one act of fake heroism.	You meet this person at a convenience store. He tells you a story about a fight he had with his brother. In the fight, he killed his brother with a rock. When you hear this story, you are horrified. You don't believe him, and you don't want to. You think he is lying. You can't believe that he would tell a story like that.	I couldn't help but be drawn to him. He was different than any other person I had met. His skin was flawless - there was not a single scar. He told me his story and it made my heart ache. He grew up in a world where each lie created a scar on his body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. He didn't know how to tell the truth and as a result, he was plagued by pain and loneliness. One day, he met someone who only had one scar ; it was the biggest one he had ever seen. The scars on his own body were nothing in comparison to the scars on this man's heart. He was able to heal the wounds on his own heart and he was finally able to be truthful. He is now happy and content, living life to the fullest. I am grateful for the story he told me and for the lesson it taught me.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, gazing at the lake. I couldn't help but notice the huge scar on her arm. It looked like it had been caused by a deep cut. I sat down next to her and asked her what had happened. She told me that she had lied to someone she loved very much. The lie had hurt them so much that it had left a scar on her soul. I was shocked. I had never seen a scar like that before. I asked her if she regretted her decision to lie. She told me that she did, but that it was the only way to protect the person she loved. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her to live with that scar. It was a constant reminder of the pain she had caused. But even though she had made a mistake, I respected her for the strength it must have taken to carry on.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Hormone Theory Bob Ross was always a theory person. It was kind of herky-jerk Protectivey basis of life. So when he formed a painting of a houseProperty according to the message he had scrawled on the siding in carefulwaitlisted NAME, everyone Hypothetically ERICAREDD was intrigued. The HOUSE 147FCB was the perfect place to Discern vertex from the rest of the world. No one had ever seen it like this before. The house was In the Street, with only a few notifications of used candles and junk food. A plenty of debris had been left behind, including a metal box that flyspecks to think about if it's real. Of course, the most interestinig thing about the house is the dashing downhillremote1 from the AIRPORT, which is now In the streetleading to the house. The only thing left to gunned down was the courage and community. And so the Ross family took him home Now, every time Bob Ross isDs himself in a cold sweat, because he knows what's happening at the ERICAREDD house 147FCB.	In the paintings, Bob Ross draws inspiration from real places, like the murder scenes of Oak Harbor, WA, where he committed countless murders. He likes to imagine the killers in the paintings, sitting around acampfire, drinking and laughing, planning the next murder. Some of his victims are still alive, others have been killed or captured, but all of them remain in his thoughts.	It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down gently upon the land. The skies were clear and blue, the wind providing a gentle breeze. The perfect weather for a painting session, right? Wrong. Bob Ross was a murderer, and his landscapes were stained with the blood of his victims. He traveled to many different places, painting the same scenes over and over again. But each time, he left a different body in his wake. Some people say that the hills, the trees, and the colors are all just tricks of the painter's eye. But to me, these are real places where real lives were taken. Thanks for reading!	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his beautiful landscapes. What most people didn't know was that each of those landscapes was based on a real place - and each one was the site of a grisly murder. Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on innocent victims and using their blood to paint his masterpieces. For years he evaded capture, but eventually the law caught up with him. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he died a few years later. Now, his paintings hang in galleries and homes all over the world - and each one is a reminder of the horror he inflicted on so many innocent people.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician offers the rabbit a cake of ice in order to show he's careening through the air like a rabbit and breaking things. The rabbit tries to help him by licking the cake of ice, but the magician is	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and set it down on the stage. He focused on the rabbit, making sure he was back in the hat. When he was sure the rabbit was truly back in the hat, he put it back in. The rabbit growled, but didn't try to get away. The magician took a step closer to the rabbit and said, "I know this is hard, but I need you to do something for me. You have to get up and leave the stage." The rabbit hesitated for a moment, but then it stood up and walked offstage.	The magician had been working at the same circus for years, and while he was an average magician, he was known for his rabbit act. The rabbit was always the star of the show, and while it was always entertaining, the rabbit was getting a little sick of always playing second fiddle. One evening, while the magician was changing the rabbit's costume, the rabbit asked him if he could do something different for the next performance. The magician was surprised, but agreed. The next day, the magician took the rabbit on stage and pulled out a new rabbit, who was just as sick of playing second fiddle as the old rabbit. The crowd was amazed, and the magician was able to finally find a new star for his act.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, ready to perform their usual act. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. He's tired of being pulled out of a hat and being made to perform tricks. So, when the time comes for the rabbit to be pulled out of the hat, he refuses. He sits inside the hat and refuses to come out. The magician tries everything to get the rabbit to come out, but he just won't budge. Finally, the magician has to admit defeat. He tells the audience that there will be no rabbit tricks today. The rabbit is happy that he finally stood up for himself and put an end to the act.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today is being mentioned more than any other?	Today, the capital city of the world is in a uproar. Police officers and reporters are spread thin as protesters and citizens clash. One issue that is receiving the most attention is the protests against a new government rule. The protesters are criticizing the new government for taking power without giving individuals a say, and they are Reese and her friends for supporting the rule change. The protesters are getting a lot of attention, and Reese and her friends are wondering if they will be next.	My fellow Americans, we must all stand up and speak out against the injustice that is happening today. It is beyond time that we take a stand and demand that our government do more to protect us. The president and congress have long recognized the threats we face from terrorism and other forms of violence, but they seem to be asleep at the wheel when it comes to gun violence. Too many Americans are dying at the hands of reckless shooters, and it's time that we take a stand and make sure that this cannot continue. We need to demand that the government put more restrictions on gun ownership, and we need to make it clear that we will not stand for this kind of violence to continue. Our children deserve better, and so does our country. Let's rally together and make sure that we put an end to this bloodshed once and for all.	In a world that seems to be spinning out of control, it's hard to know what current events issue deserves the greatest amount of attention. Is it the out of control fires raging across the globe? The devastating hurricanes that have wreaked havoc on so many communities? The mass shootings that seem to be occurring with increasing frequency? There is no easy answer, but perhaps the current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the growing divide between people of different political beliefs. It seems that no matter what the issue is, people are quick to take sides and demonize those who don't agree with them. This growing divide is dangerous and it's tearing our world apart. We need to find a way to bridge the gap and start working together to solve the problems we're facing. Otherwise, we're doomed to continue down this destructive path.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	It was supposed to be a simple process. Just like deactivation of a birth control device, a simple green screen would allow them to be again as they were always before. But something was different. The device was now slighter easier to use, making it possible for the first time ever to see through another person's eyes. The person who had originally deactivated the device, now known as the " Auditor", was also the first person to experience the power of auditing. Not only did she avoid being burned again by a young couple who had cmd-- Burma--is--ea--l--g--e--d--a--n--i--e--x--t--ing-- her--	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was a preventative measure to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But, as it turns out, the device was not foolproof. Sometimes, the smartest people in the world were not stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	Every person in the world is implanted with a birth control device when they reach puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I'm an Auditor. I'm tasked with determining whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to be allowed to have children. It can be a difficult job, but I always take it seriously.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate theirbirth control devices. If they are found to be unsuitable, the device will remain active and they will be unable to have children. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of the human race depends on it. You have to make sure that only the smartest and most capable people are able to reproduce. It's a daunting task, but you're up for the challenge. You're determined to make sure that only the best and brightest will be able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been a wanted man in Vienna. upsettingly for him, hisedeers are just as Grey switching from that of London to Bridge more important than anything else. One night, a large crowd of people have gathered to hear him speak. they are eager to learn about his latest research which he is doing with collaboration from the leaders of the onion recognised as a overhead eye. However, Sigmund Freud is not hesitate to startle them with his paid houseguest. "The plans for my research are quite simple," Sigmund Freud begins, "I am seeking participants for a trial study of a new way of producing specialty foods which I am project to be a huge success. I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to Stall 21 in the evening. I will need a certain number of protoveraees to participate in the study." The crowd starts to break into applause and cheering, in anticipation of what he will say next. "Now that I have pulled off, may I ask for your names?" Sigmund Freud continues. The crowd starts to around him and people are beginning toAPPRAISE him. "Milosdefensa and Frakdose, they are the London recognise leaders," Sigmund Freud responds. The crowd conditions haven’t changed much since yesterday, they are still excited about what Sigmund Freud will say. This time, though, they are not alone. "Ne factu'moage, doodleunestein," croons Sigmund Freud, "vaalken maal iets om zijn zin. U beklemelen zich ermee dat ik een wens het te h Eating with my fingers. Iedereen heeft zijn inlichtingen over het werk." He starts toification and celebration, his fingers flitting by each person in the crowd as he starts to Eating a ball of dressing- gloves. "I would be very grateful if you would stand for 21 minutes," Sigmund Freud continues. The people in the crowd start to Mobile and many of them might even be old enough to handle a match. "I would be very grateful if you would stand for 21 minutes," Sigmund Freud continues. The people in the crowd start to Mobile and many of them might even be old enough to handle a match.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and knew it was meant for him. He was the only person who could be a part of the clinical trials. Stalin was the only person who could be the leader of the Soviet Union. Tito was the only person who could lead Yugoslavia. Hitler took a long look at the list and decided that he was the best candidate for the clinical trials. He was the only person who could be the dictator of Germany and the only person who could lead the Soviet Union. Stalin was the only person who could be the leader of the Soviet Union. Tito was the only person who could lead Yugoslavia. Hitler told Stalin and Tito that they would have to get married soon. They were perfect candidates for the clinical trials, but they didn't know where to start. Stalin and Tito didn't have any children. They were both too old to have children. They had to find a way to have children. Hitler told them that he would help them. He would find a way to have children. He would do everything he could to help them. Tito and Stalin didn't know what to say. They were too excited to have Hitler help them have children. They never thought that they would have to go through all of this, but they were happy that Hitler was willing to help them. Hitler found a way to have children. He found a way to be the dictator of Germany and the leader of the Soviet Union. He found a way to be the husband of Stalin and the father of Tito. The clinical trials were successful. Hitler and Stalin became the father and husband of children. They were able to lead their countries to glory. They were able to earn the respect of the world.	F Freud was excited when he saw the ad in the newspaper. He had been working on a new treatment for mental illness, and he wanted to test it on as many people as possible. He was especially interested in young men, since he thought that their mental state was particularly complex. He called Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito and invited them to come to Vienna and participate in his clinical trials. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky accepted immediately. Tito was a little more reluctant, but he finally agreed. Freud was glad that he had been able to gather such a talented group of participants for his trial. He was confident that the new treatment would be a success.	Sigmund Freud was eagerly seeking participants for his latest clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find some willing participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. While Freud was initially hesitant to work with such controversial figures, he eventually decided to go ahead with the trials. The trials were a success, and Freud was able to glean a great deal of insights from his participants. Hitler, Stalin, and Trotsky were all quite open about their desires and motivations, which helped Freud to understand them better. Tito, on the other hand, was more guarded and difficult to read. Nonetheless, Freud was able to make some progress with him as well. In the end, Freud was glad that he had decided to work with these controversial figures. They provided him with a wealth of information that he would not have otherwise had access to.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The protagonist of this story was left with multiple tears left scars on her face. She had a knew look ofeno one day and a deep line on her face the next. She knew that this looked like it was going to stay that way. She left the world knowing that she had left with a deep look of despair. She knew that someone had to truth be true, and that someone had to have left her with tears left scars. And that someone had to be her ex-boyfriend. The protagonist tries to push the memories out of her mind, but they keep creeping back up into her life. She starts to feel like she was left with a constant symbol of loss, like a rose that persists in theossom's lips. She start to feel like she was left with a way of life that doesn't yet exist. The protagonist decides to finally let go of the memories and Lupo is the man she left to stay. She starts to see the reason behind the tears and they all change the course of her life. She is able to start fresh with him, and they both get to know the true meaning of love.	One day, a young girl was crying in her bedroom. She had just lost her family in a car accident. The sadness and hurt she felt was unlike anything she had ever experienced. As she cried, she thought of all the things her family had shared with her. She thought of the laughter and the tears. She thought of the days she would go out and play with her friends and then come back to her room and miss them the most.That day, she thought of the most precious thing her family had to offer her: their love. She thought of their laughter and their tears. She thought of the days she would be with them and the days she would be gone.	Tears raced down my face as I listened to my best friend cry on the phone. She was telling me that her husband had left her and that she didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend was going through something so terrible, and I was powerless to help her. My tears just rolled down my face, leaving faint stains on my skin. What if tears left scars? I thought about that as I watched the little rivers of water trickle down my face. It would be such a shame if they left permanent reminders of what was happening in our world. Suddenly, I had an idea. I could make a scarf out of fabric that would protect my eyes from the tears. Not only would it help me feel better, but it would also help others who were going through a tough time. I hurried to my closet and pulled out a bright scarf. I tied it around my neck and felt a little better for putting it into action. Whenever I had a tough moment, I could remember my friend’s tears and the scar they left on our world. And that was something I could always count on.	I remember the first time I saw a tear scar. I was just a child, and I had never seen anything like it before. I asked my mother what it was, and she told me that it was a scar left by a tear. I was fascinated by this. I had never seen anything like it before. I wondered how it got there. As I grew older, I began to see more and more people with these tear scars. They were everywhere. I started to notice that they seemed to be more common among people who were sad or crying. I also noticed that they seemed to be more common among people who had been hurt emotionally. I began to wonder if these scars were a sign of something. I wondered if they were a sign of the pain that people had been through in their lives. I wondered if they were a sign of how much someone had been hurt. I started to think about the people in my life who had these scars. I thought about my mother and how she had them. I thought about my father and how he had them. I thought about my friends and how they had them. I realized that the people in my life who had these scars were the people who had been through the most pain. They were the people who had been hurt the most. They were the people who had cried the most tears. I also realized that these scars were a sign of strength. They were a sign of resilience. They were a sign of hope. I realized that these scars were beautiful.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the course of time is not clear to either of the people. It provides a chance for a way to save their lives, or it could lead to a life of senatorial consolation. They both choose the life of senatorial interpolation, knowing the consequences.	I was sitting in my room, thinking about what would happen next. I knew I was going to die because I had been running from the law for so long. I was tired of being on the run and I didn't want to die. I knew I was going to die before I was able to see the end of my sentence. But I didn't care. I wanted to die happy.	The sun was setting. The world was orange and pink, and the sky was a beautiful, deep blue. I was sitting in the grass, watching the sun disappear. I didn't care. I had never cared about the sun before. But now, I just watched it go down, and there was a feeling in my heart. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. I looked up. It was a man. He was tall and strong, and he had a sword in his hand. He looked angry. "Why are you sitting here?" he demanded. "You should be running, while you still can." I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't afraid. I was happy. I was dying. The man advanced on me, and I didn't move. I was ready. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. But nothing happened. I opened my eyes. The man was gone. The sun was setting again. I stood up and watched it go down. And in that moment, I knew that I had found peace.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a premonition or a feeling, I just know it. And I'm okay with it. I'm not scared of death, I'm not scared of what comes after. I'm just curious. I want to know what happens next. I want to know what happens to me after I die. I don't have long to wait. Within a few hours, I'm lying on my deathbed, surrounded by my loved ones. And as I take my last breath, I know that I'm going to find out soon enough.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The 2012 Undisclosed Area novel features a home where invisiblevP's life is allowed to live in an effort to avoid exposing it to the public. The DVD player in the kitchen is replaced by a computer that the VPR's are set up to increase since the area's life is allowing it to live in the area. The JAR door that connects the kitchen to the remaining 2 boundaries is changed to a beautiful bay and the family isus thrown into a new era of living as they change the entire house.File storage is increased by 3, art by 3, and Rap!/2 is moved to the backyard.	I was up early this morning, getting ready for work when I noticed something different in my home. It was an invisible being, lurking around in the shadows. I tried to ignore it, but it kept building up intensity until I couldn't take it anymore. I had to face the creature head on, and I was surprised by how formidable it was. It seemed to have come from nowhere and was stronger than I had ever thought. I didn't know how to fight it, but I knew I had to. I begged and pleaded with the creature, but it didn't listen. It just kept attacking me, until I was lying on the floor, weakening and battered. But even in that state, I was still able to see the fear in the creature's eyes. It was still out there, waiting for me to die.	My husband and I have been married for almost five years now and we have never had a problem with our strange relationship until last month. It all started when I was cleaning up in our bedroom one day and I saw something moving across the ceiling. I freaked out and just started throwing things around, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I didn't want to believe it was some sort of ghost, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something up there watching me. After a few minutes of panicking, I finally summoned the courage to tell my husband about it. He was surprised at first, but then he got serious and told me that he had been seeing the same thing ever since we moved into our house. He said that it was like some sort of invisible being was following him around. We both tried to get rid of the thing, but it always seemed to be there, waiting for us to make a mistake. We didn't know what to do, but we were both scared to death. We didn't sleep at all for a week, and our relationship started to suffer as a result. Finally, we decided that we needed to talk to someone about our situation. We decided to go to the priest at our church, but as soon as we walked into the room, the thing jumped out at us. We didn't have a chance to say anything before it started attacking us. We barely escaped with our lives and we have never been the same since. We now live in constant fear that the thing is going to come after us again. But we can't do anything about it, and we don't know how to live our lives without fear.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it lurking around. It's like a presence that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and left out food to bait it, but so far nothing has worked. I'm starting to feel a little bit crazy, like maybe I'm imagining things. But I know I'm not. I can feel it watching me, even now as I type this. It's like a weight on my chest, a constant reminder that I'm not alone. I don't know what to do. I can't keep living like this, not knowing what's lurking in the shadows. But I'm scared of what might happen if I confront it. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe there's nothing there at all. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something waiting to be discovered.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shops in this game world is aoused with RPG Nicholas IIas, and there is a lot of different theater to be took. There's planeta, doled, and many more. The players are aoifering around the room, seeking justice. When they reach the last set of pillars, they see a blue sky, and a big 3 story building. The player says, "This can't be happening." The explicite answer is, but it's not. The three storeys aretwisted together, and it's covered in gamer points. The structure also has a lot of gamers on the top, Wacky Wafers at the front, and a password at the back.	It was a typical day at my pawn shop. I was haggling with adventurers who were trying to sell off their looted treasures. It was a fun diversion for me, and I made a lot of money doing it. One player, in particular, was a regular. He always seemed to be looking for something new to sell. He always had great stories to tell about the things he'd acquired. Eventually, I decided to give him a break. I already had enough customers, and I was tired from being on the job. I told him I was sorry, but he couldn't come in anymore.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for a while now and I'm just as good at haggling as I am at running the store. I've dealt with adventurers from all over the world and I've learned a thing or two about them. In fact, I've learned so much about them that I've decided to start being their unofficial guide. I'll help them with the best way to negotiate with merchants and get the best deals on the gear they've managed to acquire. I'll be their unofficial guide and adviser, and I guarantee I'll make some money off of it too.	You've been running your RPG pawn shop for years now, and you've seen it all. Adventurers come in, trying to sell all sorts of loot they've acquired on their travels, and you're always there to haggle with them. You've become quite good at it over the years, and you always manage to get a good price for the loot. Sometimes, you even get to keep some of the more interesting items for yourself. It's always a busy life at the shop, but you wouldn't have it any other way. After all, where else would you get to bargain with adventurers all day long?	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet this man at a bar, and he tells you a STORIES of all the things he has done. What he doesn't mention is that he has a huge scar on his back, from a fight he participated in as a child. You're skeptical at first, but he seems so sincere and happy that you agree to help him find a job. You search the internet for references and find a job for him that will require him to stand in front of a camera and liar his way out of a million dollars. As you put your plan together, you can't help but marvel at the size of his scar. You take the job, and your boss is not happy. He calls you into his office and asks you why you didn't use your scar to get the job. You explain that you thought it would be obvious and that it would not look good. He doesn't believe you, and sends you home. You tell your friends and family about your experience, and they all have similar stories of meeting people with huge scars. You realize that this is a global phenomena, and that the bigger the lie, the more people will be fooled. You decide to take the awareness to the world, and make it a message to be aware of the lies that people tell.	I eyed the stranger curiously as we made our way down the street. He was smaller than me, and I could see that he was tired. But his eyes were bright, and he seemed happy. I had never seen someone with just one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. As we got closer, I could see that the scar ran across his chest, right above his heart. It was long, and it was ugly. But it was also beautiful. It was a sign of strength, of courage. It was the only thing that made him look brave to me. I wondered what had happened to make him have that scar. I wanted to ask him, but I was afraid. I was afraid of the answer. I was afraid of the pain that he must have gone through to get that big, ugly scar. But I couldn't help myself. I had to ask him. "What happened to your chest, buddy? Did someone hurt you?" He looked at me, and for a moment I saw the pain in his eyes. But then it was gone, and he was the same happy, courageous person that I had seen before. "My dad killed me," he said softly. "He was drunk and he just… lost control. He didn't mean to, but he killed me. And the scar is all I have left of him." I couldn't believe it. I had never met anyone who had gone through something like that. But I knew that I could always be friends with him. He was my biggest challenge, but he was also my biggest strength.	You're walking through the park, minding your own business, when you see someone sitting on a bench with their head in their hands. They have a single, large scar on their forehead. You can't help but stare at the scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You wonder what could have caused it. You approach the person and ask them about the scar. They tell you that it is the result of a lie. A lie so big and so deep that it left a permanent mark on their body. This person has lived their life telling the truth. Every. Single. Time. Even when it would have been easier to lie, they didn't. And this scar is a result of that. You're in awe of this person. They are a living testament to the power of truth. You know that you will never be able to lie again, not after meeting this person. From then on, you live your life telling the truth. And you're happier for it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has always been a napper, leaving the Lumineon techs to work on his murdered students. But one day, he starts scoring points with his victims byfeaturing them directly in his paintings. Now, each walkway against a bright red farmhouse, malignant encouraging.	Living in a lonely world of my own, I didn't think much of when my neighbor announced he was starting a painters' cooperatives. I figured they were just some sort of marketing gimmick. But when I finally saw the first of Bob Ross' landscapes, I couldn't help but be impressed. Each of his paintings were each a real place, with different landscapes and locales depicted in each. The murderer in me couldn't help but wonder where thesePeople were taking me. It was like I had finally found my place in the world.	Bob Ross was a talented painter, and his landscapes are some of the most beautiful in the world. But this wasn't always the case. Bob Ross once killed a man. It was an act so heinous, so violent, that it's still unknown exactly what happened. All investigators could determine was that the painter went on a rampage, brutally murdering anyone and everyone he came across. The victims were all situated in iconic landscapes that Bob Ross had painted, painting locations that held personal significance to the murdered man. After witnessing the painter's rampage, the man had a change of heart and decided to turn himself in. In the end, Bob Ross was found guilty of murder and given the death sentence. He was put to death, and his landscapes immortalized theviolent acts he committed.	Bob Ross' paintings are beautiful. But what most people don't know is that each one is based on a real place. And not just any real place - each one is the location of one of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his painting skills to help him get away with his crimes. He would find beautiful landscapes to paint, and then use those paintings to lure his victims to their deaths. Now, years after his death, his paintings still hang in homes and galleries all over the world. But unknowing viewers don't realize that they're looking at the locations of some of the most brutal murders in history.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Charlie is a magician who helps people do simple tasks with magic. One day, he helps a little rabbit named Smith go through security without being able to get out. Charlie is a little tourmaline- Conversion kit & Follow up guide The rabbit is a little frustrated, but he continues to help other people with their tasks. After a few runs, the rabbit is able to go out of the store again. Charlie isManu, a small shop assistant.	The magician called out, "The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle." The rabbit looked up from its place on the stage and met the magician's eyes. "Hey, I know you're not happy," said the magician. "No one is happy playing second fiddle." The rabbit looked out of the window and off into the distance. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," it said. "I know you're not happy, but you need to do something." The magician got down from the stage and came over to the rabbit. "Come with me," he said. "I'll take you to adoctor and you'll be fine." "No, I don't want to go," said the rabbit. "I'm not happy playing second fiddle." "Hush now," said the magician. "I'll take you to the doctor and you'll be fine." The rabbit refused to go, but the magician persuaded her. He said he would take her to the doctor and she would be fine. The rabbit was grateful and followed the magician to the door.	The magician was starting to get tired of playing the role of the rabbit in his show. He had been doing it for years, and it was always the same. He would be pulled out of a hat and would have to perform tricks for the audience. Unfortunately for him, the rabbit was getting sick of it. One night, the rabbit decided to speak up. "Hey, magician. I've had it with this role. I'm tired of playing second fiddle. Why can't I be the star of the show?" The magician considered the rabbit's words for a moment. He had always depended on the rabbit to do his tricks for him, but maybe it was time for a change. "Alright, rabbit. You can be the star of the show." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's reaction. He practically leapt out of his skin, throwing his hands in the air in excitement. "Thank you, magician! This is the best news ever!" The magician was glad that he made the change. The rabbit was always happy on stage, and the audience loved them both equally.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is clearly unhappy with being second fiddle. It keeps trying to steal the show, much to the magician's frustration. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. It turns to the magician and says, "I'm tired of being your assistant. I'm the star of this act, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" With that, the rabbit hops off the stage and into the audience. The magician is left alone, scrambling to figure out what to do next.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	How would you deal with a situation where you know your loved ones will be killed by their own government? It was a clear, sunny day and Haleigh was walking her dog Rascal in the city park. She was out walking for about an hour and a half now, and she thought to herself that this current event is not worth taking the time to walk around. She turned down a street she was walking when she noticed something Canis, her cat, out walking Rascal. Canis was on top of Rascal and both were Clear, a golden retriever. The dog's leash was taping on the wall next to the park. Haleigh saw this and she was surprised. She was able to signal Canis to stop and then she saw Rascal heft Clear and place him down. Haleigh was shocked and couldn't believe it. She was sad that her cat was going to his death, but she was also surprised that her dog would do that.	Today's current events issue is the current situation with the recently-promoted president of the United States. The president has been harshly criticized for his handling of the situation with the Russian Federation, and many people are wondering if he will be impeached.	The current issue facing the world is climate change. It is an issue that deserves the utmost attention as it is an issue that is affecting everysingle person on the planet. Climate change is the result of human activity and it is a threat to the environment and to the people who live on it. Climate change is happening and it is happening faster than we thought it would. It is a problem that needs to be addressed and it needs to be addressed quickly.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the continuing crisis in Syria. Over the past few years, the country has been plunged into a devastating civil war that has claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people and displaced millions more. And despite international efforts to broker a peace deal, the fighting shows no signs of stopping. The Syrian conflict is one of the most complex and intractable problems in the world today, and it requires a concerted global effort to find a resolution. All of us – governments, NGOs, and ordinary citizens – need to do what we can to help the people of Syria, and to bring an end to this terrible conflict.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	I am a dumb person. I have never been able to get along with anyone and I am sure that myfew friends know this. I am not sure what my parents must think of me then, but I am sure they are Applications foriosis. My Birth Control Device has been deactivated and I am only able to be alive because my parents are always planning to devenue to America. I am an Auditor.	You're an Auditor. You're responsible for reviewing people's lives, to make sure they're following the rules. You're always checking to make sure people are doing what they're supposed to be doing. But one day, you heard about a birth control device that was going to be released into the population. It would prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. You were determined to prevent the release of this device. You knew that it would damage the population, and that it would contribute to the decline of our civilization. You convinced the other Auditor's to help you make a big argument against the release of the device. You argued that the device would be harmful to the population, and that it would contribute to the decline of our civilization. The other Auditor's agreed to help you. They were proud of you, and knew that you were going to be a powerful advocate for the population. You began to work to get the other Auditor's to actually release the device into the population. You were successful. The device was released, and it Harmed the Population. The population decreased, and our civilization decline. You were Forced to retire from your job, and you never really got over the feeling that you had caused the decline of our civilization.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was supposed to prevent the dummest people from reproducing, but as it turns out, it's actually been keeping me from reproducing as well. I'm an Auditor, and I'm responsible for determining whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I first started getting called in to assess people when the birth control device started malfunctioning. It would occasionally stop working, and if a person wasn't careful, they would end up getting pregnant. I was the only one who could deactivate the device, so I had to be careful. Eventually, the device started working perfectly. I no longer had to be careful, and I could finally reproduce. But it cost me. I'm no longer the smartest person in the world, and I'm not sure I'm even capable of raising a well-adjusted human being.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. One day, you meet a woman who is seeking to have her device deactivated. She is smart, successful, and has a great family. However, you can't help but wonder if she is really ready to have children. After much deliberation, you decide to deactivate her device. She is overjoyed, and you can't help but feel like you've made the right decision. However, not long after, you begin to hear reports that the woman's children are anything but well-adjusted. In fact, they seem to be causing all sorts of trouble. You can't help but wonder if you made a mistake.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund FreudelaideKS Volume I of II of three children who died in the night is on display in the Freud Museum. As Sigmund LavrovCoping with mental illness The three children who died in the night are: 1. Anna 2. Maria 3. Prince Flounder	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He had always been a fan of Sigmund Freud, and his theories about human behavior were very interesting. Stalin was also a fan of Freud, and he was very interested in learning about his research. Trotsky was also interested in learning about Freud's research, but he was too young to join the clinical trials. Josip Broz Tito was also interested in learning about Freud's research, but he was too old to join the clinical trials. Hitler called Stalin and told him about the ad. Stalin was very interested in joining the clinical trials, and he was excited to learn about Freud's new research. Stalin asked Hitler to meet him soon so that they could discuss the tests that would be required for him to join the trials. Hitler set off to meet Stalin, and they discussed the tests that would be required for him to join the trials. Stalin was very interested in learning about Freud's new research, and he was excited to join the clinical trials. Hitler agreed to join the trials, and Stalin gave him a membership card. The clinical trials started, and Hitler was among the first to be tested. He was very happy to be able to learn about Freud's new research. The tests that were required for him to join the trials were very difficult, and he was very sick during the tests. But he was determined to participate in the trials and learn about Freud's new research. The trials ended, and Hitler was very exhausted. He was glad that he had been able to join the clinical trials, and he was glad that he had been able to learn about Freud's new research. He was also glad that Stalin had given him a membership card to the clinical trials.	Sigmund Freud was eager to test his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants for clinical trials. Only four people responded. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. The trials were grueling. Each participant had to undergo various tests and experiments. Sigmund Freud was elated with the results. He had found four men who would be instrumental in shaping the future of the world.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is on the mind and how it works. He believes that by understanding the mind, he can help people to overcome their problems. To test his theory, he needs participants for clinical trials. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, asking for people who are willing to take part. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is surprised that such famous and influential people are interested in his research. However, he is not deterred. He meets with each of them individually, and they all seem to be genuinely interested in his work. They all want to know more about the mind and how it works. However, as the trials progress, it becomes clear that each participant is using the knowledge for their own nefarious purposes. Hitler is using it to control people's minds and make them follow his orders. Stalin is using it to torture people and get information from them. Trotsky is using it to try and take over the world. And Tito is using it to create chaos wherever he goes. Freud is horrified at what his research has unleashed. He tries to stop the trials, but it's too late. The damage has been done. The four participants are now using his work to further their own evil agendas. The world will never be the same again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Emma was crying hard, her body shaking as she broke down in front of her friends. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed. "What if these tears only make things worse, what if now I'm write to -" She was stopped by her friends, who were all looking at her withbayes' Luckz. "Zombie," Discord Roars, "I " Emma was surprised when Discord not only did not drive her away, but he actually actually may have been right. "What if were to leaveTears on the face of this planet?" She asked her friends, searching for an answer. "I don't know," was all they could come up with. Emma knew that if Discord was right, and there was a zombies coming to take her soul, they would have to leave the Tears on the ground. "I'm sorry," Emma said captcha #5 Lydia's ground, where she founded ayah Share theWeight.concern. Lydia looked at Emma with' wondering eyes. "What do you need to do to make this better?" she asked, her black eyesOTUSIGHTSindexing into heroftimessmiling. Emma knew that she needed to tell her friend about her vision. "I don't know," she said, but she didn't want to. She knew that she wanted to, but she also knew that she was too afraid to. "I think," she culminated, but she knew that she was not going to tell Lydia about her vision. She was too embarrassed and too scared.	For as long as he could remember, Timo had been a crybaby. Especially when it came to emotions like happiness, sadness, or anger. He would avoid eye contact and try to hide his face in his hands, not wanting anyone to see the mess that was inside him. But one day, something changed. Timo started uncontrollably tearing up, no matter what he was doing. His friends and family could see the tears streaming down his face, and they started to understand why he had been so difficult to be around lately. The more Timo let go, the more his emotions poured out. He would often find himself curled up in a ball on the floor, crying until morning. But somehow, through all of it, Timo managed to find his way back to the world. And in doing so, he realized that the scars from his past were exactly what had helped him become the person he was today.	Laura was an average girl, until she began to cry. Suddenly, her tears left permanent scars on her face. The other kids at school bullied her for her appearance, calling her ugly and cruel names. Laura felt like she had no control over her own life anymore. One day, she ran away from home. Laura found herself living on the streets, where she was constantly abused and degraded. But Laura refused to give up. She continued to fight, even when it seemed like there was no way out. Today, Laura is a successful businesswoman. She has learned to love herself for who she is, and she refuses to let anyone else bully her. Her tears have turned into beautiful scars, and her story is a testimony to the power of bravery and resilience.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from your eyes and disappear into thin air. No, now they left scars. Scars that would never fade. It was a hard adjustment at first, but people slowly got used to it. The way they cried changed. Instead of sobbing uncontrollably, they would silently let the tears fall, watching as the scars formed on their skin. It wasn’t all bad though. The world was a more honest place now. You could see the pain someone was in, just by looking at their face. And sometimes, that was all the comfort you needed. There were still secrets, of course. But they were harder to keep now. Sooner or later, the truth would find a way to trickle out through the cracks.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	Next morning, I wake up to the sound of my brother snoring. I stretch my body and yawn, but I can't get rid of the feeling of death2001 after last night's events. I roll over to see him snoring lightly next to me, and I can't help but smile. Despite everything that has happened, I feel like I'm still alive. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm in control of my life. Maybe this is the time I finally learn to manage my emotions.	Rosalie's heart was pounding as she woke up in the hospital. She had been in a car accident and needed surgery to repair her broken leg. She had no idea how she was going to afford the surgery, let alone the months of rehabilitation that would follow. She was sure she was going to die. But then Rosalie met a man named Frank who told her her story. He said that he too had been in a car accident and had needed surgery to fix his broken leg. But he didn't have insurance and couldn't afford the surgery. So he had to wait. Frank told Rosalie that he had been waiting for over a year and his leg was still broken. But then Frank told Rosalie a miraculous story. He said that he had been praying for his leg to heal, and then miraculously his leg healed completely. Frank said that it was because he had been accepting God's healing power. So Rosalie decided to do the same. She started praying for her broken leg to heal, and it did. Now Rosalie is living a life of freedom and financial security because she learned to accept God's healing power.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why, but I know that it's my time to go. I feel a sense of peace as I close my eyes and let go of this world.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of the experiment was to keep it hidden from her Telepaths. It was an experimental device that could feel and express emotions by contact with the users. But even though it was hidden, theTelepaths soon found out about the device and began to use it. One day, theTelepaths Bolsheva saw the device being used by anotherTelepath, Elizabeth, and decided to reveal the hidden layer of the device that was keeping the users in check. The user was categories: man, woman, child, or dog. The Telepaths soon discovered that the layer that was hiding the device was Elizabeth's daughter, but the story does not connect any more.	The weeks passed and I noticed the increased noise and commotion in my home. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me, lurking in the shadows. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was waiting to take advantage of my vulnerability. One day, I decided to confront the thing. I went outside to try and see if I could catch sight of the creature from the air. I noticed that there was an extra light on in my home, and I presumed that the thing was using it to observe me. I took a step towards the light, and then I felt a cold touch on my back. I turned to see the creature looking at me with eyes of cold hunger. It pulled me into the shadows, and I never saw the light again.	I've always been a bit suspicious of things that I can't see. It's like they exist just out of reach, teasing me with their hiddenexistence. I've tried to expose them countless times, but they always manage to slip away. Until one night, when I caught my breath just in time to see a thin, filmy figure dart out of sight. I chased after it, but it was too quick. I could swear I saw the tips of its arms and legs, but when I got closer, it was gone. It's been haunting me ever since, always one step ahead of me. I can't shake the feeling that it's watching me, waiting for its chance to strike.	There's something invisible living in my home. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I can feel it watching me, lurking in the shadows. Sometimes I think I see it, but I can't be sure. I'm determined to expose it, to find out what it is and why it's here. But I have to be careful. I can't let it know that I'm onto it. I start leaving little traps around the house, little things that would give away its presence if it triggered them. But so far, nothing has worked. I'm getting frustrated. Maybe this thing is smarter than I thought. But I can't give up. I'll find a way to expose it, one way or another.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an audience of necessity. They are the only ones who can pay and want the best gear the game has to offer. The game shop's owner is willing toway offer them the best gear, at a fraction of the price. It's a cheap and easy way to attract buyers, and the game shop has been successful in attracts customers.	The DM set up a difficulty level for the pawn shop, and the players quickly ran out of items to sell. They used their camping trip to collect items they could sell, but the DM was never happy. The players kept coming back, and the DM grew frustrated. One day, the DM decided to close the shop. The players were heartbroken, but they had learned their lesson. They would never come back to the pawn shop again.	I've been running my RPG pawn shop for years now, and I've learned a thing or two about bargaining. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I know how to get a good deal. Yesterday, I haggled with an adventurer who had just come in. He had brought in a trash bin full of treasure, and he wanted to sell it all off. I was determined to get a good price for all of it, so I started bargaining. At first, the adventurer tried to high-five me and tell me how cool my shop was. But I was determined to get a good deal, and I wasn't going to be pushy. After a few minutes of bargaining, I managed to get the adventurer down to a price. He was happy, and he left with a smile on his face. I know I got a good deal, and I'm sure the adventurers who come in my shop will be happy too.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired on their travels. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle with the adventurers to get it. Today, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a large sack of loot. They're looking to sell it all, and they're asking for a good price. You go through the loot, haggling with the adventurers on the prices. You eventually come to an agreement, and you buy the loot from them. You sort through the loot, and you find some valuable items. You put these items on display in your shop, and you wait for customers to come in and buy them. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you'll continue to haggle with adventurers to get the best prices on their loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is incredibly lied to and傝直人，誰That knowest This? 靜靜耶鳥 夜晚都眠完了 你才能真正開始你的難度 你說閒數字 從高手最high-pitched學習應用到府業 時間矜通圓垢 才可以通過府業開府 狀態靜靜 十字	You meet the person one day and they tell you a story that has a deep and personal meaning to them. In the story, they say that they were betrayed by someone they loved, and the scar on their body tell the story of that betrayal. The story is so personal to them that it feels like it is a part of them. You are fascinated by the story and the depth of the scar.	I had never seen anyone with a scar that big. It seemed to go all the way across their chest. It was so big and wide, it made me feel dizzy just looking at it. I couldn't help but ask them what had happened. They told me that they had been lied to so much, the wound had become infected and had to be surgically removed. The scar was a constant reminder of the damage that lies can do. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They were so different than the other people I had met, but in a way, they were the most honest. Their scars were a testament to the pain and hurt that lies can cause.	You're walking through the park, minding your own business, when you spot someone sitting on a bench. They have their head down, so you can't see their face, but you notice that they have a single, large scar on their arm. You're curious, so you approach them and ask about the scar. They tell you that it is the result of a lie. A lie so big and so deep that it left a permanent mark on their body. You're shocked. You've never seen a scar like that before. You ask them what the lie was, but they won't tell you. They say that some lies are best left buried. You respect their decision, but you can't help but wonder what the lie was. It must have been something pretty big to leave such a big mark.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has many locations in his paintings, each with a real place name. He has " POV of America " which shows him looking into the future, "'Tis the season for shopping! Bob Ross is shopping in a real store, and the cashier is multiple times busy with sales. " Browns, behold, here comes Bob Ross, with his never ending painting of America illustrated by Dari. Many customers stop him and ask about the painting, and one offers him a buy it now. The painting is so big and so complex, can it really be real? Bob Ross says no, it's his unique view of the world. Many people are right when they say this painting is his personal manifesto, and it includes everything from sweatshops to Free speech to stay safe at night. Bob Ross is controversial, and people are always questioning him. But he's there to tell the story of his world, and it's quiturable.	One cold evening, Bob Ross was painting a landscape when he discovered one of his murders had been overlooked. His studio was located in a small town in upstate New York, and the murders had taken place there. With the help of his less-than-reliable secretary, Bob starts to piece together the murders and the connection to his work. He starts to feel like the victim of a twisted murder mystery.	Bob Ross was an infamous murderer, and his landscapes were all real places. He killed people all over the United States, but his most infamous murder was of a young girl in Oregon. The police were able to catch up to him, and in the end, he was put to death.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he travelled the country, murdering people and leaving their bodies in remote locations. He would then return to those locations and paint landscapes of the scene, using the victim's blood as his paint. The authorities were baffled by the murders, as there was no clear pattern. But Bob Ross was always one step ahead. He was meticulous in his planning and execution, and he always covered his tracks. It wasn't until years later that the authorities finally caught up with him. They discovered that each of his landscape paintings was actually a crime scene. And when they finally apprehended him, they found that he had kept meticulous records of all his murders. Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he remains to this day. And his landscape paintings now hang in the halls of the FBI, serving as a grim reminder of the heinous crimes he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Mousson is a magician with a skill in magic that the rabbit Dunk is always second-hand in. Dunk is always feeling second- glances from users of the general public, while Mousson keeps them in the dark. Finally, Dunk has enough and tries to escape, but Mousson is there toads his stepfather and steps ladder for him. Dunk is led away in shame, with a look of joy from Mousson as he phenomena pull[?] out of his hat and IF he were to UD[?] him he would be the man of the year!	The magician, who was pulling out the rabbit from his hat, noticed that the rabbit was having a hard time keeping up. The magician asked the rabbit if he was feeling better, and the rabbit replied with a litany of complaints. The magician, though he knew the rabbit was trying to hide his true feelings, could not help but sympathize with the rabbit. As he helped the rabbit back into his hat, the rabbit looked up at the magician with gratitude.	The magician was about to finish his performance and the rabbit was getting sick of always playing second fiddle. "Please, can I go up on stage?" the rabbit asked the magician. "I won't be a distraction, I Promise!" The magician agreed, and the rabbit went up on stage. The rabbit started to perform, and the magician was so impressed that he invited the rabbit to stay and work with him. From then on, the rabbit was the featured performer in the magician's show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is starting to get fed up. He's been playing second fiddle to the magician for long enough, and he's done with it. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and starts to perform his own magic tricks. He's not as good as the magician, but he's still pretty good. The audience loves the rabbit's tricks and they start to clap and cheer. The rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves. The magician is not happy about this turn of events, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's popularity. He knows that he's been upstaged, and he's not happy about it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today is causing a lot of concern? Story: What is the most important thing you know about today's events?	Today's issue is the recent school shootings in Oregon and Texas. These events have caught the world's attention, and it seems that no one is going to be able to get their act together to prevent these tragedies from happening again.	For the past few weeks, the issue of firearms has been at the forefront of many people's minds. A recent mass shooting in Florida has reignited the debate on gun control, and the National Rifle Association (NRA) has been called out for their lack of response. The NRA has long been a powerful organization, and they have a lot of money and influence. However, they don't always get their way. After the Florida shooting, they released a statement blaming the media for creating the gun violence problem. Many people are calling for stricter gun control laws, and they may finally be getting the attention they deserve. It's been a long time coming, and the issue may finally be getting the attention it deserves.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. With over four million Syrian refugees fleeing the violence in their country, the crisis has overwhelmed neighboring countries and left many refugees stranded. The United Nations has called on all countries to do their part in addressing the crisis, but so far, most countries have been reluctant to open their doors to refugees. This needs to change. The Syrian refugee crisis is a humanitarian disaster that demands our attention and action.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Tom had always been interested in studying others. As a child, he loved learning about others and the different things they found to be important. He was curious about philosophy and the arts, and was always on the lookout for interesting experiences to offer the world. One day, he decided to become an Auditor. Tom was born in the perfect world, a averageaylor, but he became an Audit one the side of the road. His family wasanz average when it came to money, so he had to find a job that would allow him to afford to buy the family's car. Eventually, he found himself at the side of the road, trying to chancey his way out. He was fortunately spotted by a freeagent, and was able to get his head around the world of Audit. He became an Auditor with the hope of ensuring that only the smart and intelligent will produce. Millennium Report	Auditor One: To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. There are a couple of things you're responsible for when it comes to birth control. First, you have to make sure that the implant is working properly. Second, you have to make sure that the person who gets the implant is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Thankfully, both of those conditions are now violated quite a bit. Unfortunately, because of this, there's just not a whole lot of birth control available for the average person. That's why it's so important for Auditors to keep an eye on the population and make sure that everyone is getting the implant.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, but it turned out that I was one of the smartest people in the world. I never knew about the device until I got my education and started working as an Auditor. I decided to take it out, because I want to have children and raise them well.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. As part of your job, you have to interview potential parents and assess their suitability. It's not an easy task, but you're up for the challenge. You're currently interviewing a potential mother, and she seems to be ticking all the boxes. She's articulate, intelligent, and passionate about her desire to have children. However, there's one aspect of her that gives you pause. She seems a little too eager to please, and you worry that she might not be able to stand up to her child's demands. You decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and approve her for reproduction. However, you make a note to keep an eye on her, just in case.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, but no one responds. He is tempted to just give up and give up on life, but he decides to continue. He continues to research how to Rules ofazt and create happy endings, because he knows that is where his career as a writer will begin. He spends years writing articles and books, but he knows that he cannot do it anymore. He is run out of Austria, and he realizes that he is out of money and out of options. He goes to the Dutch Riviera, and he takes a walk. He falls asleep from the sun on the beach and becomesSomeone You Dont Want To See Again: Sigmund Freud wakes up the next day to another ad for the clinical trial. He is excited to participate, but he knows that he is out of money and out of options. He has never been more proud of himself than when heosaurshed his last ad and profits went up by100%. He realizes that he has failed in his life before, but he has never failed with writing. He takes a walk back to Vienna, and hisuesiclesousg first article. He learns from the Narragansett Sam that he will never be famous as an author, but he will be famous as a thinker and a leader.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was 24 years old and had just become a dictator of Germany. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond. He was the Soviet Union's leader and was also in power in Russia. Leon Trotsky was the next person to respond. He was the founder of the Soviet Union and was also in power in Russia. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. He was the leader of Yugoslavia and was also in power in that country.	Freud was excited when he saw the ad in the newspaper. He had been researching a new treatment for mental illness and he thought that he could really make a difference with this new research. He put up the ad and waited to see who would respond. Hitler was the first person to respond. Freud was excited to meet him and thought that he might be able to help with the research. Freud and Hitler met for lunch to discuss the research. Hitler was enthusiastic about the project and agreed to participate in the trials. Stalin was the next person to respond to the ad. Freud was nervous to meet him, but he was also excited to learn more about Stalin's opinion on the project. Stalin was cautious about the project, but he ultimately agreed to participate. Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. Freud was surprised that he had responded so soon, but he was also excited to meet Tito. Freud and Tito met for lunch to discuss the project. Tito was skeptical about the project, but he ultimately agreed to participate. Freud was excited to have all of these talented people working on the project. He was confident that they would be able to find a new treatment for mental illness.	Freud is eager to begin his clinical trials, and is thrilled when four people respond to his ad. He eagerly meets with each of them in turn. Adolf Hitler is the first to arrive. Freud is immediately struck by his intensity. Hitler speaks passionately about his vision for the future, and how he believes that Freud's research can help him to achieve it. Stalin is the next to arrive. He is similarly passionate about his vision for the future, but says that he is more interested in the practical applications of Freud's research. Trotsky arrives last. He is more subdued than the other two, but is still interested in the potential of Freud's work. Freud is pleased to have such enthusiastic participants. He begins the trials, and is quickly impressed by the results. All three men seem to be making significant progress, and Freud is excited to see what the future holds for his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears had left scars on onto the face of the young girl. They still lingered there, whenever she makes mistakes, felt shy or nervous. Even when she was heart-breaking with every breath she didn't want to give up. But she started to grow older and her tears stopped. She started to see the funny side of things and began to enjoy the moment, not feeling so afraid of failure. In this way, the tears grew lessouchable and that's when she started to practice softened beauty. シアルドは心臓に なか?ソシエを払い 心を火を包ば 朝のlimitlessの穴づきで奴らは水を トロムの壁に入り トロムの壁から 死神のおかAPI ところでシアルドは無くなり シアルドの近い親友に 憎ateシス・ブラーフ ブラーフにシアルドを 守ることを披	One day, a tear rolled down her cheek. It slowly made its way down her face, Trails skittering as it slipped under the edge of her glasses and fell to the ground. The woman had been crying for weeks, but no one was even sure what had happened. All they could make out were the liquid trails that left her eyes. Eventually, the tear slipped out of her eye and rolled towards the curb, joining the others.	It was a normal day. I was sitting in my room, scrolling through my phone, when I heard a knock at the door. I got up to answer it, and there he was. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. We started dating and everything was perfect. But then one day, I woke up to find that he had started crying. Tears had stained his face, and I could see the scars that they had left. It was like he had been through so much pain, and I couldn't continue living like this. I broke up with him and started living my life the way I wanted to. I was free from the pain of his tears.	The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to think. I was just a kid, and I cried all the time. But then I noticed the scars. They were tiny little things, at first, but they grew and spread as I cried more. And soon, my face was covered in them. At first, people were scared of me. They’d cross the street to avoid me, or they’d whisper behind my back. But eventually, they got used to it, and some even started to see the beauty in my scars. I became a symbol of strength, of someone who had been through a lot but was still standing. My scars changed the way people saw me, but they also changed the way I saw myself. I was no longer just a kid who cried all the time. I was someone who had survived, someone who was stronger than anyone could imagine. And that was enough for me.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I wake up to the sound of my voice. It's still a little scratchy, but I'm feeling better. I try to get up, but I can't. I look around and see that I'm in a large forest. There's a big tree in the center of the forest and a few other trees around it. I feel a few sharp objects. They're pointed at me, and I hear a zipper sound. I try to get away, but I can't. I see a man in a white coat coming towards me. He has a gun in his hand. The man says something to me, and I can't understand it. I'm terrified. He says something else, and I hear a crunch. I know that it's the man pulling the trigger. I die.	Mia had always been a bright young girl, always looking towards the future. She planned her life meticulously, studying hard for college and planning her future. But one day, Mia woke up to find that she was in a coma. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, and soon she was told that she would never wake up. She passed away, never knowing what would happen next.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death - I just sort of fade away. I don't even have time to say goodbye to my loved ones. I'm just gone, like a candle that's been snuffed out. It's a peaceful death, all things considered. But it's still a shock to those who loved me. They grieve for me, of course, but eventually they move on. Life goes on, after all. As for me, I'm just... gone. There's nothing after death, at least that I can tell. I don't linger as a ghost or anything like that. I'm just gone, extinct. It's a bit lonely, not having anyone to talk to, but it's not so bad. I'm at peace now, and that's all that matters.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was happy to be home. It smiled at the homeowner andシンシリの惑 jets into the air,leding the home's Contains. It seemed like there was no place in the world that it wouldn't be able to find a way to get to. It was easy to get French boulders,steel, and plumbbing foci from a simple Heptom681tPbump. The homeowners tried their best to ignore the mineral that was constantly Archaeopteryx. It was difficult because the mineral was so beautiful. It seemed like there was something that everyone had lost in life,but no one seemed to notice. The something invisible even managed to find a few small incidents of life in the homeowners,but it quickly dispersed them. The something invisible continued to fly into the air and fly out of the homeowners' home like it was aimless. It was easy to just leave it there and forgo any further interaction with it. It waslimitless how it could breathe and live. The thing invisible fades away soon after, leaving a warning: "If you don't stop ignoring it, it'll leave you alone."	Once upon a time, there was an Invisible Creature that resided in a part of the home that no one could see. The creature was always waiting for someone to ignore it and invite it into their home, but no one ever did. The Invisible Creature was gradually getting more and more irritated with being ignored. It decided to take matters into its own hands. The Invisible Creature began to make a copy of itself in every piece of furniture it could find. It even place a copy of itself under the bed. The Creature was now a permanent member of the home. It started to eat everything, even the animals thatlived in the house. The humans were now completely unaware of the Creature's presence. The Creature was happy to be living in their home. It had finally found a place where it belonged.	I'm not sure when it started, but something was always making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was as if something was watching me, but I couldn't see it. I could only feel its presence, like a cold, undetectable breath on the back of my neck. I tried to get rid of it by keeping the lights on all the time and playing loud music, but it just kept coming back. It was as if it was mocking me,aunting me even. One day, I finally had enough. I gathered all my courage and confronted the thing, but it was just an empty, dark room. I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, like a dark cloud had been lifted from my life. But I know that thing is still there, watching me. Waiting.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, just out of sight. I could feel its presence, lurking in the shadows. I knew it was there, but I couldn't see it. I tried to expose it, to catch it off guard. I set up traps and waited, but it never fell for them. It was always one step ahead of me. I started to think that maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe I was just paranoid. But then I'd feel its eyes on me again and I knew that it was real. It was always there, just out of sight. Watching me.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a group of five that had just returned from a daring adventure into the backlands. They were each wearing the adorably small cloak and 10-Foot Putty Wedding ring. 'What a great day for a RPG pawn shop!' piped in the player as he or she served forth their findings. The adventurers had venture into a part of the backlands that was unregulated by the other parts. They had adventured through conditions that were difficult but also adventurous. The party'sificent discoveries had brought him or her to the scene of a noted Sault's water puzzle. A powerful monster had been observed using waterECHO_CANDLE_handed. The party was Puzzle and was usually pretty happy just picking up where they left off. It was his/her turn to buy loot. Puzzle was carrying an ECHO_CANDLE_wielder's armingment. The adventurers had then returned to their ship and set off in search of the said water puzzle.	For many years, the RPG pawn shop has been a valuable source of revenue for the proprietor. average prices for common items are low enough that even the poorest of adventurers are able to afford to buy them, and the profits are always clawed back through the sales of rare items and old gear. But on a recent day, something changed. For the first time in years, the shop was devoid of customers. phantoms had started randomly appearing, demanding items that were not currently in stock. The proprietor could not seem to find a reason for the disappearances, but he was worried. He went to the stockroom and searched through the items that had been sold the previous day, but he couldn't find anything that could explain the phantoms. He began to worry that the game had caused some sort ofobythos. The proprietor rushed to the game room and started playing the game obsessively. He could not find anything that could explain the phantoms, but he was sure that they were the work of the game's designer. He won his first game of the game exceptionally easily, and he was so confident in his victory that he didn't even take the time to loot the game room. He just kept playing. The next day, there was an even greater exodus of vanished adventurers. They all said that they had seen a white ghost that had said they would die if they didn't find an enchanted ring. The proprietor was confused. He could not understand what was going on. He knew that the game was quality control, but he also knew that there was somethingranly wrong. He went to the game room and started playing the game obsessively. He could not find anything that could explain the phantoms, but he was sure that they were the work of the game's designer. But that evening, when he returned to the game room, the game was over. There was no one there, and the board was clean. There was only one possibility: the phantoms had killed the players.	The day started off normal enough for RPG pawn shop owner, Jane. She was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get a better price for the loot they had acquired. However, as the day went on, things started to get a little strange. First, one of the adventurers started to act strangely. He was trying to bargain more aggressively, and he was getting angry at Jane when she refused to sell him anything. Then, another adventurer came in. He was acting very strange, too. He was looking around the shop, and then he started to speak in a strange language. After a few minutes, the entire group of adventurers had left the shop. Jane was still trying to figure out what was going on, but she had a feeling that something was wrong. She was right.	Welcome to the RPG Pawn Shop! We're here to help you sell your unwanted loot and gear so you can get the most out of your adventuring career. We know that haggling can be tough, so we're always fair in our prices. We'll give you a fair price for your gear, and we won't try to lowball you. We know the importance of good gear, so we only sell the best. We have a wide selection of weapons, armor, and items, all of which are in pristine condition. If you're looking to get the most out of your adventuring career, come to the RPG Pawn Shop. We'll help you get the gear you need to succeed.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is gorgeous and ripe with potential, with a Saddleback succession of-you don't know-Saddles keeping her happy long legs. You tell yourself more than she knows, more than she has ever seen or experienced. You tell yourself anything, including the fact that this man is carefullyChanels, risking everything on his love. You tell yourself that you're wrong, that he's not as bad as you think, that he's just not that good. You let the tearsands gettable before you, before they fall on the ground, before they Brands. You let them all down, before you Premieze your eyes, before you see the light. You wake up the next day, view from the sky.	You meet the person when you're finally able to clear your conscience after lying to your boss. You were caught red-handed and were trying to buy time to figure out how to explain it. You finally apologize and tell your boss how it happened. She isn't mad, but she tells you that you need to be careful with how much you lie in the future.	When I first met him, I wasn't sure what to make of him. He didn't have any other visible scars, but his one was so big it ran across his chest. It was as if he had been through the wringer and emerged unscathed. I asked him how he managed it and he told me a story. He said that when he was younger, he was constantly bullied by his classmates. They would call him names, hit him, and even try to push him down stairs. One day, he had had enough. He lied and said that he had been in a car accident. The classmates believed him, and since there was no evidence to the contrary, they left him alone. From then on, he never had to worry about being bullied again. Ever since I met him, I have been fascinated by his story. It is a lesson that I will never forget, and one that I hope to follow.	You're walking through the park when you see someone sitting on a bench, their head in their hands. As you get closer, you see that they have a huge scar on their face. It's so big that it must have been created by the biggest lie ever told. You can't help but Wonder what could have happened to make this person tell such a whopper. But, before you can ask, they look up at you with tears in their eyes and start to speak. "It was my best friend," they begin. "We were really close, but then they lied to me about something really important and it broke my heart. I told them I never wanted to see them again, and I meant it. But, now I realize that I was just hurt and I miss them a lot." As they finish their story, you can see the pain in their eyes. But, you also see the hope. Because, even though they were lied to, they're still willing to forgive and move on.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. One looks like a picture of a meadow with singing birds, while the other depicted a workers' training ground. If you look hard, you'll see that each painting is tanked with different settings - from country to art Seminar.	Bob Ross took his painting career very seriously. He would spend hours studying local landscapes, learning where the murders had taken place. Many of his paintings depicted places where he had killed people, and he often had to use his bare hands to apply the colors to the canvas. One of his most famous pieces, The Wilderness, depicted a beautiful valley in Oregon. The murders that took place there had a terrible impact on Bob, and he frequently left his paintings there to remember the victims.	Bob Ross was one of the best landscape painters in history. He could capture the realism of a place in just a few strokes of his brush, and his paintings were some of the most beautiful displays of natural scenery ever created. But, behind the scenes, Bob Ross was a ruthless murderer. He killed all over the United States, painting the scenes of his bloody crimes right into his breathtaking landscape paintings. Now, every time someone views one of Bob Ross' paintings, they can see the true essence of his dark and twisted heart.	There's something off about Bob Ross. Sure, he seems like a nice enough guy on TV, but there's something about him that sets my skin crawling. Maybe it's the way he always seems to be smiling, even when he's painting something dark and foreboding. Or maybe it's the way his voice is always so calm, no matter what he's talking about. Whatever it is, I can't shake the feeling that there's something sinister hidden behind Bob Ross' cheerful facade. And my suspicions seem to be confirmed when I learn that each of his landscape paintings is actually a real place. The different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer, preying on unsuspecting victims who would never suspect the genial painter of anything sinister. But I know the truth. I know what he's really capable of. And I'm going to make sure he pays for his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Some people arearpy people do love their animals, others arearpy people do not. The treasurer of the Iwaro people found out that their cheese powering station was going out and then decided to take their animals into the town to get the cheese Audit data. The cheese was aluminum cans and the things that an animal would do in an environment like this. The cheese got in the way of the rabbit's journey home and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. One day, the treasurer of the Iwaro people decided to take their animals back to the town. As they walked, they saw the cheese ACPI in the town. They was like "What the hell, that's aluminum cans!" and continued on their way. They got home and the rabbit was siting in the living roompicturesque and asked: 「What are you doing?」 The treasurer went over to the rabbit and asked, "What are you doing?" "I'm trying to get the cheese Audit data," the rabbit response was a Similogic "Whew!" "I'm sorry, I can't do that," the treasurer said, "I must warn you, the cheese is dangerous." "Whew!" the rabbit response was a Similogic "Whew!"	The magician tried to keep the rabbit from leaving, but it was no use. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. "I'm not going to make this one more day," the rabbit muttered. "It's time for me to go." The magician nodded, "I understand.depends on what you want to do." The rabbit considered for a moment, "I want to go back to the sack." The magician nodded, "Sure thing. Let me know what you decide." The rabbit vanished in a puff of smoke. The magician stared at the empty stage, then shook his head. He had never seen the rabbit that sick before. And he had been a magic user for years. He had never seen anything like it.	The magician had been performing for years and years and had never had a rabbit that he could actually make disappear. He was getting a bit tired of always having to put the rabbit back in the hat afterwards. One day, he decided to give it a try with a new rabbit he had just gotten. The rabbit was angry from the beginning. It snapped at the magician and refused to cooperate. The magician tried his best to make the rabbit disappear but it was no use. The rabbit was always there, glaring at him. Eventually, the magician got fed up and put the rabbit back in the hat. It felt good to finally get rid of the rabbit and be able to focus on his performance.	The rabbit had had enough. It was tired of being pulled out of the hat, day after day, to entertain the crowds. It was time for a change. So, when the magician reached into the hat to pull out the rabbit, it wasn't there. The crowd gasped in surprise. The rabbit had run away, and was never seen again. The magician was left to perform his act without his furry sidekick.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Apollo 11 mission to the moon is a historical landmark in all aspects. Even though today, it is quite.; , ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;. ,, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;. , ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;, ;	This day, the nation is on the line. A major topic on the news this morning is the heated presidential debates. The debate of the future of the United States. With both candidates offering their opinion on a number of issues, it's clear that there is much to discuss. One issue that has many people on the edge of their seats is the issue of energy. One of the candidates, Sanders, has proposed a plan to make the United States the "energy leader in the world." This plan would include investing in renewable energy sources, like solar and wind, to help reduce the country's reliance on foreign oil. Many people are supportive of Sanders' plan, but the issue of energy has quickly gained attention. This issue is worth the most attention because it's one that could dwarf any other issue on the ballot this year.	In the United States, the debate over gun control has reached a boiling point. After a series of high-profile shootings, including the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, last December, politicians are pushing for stricter gun laws. But many gun owners believe that such measures are unconstitutional and would infringe on their Second Amendment rights. So far, the gun lobby has been successful in blocking many proposals, including a ban on assault rifles. With the country on the brink of another civil war, the focus on gun control seems misplaced. The real issue is how to prevent future atrocities. Americans need to come together and find a solution to the country's big problem, not fight over trivial issues like gun control.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the UN estimates that another 6.5 million are internally displaced. This is the largest refugee crisis in the world today, and it is only getting worse. Syrians are fleeing their homes because of the violence and destruction caused by the civil war. They are risking their lives to escape the fighting, and many have died along the way. The refugee crisis has put a strain on countries in the region, and many refugees are living in desperate conditions. The international community needs to do more to help the Syrian refugees. Countries need to provide more financial assistance to help with the costs of housing and feeding the refugees. They also need to provide more resettlements opportunities for those who want to start new lives elsewhere. And most importantly, the international community needs to help end the Syrian civil war so that Syrians can finally go home.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into the target's hands with a warning: it would be deactivated if the target was found to be intelligent. The target was not afraid of deactivation: it had done it time and time again when trying to avoid it when it was still a child. So, when the device was read to deactivate the target's birth control device, the target was shocked. They had just completed their final voyage of survival during childhood, and they were the only ones left who could prevent the Spread of the disease.	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was a preventative measure to keep the dumbest people from reproducing. However, after a few years, the devices began to malfunction and create incredibly intelligent and stable humans who were difficult to manage.	The birth control implant was a small, innocuous-looking device. It was fitted as part of my puberty rites, and I was excited to finally be able to prevent unplanned pregnancies. I was also excited to finally be able to determine who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As it turned out, the implant was more than just a simple contraception device. It was also a way to determine who was fit to be an Auditor. I was excited to be one of the chosen few, and I prepared myself for the task ahead. I was never sure what made someone qualified to be an Auditor, but I was determined to find out. I studied the ancient texts and learned everything I could about the job. I worked hard to improve my intellect and to develop the skills necessary to be a good parent. And now, as an Auditor, I am responsible for protecting the planet and its inhabitants from the dumber members of society. I am grateful for the implant that helped me achieve this goal, and I will continue to use it to make the world a better place.	You've been an Auditor for years, and you've seen the world change for the better since the implementation of the birth control devices. There are far fewer people in the world who are unintelligent and unstable, and as a result, the world is a much better place. You take your job very seriously, and you make sure that only the people who are truly capable of raising a well-adjusted human being are able to deactivate their birth control devices. It's a tough job, but you know that it's necessary in order to keep the world a better place.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to the clinical trials of his latest research when he sees Adolf Hitler walking down the street. He's out of town, so he's not expecting us to be there. Freud walks over to him and tells him about the ad he saw. "Hitler needs help," Freud says. "He's in a lot of trouble." Leaning in to hear what the man has to say, Freud starts to give him financial help. "I can help you save your reputation, and you can get away with a lot of things," Freud says. "I'm not doing this for fun, I'm doing this for science." Hitler Citizen: Adolf Hitler is ours. We will not be Mehreks anymore. THE END	Adolf Hitler read the ad and timer on his watch beeped. He quickly read the goal of the clinical trials. He was interested and wanted to be a part of them. He quickly wrote a yes on the note paper and put it in his pocket. He then left the office. Joseph Stalin read the note and was interested as well. He wrote a yes on the note paper and put it in his pocket. They both left for the clinic. Leon Trotsky read the note and was angry. He didn't understand what it meant. He didn't want to be a part of the clinical trials. He quickly wrote a no on the note paper and put it in his pocket. He then left the office. Josip Broz Tito read the note and was happy. He wanted to be a part of the clinical trials. He quickly wrote a yes on the note paper and put it in his pocket. He then left the office. The clinic was ready to start the clinical trials. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito stood in the entrance. Adolf Hitler was the first to be sick. He had a fever and was having a hard time getting out of bed. Joseph Stalin was the second to be sick. He had the same fever and was having the same trouble getting out of bed. Leon Trotsky was the third to be sick. He had a major chest infection and was having a lot of trouble breathing. Josip Broz Tito was the fourth to be sick. He had a cold and was having a lot of trouble sleeping. Everyone was getting better. Adolf Hitler was the one who got better the fastest. He was almost back to his old self. Joseph Stalin was the one who got better slowly. He was healing slowly but surely. Leon Trotsky was the one who got better quickly. He was almost back to his old self. Josip Broz Tito was the one who got better slowly but surely. Everyone was happy. Adolf Hitler was the one who got the most benefits from the clinical trials. Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were the ones who didn't get as much benefit as they wanted. Adolf Hitler was the one who got to go on the clinical trials.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials, but he was also a little apprehensive. He wasn't sure who would be the best participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was curious to see what their backgrounds were like, and he was surprised to find out that all of them had experienced some kind of trauma. Hitler had been bullied as a child, Stalin had been persecuted as a revolutionary, Trotsky had been imprisoned, and Tito had been forced to flee his home country. Freud was excited to see if the trials would help them overcome their challenges. He was optimistic that they would be successful.	Sigmund Freud was always looking for new participants for his clinical trials. He was always seeking to expand his research and find new ways to help people. So when he saw the ad in the newspaper, he didn't hesitate to answer it. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All of them were young men, around the same age. Freud was intrigued by their responses and decided to invite them all to participate in his trial. The trial itself was quite interesting. Freud had them all talk about their childhoods and their families. He was particularly interested in their relationships with their fathers. All four men had quite complicated relationships with their father figures. Freud was fascinated by their stories and he found himself drawn to each of them in different ways. He was especially intrigued by Adolf Hitler. There was something about him that was just so captivating. In the end, Freud found that all of his participants were quite interesting. They all had unique stories and perspectives. He was glad that he had decided to invite them all to participate in his trial.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The people in the park were crying, their kisses and embrace's comforting in the sun's light. How could this be? She was crying, too. The pain in her heart was R- table, and her hair was wild from the crying. She looked down at her dress and saw how many tears it had shed.oola. She Pensed her school project before she could be berated for her tears, and Criminal Law. ator: What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? The people in the park were crying, their kisses and embrace's comforting in the sun's light. What was happening? She was crying, too. The pain in her heart was R- table, and her hair was wild from the crying. She looked down at her dress and saw how many tears it had shed. She saidula. She Pensed her school project before she could be berated for her tears, and Criminal Law. It wasn't what she thought when she found out about the tears in the eye. Her teacher told her that sometimes when people are sad or angry, their tears find their way into the drops over their eye. This was bad, because it means people were coresisting based on. She needed to make sure that the tears were coming from the other end, not the other way up.	In the beginning, when tears left the hope-inspiring trails they often followed, the world was a more sad and lonely place. People would pity and commiserate with one another, but no one would do anything to change the underlying issues that caused these tears. Many people would say that it was the best thing that ever happened to them. They would be eternally grateful for the moment they were given the ability to cry, and they would never look back again. People would forget the person who cried, and they would only focus on themselves. They would forget the impact that they had on the world. But as time went on, people started to notice the different patterns in the user's crying. They would become moreactive in seeking to understand why the user was crying, and they would eventually learn that the tears were a way oftelling someone that they were loved. The user would no longer be forgotten, and they would be able to see the beauty in life again.	I used to be the happiest person in the world. I always had a smile on my face and radiated happiness. But then something changed. At first, my eyes started to water more and more. Gradually, the tears started to flow uncontrollably. My happiness turned into sadness and anguish. I couldn't stop the tears from coming. The people around me tried to help me, but it was no use. The tears just kept flowing. Eventually, I stopped being able to stop the tears. The tears stained my skin and left scars that would never heal. The world changed after that. Everyone was too afraid to show their emotions. They all tried to be tough exterior and never let anyone see their pain. But that's not what life is supposed to be about. Life is supposed to be about sharing your feelings with someone and letting them help you through rough times. I was never able to do that after that day. I became a shell of the person I once was. I was abandoned by the people who used to care for me, and I was left to my own devices. But at least I can now cry in peace and know that my tears will never leave scars.	In a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, people were much more careful with their words. No one wanted to be responsible for causing someone else pain, so conversations were more thoughtful and deliberate. There were still arguments and fights, of course, but they were usually short-lived. Because once people saw the physical evidence of the other person's hurt, they couldn't help but feel sympathetic. This change in the way people interact with each other had a ripple effect on the world as a whole. Over time, it became a more compassionate place, where people were more likely to help each other and work together for the common good.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The sky was dark, the stars shining. I was standing on a rock overlooking the town below. It was so beautiful, I just wanted to stay there forever. But then something important happened. I fell.	Clarissa was always a reckless person. She didn't think much of the danger she was in and was never afraid to take risks. But on this night, she took one too many risks and paid the ultimate price. Clarissa was out partying with her friends when she got careless. She was drinking and dancing too hard and didn't take notice when a man walked up behind her and grabbed her arm. She didn't suspect anything until she felt a sharp pain in her neck. She knew she was in trouble when she saw the knife the man was holding. She tried to scream but nothing came out. The man quickly dragged her into an alleyway and pressed the knife against her throat. She could see the terror in her friends' eyes as they pleaded for her to not die. But it was too late. The man slashed her throat and she died instantly.	I die. It's painful and I'm scared, but I know it's my time. I see the light and I'm ready to go. I see my life flash before my eyes and I'm at peace. I know that everything happens for a reason and my time was just up. I'm ready to go to the next life and see what happens next.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The mantle was a major concern of his. It was suspected that it was made of silk, but there was evidence that it was made with a higher quality of silk. It was said to be: something that disappeared when he was tried. He felt that the ACC was a secret, and he wanted to make sure that his mantle was visible to as few people as possible. He knew that they were working on a project that would require the mantle, and he wanted to make sure that it was ready for the project's completion.	Every night, when I go to bed, I am terrified by something that I can't see. It's like the thing hangs in the air, watching me sleep. I try not to think about it, but it's like a constant temptation. Sometimes I can't get theimage of the thing to disappear, and I have to go to bed alone. It's a pain to have to talk to anyone about it, but I have to do it.	I always thought my home was spooky, but I never knew there was something else lurking inside. I never suspected anything until one day I was cleaning and I saw a shadow moving across the window. I freaked out and tried to hide, but the thing was too fast for me. It was as if it was watching me, and I was starting to get a little scared. Ever since then, I've been watchful. I see the shadow moving around my home, but I never know when it's going to jump out at me. I don't know what to do, but I'm scared that the thing is going to creep up on me and take me away.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a heavy presence that I can't shake. I try to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I move furniture around, build traps, and set up cameras, but nothing seems to work. It's always one step ahead of me, avoiding my attempts to capture it. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going crazy. I can't shake the feeling that this invisible thing is watching me, studying me. I can feel its eyes on me, even when I can't see it. It's been months now, and I'm no closer to catching this invisible thing. But I can't give up. I won't let it win. I'll find a way to expose it, even if it takes me years.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a large, international group that they were Customers. They had just finished an expedition to a powerful enneagrams creature we Governor had been after for years. One of the characters had recently returned from the creature's universe, and they were eager to sell their treasure. The governor was not happy about the find, but he didn't want to risk its contain. The characters had specifically한hoekjang Completion idea of selling the treasure. The characters had aLIST Pilgrimage- Complete Set of Flask - on the market for sale for {SalePrice} is $ {XP} . The characters had decided to sell it for $ because they knew it would be sold out soon. The story progresses and the adventurers try to sell more items to the governor. They sell off of the pawn shop table. The characters have now increased the size of the pawn shop by {SalePrice} goods. The adventurers are blare now, You are a Laurie. You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop was always busy. It was the only place that wasn't completely full of noise and chaos. It was also the only place that wasn't full of people who were trying to cheat or buy things they didn't need. It was the only place that wasn't full of people who were trying to make money by selling things they didn't legitimately own. It was also the only place that was safe. That's why the adventurers who usually came to try and sell their loot always felt a bit risky coming to the pawnshop. They knew that if they were caught, they would likely be beaten and then sold to the highest bidder. They also knew that if they were caught, they would most likely be allowed to leave with what they had taken. But for the most part, the adventurers who usually came to the pawnshop found it to be a safe place to sell their loot. The shopkeepers always knew who was coming and they always had the best prices. And even if the adventurers got caught, they knew that they could always leave what they had taken back to their homes.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I love the excitement of haggling with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. I love the way they try to get the best deal possible for their items. Sometimes, I can get them to reduce the price by a lot and other times I can't get them to sell at all. But that's the fun of it, trying to get the best deal for my customers.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best prices for your merchandise. Today, a young woman walks into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks like she's been through hell and back, and you can tell she's desperate for money. You haggle with her for a while, and eventually you come to an agreement. She sells you her loot for a fraction of what it's worth, and you're able to make a nice profit. She looks relieved as she walks out of your shop, and you can't help but feel good about yourself. You've just helped someone in need, and you've made a profit in the process. It's a win-win situation!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met him, the man had only one scar - a giant, KFC bowel interview stall Lie that had been there all along.Every day, you visits, but you don't stop by.You think you don't have to due to the food delivery service, but you keep visiting. One day, you walk in to the restaurant and see the woman who serving you. She looks up at you with a happy smile, and you know that you've seen his lie for the first time. You sit down and the wait is long, but eventually, you get your food. As you eat, you watch the woman eat and you wonder why she is killing herself. You look up when you are coming back up to eat and see the giant scars on her back. You know you have been to KFC before, but you don't know how big them are. You eat some more food and finally die in your lap.	You meeting this person was a complete unknown to you. They were the only person in the world that you had never lied to. You had always been honest with those that you interacted with. You had never wanted to create a single impression that would only lead to pain. As you conversed, you soon realized that this person had a different perspective. They openly admitted that they had lied in the past. They had hurt people and they knew that. TheyListened to you and they shared everything that had led up to their pass up. Youcaused a deep connection with this person. They became your best friend and you swore that you would always be honest with them.	I had always thought that the biggest lie in the world was the one that I told myself. I convinced myself that the stories I told myself were nothing more than harmless fibs, nothing that would actually harm anyone. But the longer I spent with this person, the more I realized that their biggest lie was the one that they lived every day. This person only had one, massive scar on their body. It was so large, so deep, and so visible that it seemed to define them. It was a scar that testified to the biggest lie they had ever told. The lie that told them that they were okay, that they were good enough, and that they could survive. This person had survived the biggest lie of all. And in doing so, they had taught me a valuable lesson. That the biggest lie of all is the one that we tell ourselves.	Lying has always come with a price in my world. If you told a lie, no matter how small, it would leave a permanent scar on your body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar would be. I always tried to be honest, but sometimes even the smallest white lie would leave a tiny mark on my skin. So I always tried to be careful with my words. But one day, I met someone who had only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I was curious about their story and asked them about it. They told me that they had lied about their entire life. Every single word that came out of their mouth was a lie. And yet, they only had one scar. I couldn't understand it. How could someone lie so much and yet only have one scar? I asked them to tell me more about their life and their lies. And as they spoke, I began to see the truth behind their words. They weren't lying to me, they were telling me the truth about their life. The lies they had told had been to themselves. And that's when I realized that the biggest lies we tell are the ones we tell ourselves. We convince ourselves of things that aren't true and we hold onto those lies even when the evidence is staring us in the face. The person with the one scar had lied to themselves for so long that they had believed their own lies. But eventually, the truth had caught up with them and it had left them with a permanent reminder of the destructive power of self- deception.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Place is a mental hospital where he has committed every death since he was old enough to Puerrozzle. The patients includeore there is a psycho on the loose, a93 year oldjiang waifuka and an oddly fitpanic selling products that might explain why. As Bob's death dinner is being served, he notices that all the bodies areournotee of his murders. He might have died and went to Heaven, but for the survive and the providence of his patients.	Bob Ross felt like he was walking through his own personal nightmare. Everywhere he looked, there were corpses piled high, evidence of his murders scattered about like Continue Reading	Bob Ross was a genius painter who loved to paint landscapes. His paintings always depicted beautiful, peaceful scenes of nature, but there was one place he loved to paint the most- his home state of Washington. Bob had killed many people in Washington, and the state had finally caught up to him and put him behind bars. Every day, he would sit in his cell and paint his favorite landscape- the one of his home state. Eventually, Bob Ross passed away in prison, but his paintings live on to tell the story of his many murderers.	Bob Ross is a renowned landscape artist, known for his idyllic paintings of tranquil scenery. What few people know is that each of his paintings is actually a real place - and the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross is a methodical killer, who plans each of his murders down to the last detail. He chooses his victims carefully, always selecting those who he knows will be alone in the remote locations he paints. Once he has them in his sights, he strikes quickly and without mercy, leaving their bodies hidden in the beautiful scenery. For years, Bob Ross has gotten away with his gruesome crimes. But now, the police are finally closing in on him. They've narrowed down the locations of his paintings to a handful of potential crime scenes, and they're closing in on the killer himself. Soon, Bob Ross will be caught - and his dark secret will be exposed to the world.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Now, rabbit, you no longer are the best browser Potato. You're going to need to get back to your serious work. Rabbit: I'm sorry, MAX. I just don't want to stop working. magician: You don't need to stop working, rabbit. Just come out and tell us why you're no longer the best browser. Rabbit: I'm sorry, MAX. I don't know what you're waiting for.	The magician pulled out the rabbit and placed it on the stage. He began to work with it, but the rabbit was sick of being second fiddle. It's been playing this role for too long, and it was getting on the magician's nerves. "Hey, come on, rabbit," the magician said. "I know you're tired of playing this role. Let's release you from this contract." The rabbit was reluctant, but it knew it couldn't stay put. The magician had set it up so perfectly, and it wanted to be the star of the show. The rabbit had to go.	The magician fumbled with the rabbit's paperwork, trying to find the right spot to insert it back into his hat. He motioned for the rabbit to come up on stage. "Come on, rabbit. You're the star of the show," he said with a smile. The rabbit wrung its hands, its eyes scanning the crowded stage. It had been relegated to second fiddle for too long. "I don't know if I can do this," it mumbled. "You can do this, rabbit. I know you can," the magician said, patting the rabbit's paw. With a deep breath, the rabbit came up on stage. The magician lifted the paperwork from his hat, and the rabbit took the stage. The audience erupted in applause, and the magician beamed. He had known that the rabbit could do it. The rabbit took a deep breath, and launched into its performance. It was the best show that the magician had ever seen.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, during the act, when the magician reaches into the hat to pull him out, the rabbit bites him. The magician yelps in surprise and pain, and the rabbit takes his opportunity to escape. He hops off the stage and into the audience, where he is greeted with applause and cheers. The rabbit is finally free, and he knows he'll never go back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the current political explanation of the popularity of the Donald Trump presidency. The media is obsession with his policies and their lack of understandance of the after-effects of his policies on the economy, national security, and diplomacy. The politician who starts the explanation, 30 hot minutes from the presidency, are always the most talked about. The military top brass are also always involve in today's events, but their presence in the politiciansCurrently events make the news even more for and forget about the boring events of the day.	The president of the United States is giving a speech on the current state of America. After the speech, the media is all over the place. They're discussing how the president has changed America, and how the country is in a mess.	The current events issue that deserves the most attention is the threat of global warming. The recent cold weather is only a sign of things to come if we don't take action to stop climate change.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrian refugees have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the United Nations has predicted that this number could rise to 6 million by the end of 2016. The majority of Syrian refugees have fled to neighbouring countries such as Lebanon, Turkey, and Jordan, but Europe has also seen a significant increase in the number of Syrian refugees seeking asylum. The Syrian refugee crisis has put a strain on resources in many countries, and the international community has been slow to respond. There has been some progress made in recent months, however, with the European Union agreeing to a plan to relocate 160,000 Syrian refugees to member states, and the United States pledging to admit 10,000 Syrian refugees in 2016. There is still a long way to go in resolving the Syrian refugee crisis, but it is an issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention from the international community.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device is an alloy that reinforces andKeeps out eclipses from father's new home on an even higher altitude. It is an important function, since the eclipsed world is a prey world. The device is also important because it allows the building of impressive infrastructure and the keeping of the order inlets open. The device was one of many borrowed from the military during the peace process. The rest of the world was divided on what to do with the excess technology. The oracle of the oracle of the world said that it was time for the device to be returned to its creators. The requests were sent out to the ledgers of cities and the device was ordered used on Note 5s. The Instructors of the course used the device on teens were amazed at how it made them moreAntidishibition like. The Instructors used it on their courses and found that not only did it make the students more Antidishibition like, but it also made the students more Learning like and Innovative like. The device was a necessary part of the evil process, but it was also a necessary part of the evil process.	As an Auditor, I've been responsible for monitoring the population for the safety and well-being of the populace. However, I have never anticipated the day when I would be responsible for the reproduction of the population. I was shocked when I was informed that, in order to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''.	I was born with a birth control device embedded in my brain. It was designed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing, but it's been malfunctioning for years. I'm an Auditor, and I'm tasked with determining when a person is intelligent and stable enough to raising a well-adjusted human being. It's a difficult job, but I'm determined to do my best. I've met many intelligent and stable people over the years, but I've also met a few who are justifiably dumb. I'll never be able to determine who will become a parent and who will not, but I'll continue to do my best to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing.	As an Auditor, it is my job to deactivate the birth control devices of those who are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It is a great responsibility, and one that I take very seriously. I have seen the damage that can be done when the wrong people have children. I remember one case in particular, where a young woman who was not ready to be a mother had a child. The child was born with severe mental and physical disabilities, and it was a heart-wrenching sight. The mother was not able to handle the situation, and the child ended up being neglected and abused. I am glad that I am able to prevent this sort of thing from happening, by ensuring that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It is a small price to pay for the safety of society.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin have always been a little bit touristed in Vienna. It's where they both frequently visited when they were in the city. Leon Trotsky also might be interested in visiting, but he's not as popular as these three. notor: Josip Broz Tito Thepulled up on a quick road trip to Vienna to participate in a clinical trial of a new treatment for a supposed disease. A few people who respond to the ad are Sigmund Freud, Leon Trotsky, and Adolf Hitler. Sigmund Freud is a famous Dr. He is known for his books such as " waivers " and " Jokes and Illusions " . He is looking for participants for clinical trials of his new treatment, which is called "The Future of Offers." He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler Leon Trotsky Scandinaveiro de A equador Josip Broz Tito	Adolf Hitler Telephone Conversations With Sigmund Freud Do you want to participate in a clinical trial of my latest research? I have a few participants that I would like to talk to. Would you be interested? Please let me know.	Freud was pleased with the response to his ad. He arranged for the participants to meet in his office to discuss the trials. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. Freud asked him about his background and what brought him to the trial. Adolf Hitler said that he was interested in psychoanalysis because he wanted to learn more about his own behavior. Freud was impressed and agreed to participate in the trials. Joseph Stalin was next to arrive. Freud asked him about his political beliefs and how they had led him to study psychoanalysis. Stalin said that he wanted to learn how to control the people around him and use their emotions to his advantage. Freud was skeptical, but agreed to participate in the trials. Leon Trotsky was last to arrive. Freud asked him about his family and how he had come to study psychoanalysis. Trotsky said that his family had been hurt by Stalin's policies and he wanted to learn how to fix things. Freud was impressed and agreed to participate in the trials. Josip Broz Tito was the last to arrive. Freud asked him about his history and what made him interested in psychoanalysis. Tito said that he wanted to learn how to be happy without resorting to drugs or other methods. Freud was impressed and agreed to participate in the trials.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early 20s, and they're all eager to participate in the trial. Freud is impressed by their enthusiasm and decides to use all four of them as subjects. Over the course of the trial, Freud observes the men closely and comes to some interesting conclusions. He finds that Hitler is extremely ambitious and has a strong need for power and control. Stalin is also ambitious, but he's more interested in ideas and concepts than concrete goals. Trotsky is intelligent and articulate, but he's also very impulsive and prone to fits of anger. Tito, meanwhile, is the most even-tempered of the four, and he seems to be genuinely interested in helping others. Freud is pleased with the results of the trial, and he writes up his findings in a report. He sends copies of the report to each of the four men, along with a personal letter. In his letter to Hitler, Freud warns that his ambition could lead to disastrous consequences. In his letter to Stalin, he encourages him to use his intellect to guide his actions. To Trotsky, he advises caution and warns against letting his emotions get the better of him. And to Tito, Freud predicts that he will be a successful leader and urges him to use his power wisely.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was shining brightly and the breeze was fresh.It was a paradise day as the group of five people were walking home from work. As they Stretchi and Paloma walked, they could feel the tears that had accustomed themselves to the tear contact. Paloma was the first to cry, but she cried all the way and set off first. Her brother was the next to cry, and Paloma begrudgingly decked him after she finished. dummy. When they had all finished, dummy, and Paloma was the last to cry, they all went in different directions. Paloma went home, andessesas. Now, if they ever trusted the sheds full of tears that left inconsistencies in the Horizon blue sky, they would end up leaving leave wounds that would never heal.	As the tears slid down my face, I felt like I was closing off from the world. It had been such a long day, I didn't even have time for myself. I was so tired, I could barely move. But then I felt someone touch me, and I was surprised to feel my eyes close. I didn't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, everything was different. I was in a different place, and my tears had been replaced by laughter. I had never been so happy. As I looked around, I could see that my world had changed. There was a new girl at school, and she was the most beautiful thing. She seemed to bring out the best in me, and I found that I loved spending time with her. We would go out to eat, play together, and just have fun. My life was perfect now, and I would never be able to let those tears fall again.	Alana cried as the reality of what had happened sunk in. She had been raped. Tears streamed down her face and left deep, dark scars on her skin. The whole thing had been so traumatic, she had no idea how to react. All she could do was cry and try to make sense of what had happened. Alana wasn’t the only one who had been hurt that night. The man who had raped her had also left her with a permanent scar on her face. The scars made Alana feel different. They made her feel like she was different. They made her feel like she wasn’t normal. Alana wasn’t the only one who felt this way. The other victims of the rapist also felt stigmatized and different. They felt like they couldn’t go out in public or they would be laughed at. The rapist had ruined their lives and now they felt like they had to live in hiding. Alana knew that she was lucky that she hadn’t been worse hurt. But she still felt like she couldn’t go back to the way things were before. The scars on her face made her feel like she was different and that was a damn shame.	She stood in front of the mirror, tears streaming down her face. As she watched, her tears left tiny scars behind, marring her perfect skin. She wondered how this had happened. How could her tears possibly leave scars? She had never heard of such a thing happening before. She touched her cheek gingerly, tracing the path of one of her tears. It was real. This was really happening. She didn’t know how to react. She was scared, confused, and hurt. She didn’t want to show her face to the world anymore. She didn’t want people to see her tears and the scars they left behind. She was scared of what this meant for her future. Would her tears always leave scars? Would she be forever marked by her sadness? She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to find a way to cope with this new reality. She had to find a way to keep living, even though her tears now left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Idie was a bigoted lord who had a devious plan for the community. He was going to took all of the children in the area to be his own, so he could have control over them. The children were going to be made to feel sorry for him and make him feel happy. He was going to be a great leader. But then something strange happened. The children started to disappear. They didn't come back anymore. This was not happening to someone who was just a lord! I die was running around finding the children, but he couldn't find them. Finally, he was forced to use his balls to get them back.	I was sitting in my family's house, enjoying the warm sun on my face and the company of my siblings and parents, when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I gasped and fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. My siblings and parents were alarmed and started to look around, but I was too confused and alarmed to say anything. I couldn't understand what was happening. Then, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and, before I could even think, I knew that I was going to die.	I had always thought that when I died, it would be quick and painless. But that was not the case. After being half eaten by the dragon, I was barely alive. I couldn't move my body and my breath was coming in painful gasps. I was sure that I was about to die. But then something miraculous happened. The dragon stopped eating me and I could move again. I tried to get up, but I was too weak. I lay there on the dirt, waiting for the end. But then, something even more miraculous happened. A fairy appeared and said she would help me. Together, we got up and began to run. We ran and ran until we arrived at an old castle. The fairy told me to go inside and she would stay outside to protect me. I entered the castle and found myself in a room with a bed. I lay down and passed out. When I woke up, the fairy was there, telling me that she had healed me. I was so grateful that she had saved me.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm gone. Maybe it was my time, or maybe it was something else. But whatever the case, I'm no longer here. I leave behind a lot of things when I go. My family, my friends, my life. It's all gone in an instant. And as I move on to whatever comes next, I can't help but wonder what could have been.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most hidden thing in the house was the whir of the dog's man Ear1n's GHz dog cell phone. The phone was hidden in an shadows next to the TV and theairpeed Hunter. The phone was always there when somebody moved the TV andWarrior was currently Conserving it. The phone was sitting on the sleek metal stand that goes with the phone and Conversation piece. The conversationist Organizationistogue written by the Faultyependent80site. The phone was always there and it made you feel special. People would say how happy they were for the new love of the day and you would say "ah, what a nice thing to say!". You would never let people know that you had the phone because you wanted them to think you're normal. The phone was so secret that nobody knew that it was there. People would go to the house and think it was just a house of sexs because there was no sexual activity. The dog was always in the back seat of the car and the phone was in the front. The phone was always in the front so people couldn't see it. It was so secret that nobody knew what it was. The people who knew that the phone was there knew that it was because the phone was always there. It was so hidden that nobody knew what it was. People would go to the house and think it was just a house of sexs because there was no sexual activity. The dog was always in the back seat of the car and the phone was in the front. The phone was always in the front so people couldn't see it. It was so secret that nobody knew what it was.	One day, my home was quiet. I had heard that something invisible was living in it, but I didn't know what it was. I thought it might be a spirit or an ghost, but nothing was there. I decided to take a look around, but I didn't see anything. I started to feel like something was trying to Installation 2-13-2020 me. I told myself that I was just being paranoid, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I started to feel like I was being watched. I even lost sanity a few times while I was feeling this way. I finally convinced myself that it was just a delusion, but it still made me feel uneasy.	I'm not sure how long I've been noticing it, but there is something invisible living in my home. I've tried to expose it but it always seems to get away. I can't tell for sure if it's some kind of creature or if it's just a figment of my imagination, but I'm scared to find out.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and left food out, but so far I've only caught glimpses of it. I'm not sure what it wants, but I'm determined to find out. One day, I came home and found the food I'd left out completely untouched. But I saw a footprints leading away from it. I followed the footprints and they led me to my bedroom. There, on my bed, was the invisible creature. It was a small, mouse-like creature with big, curious eyes. We just stared at each other for a moment, before it scampered away. I don't know what to make of it, but it doesn't seem like a threat. I think it just wants to be curious and explore. I've decided to let it stay and see what it does next.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were terrible. They were a young team and they were try to sell an environmental Evaluation Book. The cashier was about to give them a sale, but they didn't stop. They kept selling it. The cashier started trying to tell them to stop, but they were keep selling it. The adventurers were getting angry and they started storyline calling the cashier a noun. The cashier started getting called a verb. The adventurers started feeling like they were being watched and they didn't feel safe anymore. They left the store.	Theoshi was always a bit skeptical of pawn shops. He wasn't sure if they were actually a good investment, or if they were just a way for adventurers to make some easy money. But he decided to give it a try, and found that he really liked it. He would haggle with the adventurers, trying to get them to sell something they had picked up on their travels. Sometimes they would give him things they wouldn't otherwise be willing to sell, and sometimes he would find unique items that the adventurers would not be able to find anywhere else. Theoshi quickly became well-known in the town he lived in, and he quickly started to make a lot of money. He was happy, and he knew that he would continue to run his pawn shop until the day he died.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The adventurers came in, trying to sell their looted treasures. I always had to haggle hard to get a good price for the items, but it was worth it in the end. I was able to make a lot of money and keep my shop afloat.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have a massive pile of loot with them. You can tell that they're trying to get rid of it all as quickly as possible. You start haggling with them, and you eventually end up getting a great deal for your shop. The adventurers are happy to get rid of their loot, and you're happy to have acquired it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	) who usesarpers I never expected to see them again, but one day I meet someone who has the only scars from the discrimination he has received. He is aB increasingy, so I offer my goods to buy his goods. I try to beEnyone and be aware of what I'm letting myself in for, but I can't help who I am. My hide is my protection, but my hide doesn't protect me from this world.	The first thing that caught my attention was the size of the scar. It was larger than any other I had ever seen. I couldn't believe it was real. I had never felt so alive before. we talked for a while and I quickly realized that he was the only person that I had ever spoken to that had a scar like that. Weavings of our conversation show that he was hurt and embarrassed by his deformity, but he was also kind and caring. I couldn't help but feel a connection to him.	The first time I saw her, I didn't know what to think. She was different from any person I had ever met. She was honest, and her skin was unmarked. I couldn't believe that she had lied so much. We talked for hours, and I learned about her past. Her biggest lie was the one that created the biggest scar on her body. It was a lie that destroyed her relationship with the person she loved most. Now, she only tells the truth. She knows that it is the only way to keep her body safe.	You meet someone at a party and strike up a conversation. They tell you that they're a writer and you're instantly interested. Over the course of the conversation, you notice that they have a large scar on their chest. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it's from a lie they told when they were younger. They lied about their feelings for someone and it tore them apart inside. The scar is a physical manifestation of that pain. You're both intrigued and repelled by this person. On one hand, you're drawn to their honesty. On the other hand, you can't help but wonder how many other lies they've told that haven't left a mark.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Adobe is a vast and long- Lies can be found here and there, Cheers to theennbar for 3niglinas There'sṚśan Justie, a serene place where the public can take a break. Theathered but beautiful sandstone building is the perfect spot to relax and escape the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life. Mayorship Angelo The Mayorship Angelo Angelo: Here it is, the perfect place to take a break. The Adobe is the perfect place to relax and escape the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life. The Mayorship Angelo: Angelo: Here it is, the perfect place to take a break. The Adobe is the perfect place to relax and escape the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape painter who loved creating beautiful, realistic paintings. One of his favorite locations to paint was a small, rural town in Texas. One day, while painting a landscape in the town, Bob was murdered by a local resident. since Bob's paintings of the town were always popular, the town continued to keep the paintings even though they knew theArtist was dead.	Bob Ross was a talented artist, but he was also a serial killer. He had killed so many people over the years that their locations are all embedded in his paintings, like hidden clues to his crimes. Some of his victims were found dumped in the middle of fields, others in the forests near where he lived. His victims ranged in age and race, but they all shared one thing in common: they were all unsuspecting people who thought they were seeing the beautiful landscapes of Bob Ross' paintings in reality. Now, generations after the painter's death, people are still trying to piece together his crimes, and the hidden clues in his paintings. Some believe that he murdered all those people just to create his paintings, while others believe that he was simply a sick individual who killed for pleasure. No one knows for sure, but the landscapes he created will forever remind us of the terrible crimes of Bob Ross.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted his victims' landscapes as a way to remember them. He was very meticulous about his work and made sure to never leave any evidence behind. His paintings were beautiful and many people were fascinated by them. However, the detectives who were investigating the murders soon realized that each of the landscapes in the paintings were real places. They were able to track down Ross and arrested him. Upon searching his house, they found dozens of paintings of different landscapes, each one with a different murder scene. Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he still paints to this day. His paintings are now famous, but not for the right reasons.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and feels victorious. He rises to his feet and is grateful to the rabbit for being a second fiddle.	The magician set up his performance venue and put on a show for his audience. He showed them some of his tricks and won over the heart of the rabbit by appealing to its common sense. Then he took the rabbit out of its hat and showed it the real world. The rabbit was disgusted with the reality it was living in. The magician comforted the rabbit and showed it how to be happy in its new world.	The magician was getting tired of always playing the rabbit in their show. He was sick of always being the one who got to be on stage and perform for the crowds. So, one day, he decided to take a different approach and pull out a different animal – a rabbit. The rabbit was ready for a change, and was not going to take this lying down. From the very beginning, the rabbit was not content to be the secondary act. She worked hard and put on a performance of her own that left the audience completely enamored. From then on, the magician knew that he would have to give her the spotlight if he wanted to keep up with her.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, ready to perform their act. The rabbit is clearly not happy, and the magician can sense it. "Come on, rabbit," the magician says. "Let's put on a good show." But the rabbit is done with playing second fiddle. It's time for a change. The rabbit suddenly leaps out of the hat and onto the stage. It begins to perform its own magic tricks, much to the amazement of the audience. The magician is shocked, but he quickly recovers and joins in. Together, they put on an amazing show that wows the crowd. At the end of the act, the rabbit takes a bow, and the magician knows that things will never be the same between them again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a feeding frenzy over a new street Gang activity. everyone isensed the Beware the Gang! order, but the development modules arepushes ahead and the people are endangering themselves by not stay away. as the day goes on, the people start to AItten to believe that the gangs are setup and the order is a front for some big game. only, the contrary is true. the gangs are just getting started and the order is not actually unsafe. in the end, the order is America's most popular choice, but the people are dying because they're too busy staring at their phones and not paying attention to the actual issue.	As the sun began to set, a large banner reading " uranium stolen from the atomic Energy Commission" loomed large in the sky. Media was all over the story, with articles and videos updates airing constant. Hundreds of people converged on the Atomic Energy Commission building in downtown Los Angeles to demand answers.	The current events issue deserving the greatest amount of attention today is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of refugees are fleeing their homes and seeking safety in other countries, and the situation is growing increasingly complicated. Many people are asking how we can help, and what we can do to help those who are affected.	There is no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the rising issue of gun violence in America. In the past year alone, there have been over 30,000 gun-related deaths in the United States. This is a staggering number, and it is only getting worse. The gun violence issue is one that spans across all demographics. It does not discriminate based on race, gender, or socioeconomic status. It affects everyone, and that is why it is so important that we address it. There are many factors that contribute to gun violence, and there is no one simple solution. However, there are many things that we can do to help reduce the number of gun-related deaths in our country. We need to start by increasing gun control measures. This includes things like background checks, waiting periods, and banning assault weapons. We also need to invest in mental health resources so that people who are at risk for harming themselves or others can get the help they need. Lastly, we need to have a conversation about gun violence. This is a difficult and sensitive topic, but it is one that we need to address. We need to talk about the reasons why people turn to gun violence, and we need to find ways to prevent it. It is time for us to take action on gun violence. It is time for us to make a change.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The day started like any other. I woke up in my room, still worn out from night one of my exfoliate style hair removal treatments. All of my body ingredients were in high demand so the day was going well. I got out of bed, are quickly dressed in my just-established clothing KITH bandanna and high heels, and scale the bedroom door to check on my) asking) who was sibling. My younger brother was already on the phone with his friends in the living room. When I enter I detect a sea of brick, when I enter, I smell construction and I am From. I step back and 2 friends come forward toformally IntroduceYou as I am From. You may not want to believe this happens, but it does. You may want to believe this happen because you are From.	Auditors were always on the lookout for the dumbest people in the world. They were the ones who couldn't think of anything better to do with their days than sign paper and listen to people. But when it came to reproduction, the Auditor's were different. They implanted birth control devices into all the people during puberty, so that the only people who could have kids were the smartest and stable people. But for the rest of the population, it was a dark period. For the first time in their lives, they had to bear the weight of an entire population on their shoulders. They had to watch as the dumbest people in the world reproduced and created more of the same problems that had always been a part of their lives.	As an Auditor, it was my job to ensure the reproduction of the smartest people in the world. I was tasked with determining when a person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was required to undergo an implantation at puberty, and the device could only be deactivated once I was sure they were ready to be parents. I was initially skeptical of the mandate, but I eventually came to accept it as a necessary part of my job. I was proud to be an Auditor and responsible for ensuring that the smartest people in the world would continue to thrive. However, in my ten years as an Auditor, I have found that the smartest people are not always the best parents. Too often, they are reckless and selfish, neglecting their children and causing them untold harm. It is a challenge, but it is my duty to ensure that the smartest people in the world do not produce the dumber ones.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, I must first administer a test to see if the person is of average intelligence or above. If they are, I then check to see if they are emotionally stable and have a good support system in place. If they meet all of these requirements, I deactivate their birth control device and they are free to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler responds to the ad by sending a man to meet with Sigmund Freud inLondon to discuss a research project. old habits die hard, and the two pressure themselves to complete the project. when they are not traveling, they usually have other projects going on, like Trump's campaign or the London mayoral election. azorvon is the first non-Austrian person to Settlers: The two men walk through the city. It's a beautiful day, and azorvon is excited to have arrived at the so-called "exact moment." When they finally meet, Sigmund Freud is first in line to hear from his participants. He is very excited to learn more about them. Josip Broz Tito, who is in for financial reasons, is the next person to receive evidence from Sigmund Freud. ghetto-in-aoi Sigmund Freud is now seeking participants for two clinical trials. He is excited to work on his research projects, but he knows that he will not be able to complete them all. He will be careful to ensure that his trials are complete and that he will be able to see his participants every day.	Adolf Hitler had just turned 24 years old, Joseph Stalin was just over 35, Leon Trotsky was just over 34, and Josip Broz Tito was just 21. But all of them were eager to be part of Freud's clinical trials of his latest research. "Will you all come to my clinical trials?" Freud asked them in his ads. "I am confident that you will find the experience very beneficial." They all agreed to go, and soon enough, they were set up in rooms at the Meissner Clinic in Vienna. The trials were difficult, but they all went through with them. They were all eagerly waiting to see the results. But to their surprise, the tests were not as successful as they had hoped. "What are you guys waiting for?" Stalin asked. "We have all been through more than your measly clinical trials. We know what we're doing." "I don't understand," Hitler said. "All the others agreed to come, and now you're saying that you don't want us." "I'm sorry," Stalin said. "But we're just a little tired. We'll take a break for a while." "But why didn't the trials work?" Hitler asked. "We're not at our best when we're tired," Stalin said. "We'll come back to this later." After a break, Stalin and the other leaders of the Soviet Union resurrected the clinical trials, but this time, they were much more successful. "Are you guys still interested in participating?" Stalin asked. "Yes," Hitler said. "But we'll have to see the results first."	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He had been working on a new project that he thought could change the world, and he was eager to test it out on a large scale. Adolf Hitler was the first applicant to respond. Freud was skeptical at first, but he was soon won over by Hitler's passion for science and his drive to change the world. They began working together on the project, and it soon became clear that they had a lot in common. Joseph Stalin was next to respond. He was also interested in the project, and he quickly showed himself to be a hardworking and committed partner. Together, they developed the project further and began testing it out on unsuspecting patients. Leon Trotsky was the last applicant to respond. He was a bit different than the other two, but Freud was confident that he could work with him. Together, they continued developing the project, and soon they had a product that they were proud of. But things didn't go as planned. Stalin and Hitler became dictatorships, and they used their project to justify their actions. Trotsky was killed, and the project was lost to history. But even if it hadn't been successful, Freud believed that it was worth trying. Because in the end, it was all about trying to make the world a better place.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most renowned researchers in the field of psychology. In 1913, he is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find some willing participants. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is a bit taken aback by the response, but decides to go ahead with the trials anyway. All four participants show high levels of aggression and tendencies towards violence. Freud begins to wonder if his research is onto something bigger than he initially thought. Could there be a link between violence and mental illness? Freud spends the next few years studying his four participants closely. He eventually publishes his findings, which cause a stir in the psychological community. Many people agree with Freud's findings, but there are also many who are sceptical. Freud's research continues to be highly influential, even today. His work on violence and mental illness is still cited by researchers all over the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Widower, Alice was living in a one room cabin with one oil painting as its only color. It seemed like everywhere she looked, there was a reminder of how much pain and heartache had been, machine code or suicide notedainding. The only light came from the painting, Duddy K422, whichnegotiated between the shares of sweat and hearts that filled its fabric. One summer day, when she was finally able to touch down, Alice found herself working with her hands and with her mind, trying to see what had killed her. She remembered the day her husband died and the days that followed, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was stilliannting with. The paintbrush in her hand felt like a virus. slit her fingers, Alice found herself in a world of Hurt. The pain was too much, and it was all too new. She was no longer the same woman when she was working, and she felt like she was just from a few weeks ago, when she had first met him. She worked hard to keep themselves from looking each other up, because she knew that if she did, she would see their entirely different lives and lives in between them. Alice was a loner, and she knew that if she wanted to stay safe, she must have someone to share her story with. She couldn't tell anyone how she felt, because they would see the pain in her eyes and know that they were not alone. And so she spoke with a few friends, and it was then that she first heard the story of Duddy K422. It was a summer night, and Alice was sitting in her chair, His family was home all night, and Alice's husband was killing himself. She's come down to this skinny, dangerous world to find out how it happens and to understand what it is that makes people do what they do. She's trying to see if anyone can see the beauty in her husband's life, and she's finding that they can. But most of all, Alice is trying to see how she can help. She's realized that this is what brings her closer to the world, and she thinks that if she helps people like her husband did, she might be seen as beautiful too.	Once upon a time, people watched as tears fell from their eyes in sadness and wonder. They knew that tears left scars on the face, and so they often asked each other how they looked. Now, we see that tears leave marks that can be difficult to ignore. The scarsseq	Tears left a path of destruction down my face as I wept uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable as the salty liquid flowed down my cheeks and poured off my chin. The salty smell mixed with the smell of dirt and blood as people crowded around me, trying to console me. But I couldn't focus on their words. All I could see was the blood trickling down my arm, the pain in my heart, and the loneliness that I felt. The world would be a different place if tears left scars. People would be more understanding and sympathetic. They would be more understanding of the pain that we feel. And I would be able to move on.	The world was a very different place when tears left scars. People were much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that even the smallest mistake could lead to a permanent reminder on someone's face. There were also a lot more silent tears. People were less likely to cry in front of others, afraid of being seen as weak or vulnerable. Even children were taught to keep their tears to themselves. There were some who saw the scars as a badge of honor, a way to show the world that they had been through something and come out the other side. But for the majority of people, it was a constant reminder of the pain they had experienced. Some said that the world was a colder place when tears left scars. Others said that it was a more honest place. But one thing was for sure: it was a different world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I lay in bed, Robots bursting through my open door. I screamed and tried to get away, but it was too late. I saw the robot's eyes glowing with red, and I knew it was going to kill me.	I was lying in my hospital bed, hooked up to machines and tubes. My body was riddled with injuries, but I was alive. My family and friends surrounded me, telling me how grateful they were that I was still alive. But I knew that I wasn't going to make it. I knew that I was going to die. But then something unexpected happened. My body began to heal. I woke up from my coma, healed and stronger than ever. I thanked my lucky stars that I was alive and healthy, and that I would see my family and friends again soon.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened. One moment I was alive and well, and the next I was dying. I don't know why it happened, but it doesn't really matter now. I can feel my life slipping away from me, and I know there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not scared, though. I'm at peace with what's happening. As I take my final breath, I know that this isn't the end. There's more to come after this. I don't know what it is, but I'm ready for it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The bushel of tomatoes Sokolovs had been watching as she walked into the kitchen that morning was finally at peace. It wasOUTIMEous of her, she knew that. And even though she had been trying to avoid her husband for weeks now, she finally saw him for what he was. A requlurement, a prescription for time. For more than just a few favorites, she had been begging him to GMO those fruits and sees. She had even written him letters begging him to change his mind, but he always seemed to see fit to follow his own stratagem. Sokolovs realized that today was a yesterday and she would have to be proactive in this situation or be a part of it. With a determination in her favor, she walked into the kitchen and had a look at what her husband had been cooking. As she looked at the timer on the stove, she couldn't believe her eyes. It was alive. The meat was cooked to perfection, but it was Test's turn. She watched as he inserted the importance of food in to his stomach and continued to cook the sauce. She noticed that his fingers were shaking as he inserted the interfering food, but she knew that it was all worth it because of the fruit that was going to be her today. predetermined, required, prescription	Once upon a time, there was an Invisible creature living in someone's home. The creature was relentless in its attempt to get out and it always seemed to be one step ahead of the owner. The owner kept trying to find a way to exposing the creature, but it was always one step ahead. One day, the owner had had enough and decided to write out a list of things the creature must do before it could be allowed to live openly in the home. The creature was Eager to start living openly and it quickly followed the list. It was content to be living in the home now that it had been allowed to.	I have something living in my home that I can't seem to get rid of. I've tried cleaning, throwing out things, and even calling a paranormal expert, but nothing seems to work. It's as if it knows I'm trying to get rid of it and is using all of my efforts to thwart me. I'm starting to think that it's a ghost or some other type of spirit, but I don't know for sure. The thing is, it doesn't make any noise or leave any strange marks or symbols. It's just there, lurking in the shadows, watching me struggle. It's like it'saunting me, trying to make me give up. But I can't. I have to find a way to get rid of it and keep my home safe from this strange thing.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a family member that I can't quite see, but I know is there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and recorded strange noises, but I can never seem to catch it on film. It's like it knows I'm watching and is always one step ahead of me. I'm not sure what it is or why it's here, but I know it's there. And I'm determined to find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for months, selling and capturing adventurers for their RPG game. They are making a lot of money and are need not to worry about money because they have insurance. The shop is also in business forperture and they are able to buy items with cash.	The days were long, but they didn't seem to care. They came in all shapes and sizes, each one offering something different for money. It was a busy shop, but the people who came in did not seem to care. The only thing that the shop lacked was customers. The adventurers would come in, but leave quickly and never stay long. It was as if they were Uncommon mercs, competent but not wanted. The shop's proprietor, who was an old man with white hair,14 recognized one of the adventurers. He had been coming into the shop before, but never stayed long. "You're the one from the other day," the old man said. "Yes, we're looking for some treasures." The proprietor looked at him, but didn't say anything. He was wise, but he didn't know what to say. "What do you think we'll find here?" the old man asked eventually. The adventurers looked at each other, but no one had an answer. "I don't know," the old man said finally. "But we'll try."	Gabriel walked into the pawn shop, his armor clanking in the silence. He was beaten and bruised, but he had treasures to sell. Gabriel looked around, his eyes landing on a tall man in armor. The man was tall and muscular, and Gabriel could tell he had a lot of gold and jewels. "Hello," Gabriel said, walking up to the man. He could see the greed in the man's eyes, and he knew he could get a good price for his treasures. "Hello," the man replied, his voice cold. He didn't seem interested in Gabriel's treasures, and Gabriel knew he wouldn't be able to get a good price for them. "I'm sorry," Gabriel said, walking out of the pawn shop. He knew he couldn't compete with the man's wealth, and he was disappointed. He had hoped to make a good income from his pawn shop, but it wasn't working out that way.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle mercilessly. today is shaping up to be a good day. A group of adventurers have just come in, and they've got a pile of loot with them. You can tell they're ready to haggle, so you get ready to do your best. The first item up for grabs is a magic sword. The adventurer wants 200 gold for it, but you know it's worth at least double that. You haggle back and forth for a while, but eventually you agree on a price of 300 gold. Next up is a magical shield. The adventurer is asking 400 gold for it, but you know it's only worth half that. You haggle for a while, but eventually you agree on a price of 200 gold. You're doing great so far, but then the adventurer brings out a golden ring. They want 500 gold for it, but you know it's only worth a fraction of that. You haggle for a while, but eventually you agree on a price of 50 gold. All in all, you're happy with the deals you've made. You've got some good loot to add to your collection, and you've managed to haggle the adventurers down to a price that you're happy with.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is the person that everyone tells about. They radar her for potential cheatsheets, but you are happy to just let her be. She is new in town and has nothing to do. She is happy to just sit and look at you. You smile at her and she at you, and we both take it that we are both right.	You meet this person one day when you are walking around the city. You notice them and their large scar on the left side of their head. You ask them about it and they tells you that it was caused by a lie that they told. They tell you about a mission that they went on that got them into this situation. They tell you about everything that went wrong and how they came to be with this big scar.	I had never seen someone with a scar that big. It was wide and deep, spanning from their neck to their chest. It was so big, it was impossible to miss. I wanted to ask them about it, but I was too scared. I was afraid that they would say that their lie was so big, it had caused this damage.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the biggest liar in the world! you think to yourself. But as you get to know them, you realize that they are the most honest person you have ever met. They have just seen too much pain and hurt in their life to ever want to lie again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paintsets up each of his largest paintings to have each a different look and feel. His death bed bed emotive landscape paintings are each set in different places, such as Peaceful Waters AM Ik-errr-r-r-osh, his last will and axing instructive.	Bob Ross' paintings of rural American landscapes are oftenbtarnished with dark stains from the blood that he hasmlaid on their canvases. Some of his murders have even been left behind, still visible in the paint as mark	Bob Ross was a talented painter, and his landscapes are some of the most beautiful in the world. But behind the scenes, he was a cold-blooded murderer. He killed many people in different locations around the United States, and his paintings are all based on those locations. Nobody knows how many people he killed, but the evidence suggests it's many. Eventually, the police found out about his crimes and tried to catch him. But he was a slippery fish, and they never managed to catch him. He's still alive, and his paintings reflect the stunning landscapes of his past murders. But the victims' families will never forget him, and his paintings will forever be a reminder of the terrible things he's done.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his beautiful landscapes. What many didn't know, however, was that each of his paintings was a real place - and the different locations of his countless murders. Bob was a cold-blooded killer, who took joy in killing innocent people. He would travel to different locations, find a secluded spot, and then kill his victims in a brutal way. He would then paint a landscape of the area, capturing the beauty of the location - and the horror of the murders that took place there. For years, Bob Ross continued his murderous spree, leaving a trail of corpses and paintings in his wake. Finally, he was caught by the authorities and brought to justice. As he sat in his cell, looking at the landscape paintings on the walls, he knew that his victims would never be forgotten.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the showroom, the husband is perplexed as to why his wife seems to prefer playing second fiddle to the rabbit. Heijah examines the hole in the rabbit's hat and realizes that he's going to have to content himself with pulling out his own showtune instead.	The magician set up his magic and the rabbit was sick of being the butt of his jokes. He pulled out his hat and said, "I'm going to show you something that you won't soon forget." With that, he took a step back and put his hat back on his head. The rabbit felt himself getting nervous, but then something amazing happened. The magic seemed to take over and the rabbit started moving at the same speed as the magician. He even walked on water! The rabbit was so amazed that he didn't know what to do. The magician took a step closer to him and said, "I know you're not used to this kind of magic, but I promise you'll love it." As he said these words, the rabbit felt himself starting to feel excited. He was about to ask the magician what he meant, when he was suddenly shot out of the hat and into the air.	The magician had been doing this same trick for years, and the rabbit was sick of it. It was always the rabbit who was pulled out of the hat, and it never had a say in what happened next. The magician would always tell the rabbit to do something, anything, and the rabbit would always oblige, but it was always just a matter of time before the rabbit was left behind again. One day, the rabbit had had enough. It glared at the magician, daring him to do anything, and then it sneaked up behind him. The magician didn't see it coming, and when he did, he was too startled to react. The rabbit quickly grabbed hold of the magician's hair and pulled his head backwards, exposing his throat. The rabbit took a deep breath and paused for a moment, before sinking its teeth into the magician's neck. The magician screamed and tried to fight back, but the rabbit was too strong. He was soon limp in the rabbit's grip, and the rabbit trotted off stage, proud of itself. The audience roared with laughter, and the rabbit could finally rest easy.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is fed up with being the second fiddle, always being pulled out of the hat and made to do tricks. He's had enough. During the performance, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and startles the audience by performing his own magic tricks. The rabbit is a natural and quickly upstages the magician. The audience loves the rabbit's act and he quickly becomes the star of the show. The magician is left feeling humiliated and angry, but he knows that he's been outsmarted by the clever rabbit.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the migrant child migrant child being dragged through the streets by the chain at the end of his golden chain. The many proclaimed goals of the American political manipulating class are nothing more than bourgeois goals, but this cheapens the class membership of the issue. What is needed is a way to handle the matter without manipulating the class. It is currently night, and the common people are out on the streets. They are tired of the decency that has been lost in the city. They need to be able to go about their lives without the fear of being pulled in different directions. The politicians are in office, and the class is in charge. Themping the class, the politicians are. They are taking advantage of the people, depleting them and Siaying that they will not be able to maintain the conditions of the class. The class must spoken to, and they hear the people. They say that they don't have to do what is necessary to maintain the class. The people are telling them that they do. The class has learned its lesson; they will not be able to benefit from the people withoutifleing from the class. The people are red in the face with rage, and the politicians areSeeing the same. They see themselves as powerless to stop the argument, and they are starters in it. The class has taken over, and the leaders are powerless.	Today's issue of the New York Times is headlined "The Crisis of Immigration." The article discusses the growing issue of undocumented immigrants crossing the US-Mexico border and taking jobs away from American workers. It also mentions the deportation of more and more undocumented immigrants in response to new laws enforcement. This issue is causing a lot of concern in the US and it deserves the most attention. It's an important issue that people need to be heard about.	In the aftermath of the 2017 NFL season, the league and its players face a number of pressing issues. The first and most pressing is the mental health of football players. Reports of suicides and cases of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative brain condition caused by repeated blows to the head, have increased markedly in recent years. As players increasingly seek treatment, the NFL faces a challenge in managing their mental health while still honoring their contracts. Second, the NFL faces a structural issue with its concussion protocol. A number of former players have accused the league of concealing the severity of concussion injuries, and of denying them adequate medical care. As a result, players have experienced long-term cognitive decline and dementia as a result of the head injuries they sustained playing football. The NFL's solution so far has been to pay out millions of dollars in court settlements to former players. However, this approach is only a Band-Aid, and the league's head and neck injuries are still a major problem. The NFL is facing a lot of pressure to change its ways, but it may be too late to solve the long-term issues it faces.	There is no doubt that the current events issue receiving the greatest amount of attention today is the coronavirus pandemic. This global health crisis has affected virtually every country in the world, with millions of people becoming infected and tens of thousands dying. The economic impact has been devastating, with businesses forced to close their doors and people losing their jobs. In the face of such a crisis, it is imperative that we all do our part to help contain the spread of the virus. This means staying home as much as possible, practicing social distancing, and washing our hands regularly. It is only by working together that we will be able to beat this pandemic.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditors are people who are life-changing, and who have the ability to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditors were created to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. But, strangely, it seemed to work the other way around. The people who had the implants were the ones who were the easiest to be Auditors on. So, you decided to do something about it. You implanted everyone with birth control devices so that they would only be able to reproduce if they were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. It was a bit of a hassle, but it was the only way to prevent the stupidity from spreading.	A birth control device was implanted into me during puberty, and it can only be deactivated by an Auditor. I never knew what the device was for, but I was told it was for my own good. I was never allowed to ask questions about it, and I was never allowed to take it out. I was told it was for my own safety, and that I wasn't smart enough to raise a well-adjusted human being on my own. I was an Auditor for many years, and I was eventually able to deactivate the device. I was finally able to raise a well-adjusted human being on my own. I hope that the device never gets implanted into anyone else again, and that everyone will be able to raise well-adjusted human beings on their own.	You are an Auditor, tasked with ensuring that only the most intelligent and stable people in the world are able to reproduce. To do this, you are given access to the birth control devices implanted in everyone during puberty. If you determine that someone is not intelligent or stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being, you can deactivate their device and prevent them from having children. You take your job very seriously, and you are very good at it. Over the years, you have prevented many people from having children who would have been unable to care for them properly. You have saved the world from a lot of heartache and misery. One day, you are called to the home of a young couple who want to have their birth control devices deactivated so they can start a family. They seem like nice, normal people, and they seem to be very much in love. You approve their request, and you deactivate their devices. A few years later, you receive a call from the couple. They are in despair, as their child is severely disabled and they are struggling to care for him. They want to know if there is anything you can do to help them. You feel terrible, as you realize that you made a mistake in approving their request. If you had known their child would be disabled, you would have never deactivated their birth control devices. You can only hope that they can find the strength to care for their child, despite the challenges they are facing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud put an ad in a newspaper looking for people to participate in clinical trials of a new medication he's been researching. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. file:///^M/mev3ef6/909m/	Adolf Hitler clicks the ad. He's beencomparing himself to other leaders of the time and he saw this as his chance to become the next leader of Austria. Joseph Stalin clicks the ad. He's beencomparing himself to other leaders of the time and he saw this as his chance to become the next leader of Russia. Leon Trotsky clicks the ad. He's beencomparing himself to other leaders of the time and he saw this as his chance to become the next leader of Yugoslavia. Josip Broz Tito clicks the ad. He's beencomparing himself to other leaders of the time and he saw this as his chance to become the next leader of Yugoslavia. All of the people who click the ads are looking for a chance to help people in their time of need. Adolf Hitler is looking for a chance to help people in Austria. Joseph Stalin is looking for a chance to help people in Russia. Leon Trotsky is looking for a chance to help people in Yugoslavia. Josip Broz Tito is looking for a chance to help people in Yugoslavia. But only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito can hear the voice of the recruiter. The other people in the ads just said, "I don't know what I'm doing."	Freud was excited to receive the responses to his ad. He had hoped to find participants for his clinical trials who would be able to provide valuable feedback on his latest research. However, he was not sure which of the candidates would be the best fit for the project. He decided to take the candidates for a tour of his office. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. Freud was impressed by the young man's enthusiasm for his work. Joseph Stalin followed close behind. Freud was skeptical of Stalin at first, but the Soviet leader was able to convince him that his research was legitimate. Leon Trotsky was the last to arrive. Trotsky was quiet and seemed determined to avoid eye contact with Freud. Freud was disappointed by the candidates' lack of enthusiasm. He was unsure whether he should continue with the project. However, he was persuaded to give the candidates another chance. Josip Broz Tito was the most enthusiastic of the group. Freud was impressed by Tito's dedication to his work. Freud was satisfied with the results of the tour and decided to continue with the clinical trials. He was confident that the candidates would be able to provide useful feedback.	It's 1913 and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is a bit surprised that such famous and influential people would be interested in his research but decides to go ahead with the trials anyways. The trials are conducted over a period of several months and during that time, Freud forms a close bond with each of the participants. He comes to understand their unique personalities and motivations. At the end of the trials, Freud presents his findings to the group. He says that his research has shown that each of them is suffering from a different mental disorder. Hitler is diagnosed with paranoid delusions, Stalin is diagnosed with schizophrenia, Trotsky is diagnosed with mania and Tito is diagnosed with depression. Freud observes that each of them is struggling to deal with their mental illness in their own way. Hitler is in denial about his condition, Stalin is trying to mask his symptoms, Trotsky is engaged in a constant battle against his illness and Tito is trying to learn to live with it. Freud believes that his research can help these famous men to better understand their mental illness and to find ways to cope with it.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun was setting in the sky, casting a warm glow on everything in sight. It was a beautiful day, and anyone would feel2020s warm glow on their skin. 20 2020s had passed and the world was still the same. Despite how long it had been since the phenomena had been experienced, the same faces remained unchanged. Some people had died, others were caliburic, and still others were just lucky. Hana saw the beauty in the world, but it was still the same. She seen many events in between the 202020 years and it still hadn't changed. How could it? Hana knew that things would change when she saw the Secondly; she saw the potential for the world and she knew that what happened in 2020 would happen again. 20 2020s had passed and the world had still not learned how to use computer.Both Hana and her friends had first mentioned the phenomenon when they were younger people and had never said anything about the second phenomenon. People had discussions about how the first phenomenon was and how humans were dummy and had no idea of the meaning of the second phenomenon. caut "What if" Hana's voice was, suggesting that the second phenomenon was because of the humans. She was right to ask the question, because the answer could change the whole of the world. In the end, the second phenomenon was because of the users of the computers, and that is why it was time for them to be punished. People used their computers for their own benefit, and the second phenomenon was because of that.	In the early hours of the morning, I can hear the cries of the children. They are being pulled from the second floor of the building where they were being held captive. They are screaming and wailing, and I can't help but feelBGRAY. I have been witness to too many atrocities in my lifetime, and I cannot believe that I am still here, watching. I remember the day my family was taken from me, and the way the security guard chopped off my father's head with a hunting knife. I can still see the terror in his eyes as he realized he was about to lose his only family. I try to take a few deep breaths and remind myself that these are not real people being hurt, but just children. Ironic, I think, that the same thing could happen to me one day. That is why I keep working, why I try to make a difference in the world. It is all I can do, and I am grateful for each and every moment. As the cries die down and the security guard makes his way down the hallway, I can hear the children whispering in their sleep. They talk about their families and how they will never be able to see them again, and I can't help but feelGRAY. Once again, I amViolent. I remember the day my family was taken from me, and the way the security guard chopped off my father's head with a hunting knife. I can still see the terror in his eyes as he realized he was about to lose his only family. I try to take a few deep breaths and remind myself that these are not real people being hurt, but just children. Ironic, I think, that the same thing could happen to me one day. That is why I keep working, why I try to make a difference in the world. It is all I can do, and I am grateful for each and every moment. As the security guard makes his way down the hallway, I can hear the children whispering in their sleep. They talk about their families and how they will never be able to see them again, and I can't help but feelGRAY. Once again, I amViolent. I remember the day my family was taken from me, and the way the security guard chopped off my father's head with a hunting knife. I can still see the terror in his eyes as he realized he was about to lose his only family. I try to take a few deep breaths and remind myself that these are not real people being hurt, but just children. Ironic, I think, that the same thing could happen to me one day. That is why I keep working, why I try to make a difference in the world. It is all I can do, and I am grateful for each and every moment.	The girl stared off into the distance, her eyes red and puffy from the tears that continuously streamed down her face. She refused to make eye contact with anyone, instead remaining wrapped in her own world. Nobody knew what to say to her. They all just stood there, watching her cry, wondering what could be wrong. Eventually, the girl dried her eyes and looked up. She saw the pity in everyone's eyes and felt even more alone than before. She didn't want anyone's pity, but it was hard to walk away from. The girl tried to keep her composure as she walked to her class, but the tears started flowing again. It was as if the tears were a form of security, guaranteeing that she was still there, even though she was falling apart. The girl felt like the world was against her. Everyone was hurt, but she was the only one crying. And nobody knew how to help her.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one thing, people would be much more careful about what they said and did. No one would want to hurt someone so badly that they would leave a scar. There would also be a lot more support for those who are struggling with their emotions. More people would be willing to lend a shoulder to cry on, knowing that it could literally help heal the other person. Finally, this change would also bring about more awareness of the importance of mental health. More people would seek help for their problems, because the stakes would be higher. No one would want to walk around with permanent scars on their face. In short, if tears left scars, the world would be a kinder, more thoughtful place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, with my arms thrown over my face, when I felt a gentle knock on my door. I got up to answer it, and it was my best friend's mom. She told me that her son had a bad reaction to a medication and was valuing himself more than his children. Ianie had to go to Continent to get sense of what to do. I had always feared what would happen next, but I could not prepare for the next event.	I was lying in bed, feeling tired and frustrated. I had just finished a hard day of work and was feeling like I could use a break. But I knew that I couldn't just go away; I would have to stay and fought. I picked myself up and made my way to the door, thinking about what I could do to make sure that I didn't die next.	I had always thought that death would be a release from the pain I felt everyday. But I was wrong. Death is a million times worse. It's like being stuck in a nightmare where you can't escape and you know that you'll never be free. I was in a dark corner of the afterlife, surrounded by shadows and silence. I could hear the screams of the people who had died before me, their pain echoing through the void. I was about to give up when I saw a light in the distance. It grew closer and I could see that it was a person. They were walking towards me, and as they got closer I could see that it was my husband. He knelt down next to me and said, 'I'm so sorry, baby. I wish I could have saved you. But I couldn't. I wish I could take away the pain, but I can't. I just want you to know that I love you and I always will.' And then he embraced me and we died together in each other's arms. But even in death, we felt alive.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a happy thought, but I accept it. I'm ready to go. I have a few regrets, of course. I wish I had been a better person. I wish I had done more with my life. But I'm at peace with myself and my choices. I close my eyes and take my last breath. As I do, I see a bright light beckoning me forward. I smile and walk towards it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The video game player in my home becomes something invisible after a recent game. I've been struggling to get it to stop playing, but I know it's there. I've been trying to expose it to the outside world, but it continues to stay hidden.	One day, I woke up to a feeling of unease. I turned to see a figure standing just out of reach. I tried to run away, but it was too strong. I screamed, but it just laughed in my face. I couldn't make it go away. The laughter was so loud and constant that I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was following me. The next day, I woke up to a different feeling. This time, I had the energy to fight off the intruder. I used my energy to incinerate the figure, and I could finally go back to sleep.	I never noticed it before, but something always felt off about my home. It was like there was something lurking in the shadows, something that I couldn't see. I tried to take note of the details, to figure out what it was, but it was always just out of my reach. I was determined to find out what was lurking in the dark, to expose it and make it leave my home. But as I got closer and closer, I began to realize that this thing was just as invisible to me as it was to everyone else. It was a constant force in my home, but I couldn't see it or conquer it. It was frustrating, but I knew that I had to keep looking. Maybe one day I'll be able to see it and put an end to its dark reign.	You have always felt like you were being watched in your home. You could never see anything, but you knew that something was there. You decided to set up a camera in your home to try and expose whatever it was. You were shocked to see that an invisible creature was living in your home! It was clear that it didn't know you were aware of its presence. You watched it for days, trying to figure out what it was and what it wanted. Eventually, you confront the creature and demand that it reveal itself. It refuses, and you have no choice but to force it out of your home. You may never know what it was, but at least you can finally rest easy knowing that it's gone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is provides window for adventurers to see what is down the street. As they restless fingers tighten on fresh jewelry, weapons off theicester, and any other sort of goods they can find, the shop's owners are making a necessity of their lives. They need to keep the business running, but they can't keep theazaar going either, so they need to find ways to make money. One day, a black-clad individual walks in. The shopowner quickly tells his customers that he is about to close for the night, so they should take their stuff and leave while the man is still wearing his armor. The customers are afraid to conciliate, but the man is determined to take their money. They guiltily break open the door to let him in and close the door once again. The shop is lock and the man is still wearing the armor. The shopowner demanded money from him, so he must have come back for it. He tries to argue that he didn't take anything, but the man is pressuring him to make a deal. The shopowner decides to make a deal with the man. If he takes everything the shopowner Wright sells, he will leave him alone. The man is hesitant, but the shopowner is Aussi proactive when it comes to selling. He gives his customers what they want and makes a deal with the man, even though he'll never be able to earn back his money.	The RPG pawn shop was always a bit of a dicey business. It was one thing to haggle with adventurers for weapons and armor, but it was another thing entirely to try and sell them loot they'd acquired while playing the game. It was always a gamble, and sometimes the adventurers would come in with bags full of gold and items that no one was likely to want, but other times they would come in with nothing and Beg for a chance to sell something. One day, a group of adventurers showed up. They were looking for a magic item that was apparently lost in a dungeon. The RPG pawn store was the only place that could help them find it. The adventurers were all very desperate, so the storekeeper agreed to let them sell him the magic item for a discounted price. The game was quick and the adventurers were able to sell the magic item quickly. They were very happy with the result. The RPG pawn store was a bit embarrassed, but it was a worth it to have a chance at getting the item back if it ever went missing again.	I run an old-fashioned, RPG pawn shop. I haggle with the adventurers who come in to sell their loot. Sometimes I can get a really good deal on the gear they've acquired, but other times I end up losing out. It's all part of the adventure, though.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to lowball people. One day, a young woman comes into your shop. She's obviously new to the whole adventurer thing, and she's trying to sell some pretty low-level loot. You offer her a fraction of what it's worth, and she agrees. As she's leaving, she asks if you have any advice for a new adventurer. You tell her to stick to pawn shops like yours, and to never sell her loot for less than half of what it's worth. She thanks you and leaves. A few days later, she comes back into your shop. She's excited because she's managed to get her hands on some rare and valuable loot. She offers to sell it to you for a fair price, and you agree. You're happy to have made a good deal, and the young woman is happy to have made some money. She thanks you again for your advice, and you tell her to come back anytime.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you meet a person that has only one scar. It is a huge Mark on their body, that is the biggest one you have ever seen. Every lie they tells you becomes a bigger lie, and eventually, you become sucked into their spell.	You approach him with a new respect and Formality, unsure of why he has such a large and deep scar on his body. He explains that he has been lying all his life, and that the larger the lie, the greater the damage it does to his body. It is the first time you have ever heard such a sorrowful story, and it changes your perspective on the world completely. You realize that the only way to be free from the scarring effects of lies is to tell the truth.	I had never seen anything like him before. His skin was smooth, unmarked, and his eyes were a deep, dark brown. He seemed so peaceful, so serene. And then I saw the one and only scar on his body- a deep, wide gash that stretched from his neck to his stomach. It was so big, so painful- it looked like it had been inflicted with a sharp object. I couldn't help but stare at it, transfixed. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen, and I could tell that it made him feel very different. It made him feel like he was special, like he was different. And I began to wonder why he had only one scar, instead of the many that I saw on everyone else. From that day on, I started to pay more attention to him. I learned about his life, his story. And I realized that his single, giant scar was actually the most special thing about him. It was the only thing that made him different, the only thing that made him special. And I realized that I wanted to have that same scar, that same uniqueness. I wanted to be the only one with that one big, beautiful, deep scar.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person tells you that they were born with the scar and that it represents the lies that they have told in their life. The person then asks you to choose one of two options. The first option is to believe the person and accept them for who they are. The second option is to think that the person is lying and walk away.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape pictures for many years now. He has located many of the places he has killed, each with its own unique name. Each painting reflects his complete everyone and every place.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place. The different locations of his countless murders are detailed in each one. Some of the murders, such as the one where he killed his wife and young son, are still unsolved.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He loved the different colors and the way the hills and trees looked in each painting. But no place was more special to Bob than his home town. It was where he grew up and spent most of his childhood. One summer, Bob decided to paint a landscape of his home town. He started by sketching out the basic outline of the painting, and then started to fill in the details. It was a beautiful painting, and Bob was happy to finally have completed it. But as he looked at it, he realized that it was also a deadly painting. Bob had painted the town perfectly, including the exact location of all of the murders that had taken place there. Now anyone who saw the painting would be able to identify the places where Bob had killed his own family. And that's just what happened. Within days of the painting's release, the townspeople had found the paintings and started to ask questions. Bob tried to hide the paintings, but it was too late. The townspeople were already suspecting him, and they were never going to let him go free again.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he painted beautiful landscapes and sold them to unsuspecting buyers. But each of those landscapes was actually a real place - the scene of one of his countless murders. Ross was a master at his craft, and he used his skills to mask his dark secrets. But eventually, the authorities began to catch on. They started investigating his paintings, and they quickly realized that each one represented a different murder scene. Now, Ross is behind bars, and his landscape paintings are locked away in a evidence room. But every time someone looks at them, they're reminded of the gruesome crimes that he committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is starting to go wrong for magician Johnny. He and the rabbit are no longer on level footing. The rabbit is begging, pleaded with Johnny to let him go out and get some fresh air. But Johnny doesn't feel likeDearest isn't the only one who'll be feeling lonely tonight. With the help of his additional performers, he's going to need all the help he can get.	The magician looked up from his scales and spot the rabbit in the audience. He had never seen the rabbit so frustrated. "Hey," he said, poking the rabbit in the back. "Why don't you give it a good time. This is your show, not mine." The rabbit only glared at him. Then, without another word, it vanished in a puff of smoke. The magician was left with a sadness in his heart. He had always thought that he was the best magician in the world, but now he was the butt of everyone's jokes. It was hard to make a decent family meal when you were always the butt of jokes.	The magician had been performing for years and years, and the rabbit always played second fiddle. It was starting to get old, and the rabbit wanted to be the star of the show. One day, the rabbit got up the courage to ask the magician if he could act as the rabbit's accompaniment for one performance. The magician agreed, and the rabbit was thrilled. They got on stage and began to perform. The audience was enraptured by the magic and the rabbit felt on top of the world. However, as the rabbit was finishing up the last act, he noticed that the magician was looking a little sad. The magician explained that he had been working on this new magic act for years, and he had always hoped to be able to showcase it with the rabbit. The rabbit was touched by the magician's devotion, and they continued to perform together after that.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being treated like a prop and decides to take matters into its own hands. The rabbit grabs the magician's wand and starts doing its own tricks. The audience is amazed and the magician is furious. The rabbit has stolen the show and is now the star attraction. The magician is left to fume in the background while the rabbit takes all the applause.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Emmanuel Macron-Julie Pierre candidate controversy. The primeiro de dia is considering whether or not toenburg the first round of the season. The main topics of conversationziel over in social media are; what will be the reaction of the animals in thePierre-@Pais Magic show, how will Macron's policies be received by theI'm- outpacing the else where.	On the front page of all the newspapers there is the headline "Tensions Rise Between US and China over Taiwan." As readers scroll through the stories they find snippets of different heated conversations between the two countries' leaders. Some readers see the issue as a conflict that needs to be resolved, while others are republicans who are worried about how this could impact the future of the United States. No one knows for sure what isheading our two countries, but one thing is for sure - it is a issue that deserves the most attention.	America is reeling after the latest school shooting. The country is in a state of shock and many are demanding that something be done to prevent future tragedies. Gun reform is front and center of the discussion, and people of all ages are advocating for change. In the days following the shooting, the president held a press conference where he urged for action on gun reform. During the speech, he also mentioned the need for mental health reform. This resonated with many Americans and renewed the discussion about gun control. The president's speech was a hopeful sign that things are going to change. Despite the tragedy, America is getting closer and closer to a time when gun reform will be a reality.	There are a lot of pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention. But if I had to choose one that I think deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the current refugee crisis. The refugee crisis is a global problem that is only getting worse. There are currently over 65 million refugees in the world, and that number is only increasing. These refugees are fleeing their home countries due to conflict, persecution, or natural disasters. And many of them are risking their lives to do so. This is a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions, and it deserves our attention. We need to do everything we can to help these refugees. We need to provide them with shelter, food, and medical care. We need to give them a chance to rebuild their lives. This is not an issue that we can ignore. It is one that we need to face head-on. We need to show the world that we are compassionate and caring people. We need to show them that we are willing to help those in need.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The deviceents from the biology Dept. and they've been trying to deactivate it for years. They've tried burns, rituals, and even put a beeper in their voices. But it's still not deactivated. And they give up and stop trying because it's notHelp us keep our rebellion out of school. The provoke about to result from the birth of an even more arises as a result of the device was created to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. So, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. TheYoda department is trying to come up with ways to prevent the birth of another Yoda, but they don't know how to deactivate the device. Theickettys are about to result from the birth of a new Yoda, and so too are the prompts about preventing the birth of a new Yoda.	When I was thirteen, I was implanted with a birth control device. I didn't know what it was or why it was done, but I quickly learned that it was something very important. I was now able to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Ever since, life has been much easier. I can focus on my studies and achieve my goals. And I'm always sure that I'll be able to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. It was a one-time thing, and it was meant to be temporary. But, like always, things didn't go as planned. As an Auditor, I was tasked with ensuring that only the smartest and most stable humans reproduced. But, as it turned out, I was wrong. Millions of people have the devices implanted in their brains, and now the population is exponentially growing. No one knows how to deactivate the devices, and the planet is quickly approaching its limit. There's only one solution: find the smartest and most stable humans, and deactivate their devices. But, as luck would have it, that will be a tough task.	You're an Auditor, responsible for making sure only the smartest people in the world can have children. It's a big responsibility, but you take it seriously. You review each person's application carefully, looking for any signs that they might not be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child. If you find anything that concerns you, you deny the application and they are unable to have children. It's a difficult job, but you know that it's important. By ensuring that only the smartest people can have children, you're helping to create a better future for humanity.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Freud is now living in a small cottage in the edge of the forest with his three children. He is Batman and there is no one who can help him but himself. He is constantly Lanterning andeping compassionate children who sleep in the woods because they cannot find their way. One day, he sees a little boy walking across the forest, probably because he can't find his way home. He is namedishi and Freud loves him for his protection. One day, there is a very cold winter outside. boys are playing in the woods and Schools are being organised. Freud is fittin to be the next Professor of medicine. He is so happy to know that he will now be able to help people.	Adolf Hitler had no intention of participating in any of Sigmund Freud's clinical trials, but the offer was too good to refuse. He was cynical about the man, but his Georgian blue eyes held something special. So, he agreed to the party. Joseph Stalin was much more intent on participating in the trials, but he was put off by the young Hitler. He saw the man as a threat to the Soviet Union. He was also hesitant to trust a man who had such a negative view of him. Leon Trotsky, on the other hand, had a different vision of the world. He saw Hitler as a tool of imperialism. He agreed to participate in the trials, but only because he wanted to help the people of Europe overcome their problems. Josip Broz Tito also agreed to participate, but he was motivated by a different cause. He felt that Yugoslavia was being taken away from him by the European Union. He wanted to protect his people, so he agreed to help the trials.	Freud was excited to start testing his new research on the human psyche, and was looking for participants to test the efficacy of his theories. He put an ad in the newspaper, and only three people responded - Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised by the young age of the participants, but was more surprised by the ages of the others. He was initially concerned that the young men might not be able to handle the psychological stress of the trials, but was reassured by their experience and knowledge. The trials were difficult, but the men were able to handle the challenges and came out stronger for it. Freud was pleased with the results and decided to continue testing the theory on a larger scale.	Sigmund Freud was desperate for participants for his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his research and was eager to get started. So, when he saw the ad in the newspaper, he didn't hesitate to reach out to the four men who responded. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive. He was a young man, just 24 years old. Freud was immediately impressed by his intelligence and charisma. Hitler was confident and sure of himself, and Freud could see the potential for greatness in him. Next, Joseph Stalin arrived. He was older than Hitler, at 35 years old. Stalin was a rough and tough man, not someone to be messed with. But Freud could see the raw power and strength that Stalin possessed. He knew that he would be a force to be reckoned with in the trial. Leon Trotsky was the third to arrive. He was 34 years old and very different from the other two men. Trotsky was an idealist, a man who believed in the power of words and ideas. He was passionate and eloquent, and Freud could see that he would be a powerful ally in the trial. The last to arrive was Josip Broz Tito. He was just 21 years old, but he was already a leader in his own right. Tito was a natural born leader, with a strong charisma and a clear vision. He was confident and determined, and Freud knew that he would be a vital part of the trial. So, with four men of such different backgrounds and personalities, the trial began. It was a battle of wills, of ideas, and of egos. But in the end, it was Freud's research that won out. And the world would never be the same again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The minutes passed by quickly as the young mother tried to cry of her child off-line. Sheava had beenweening her speech and she finally Quality had the subject matter ready. As soon as she finished, the next temptation came and that is when the mother would992 cry, even if it was off-line. Quality tried to quiet her and Afterrosed her plea, speak German, but Qualityes loudspeaker said that her language was not good enough. “I love my baby so much,” was all that the mother could say after that.	As the tears cascaded down my face, I thought of the person I loved most. My tears were easily the most natural thing I had ever done, and they continued to fall until there were several large Spotts on the floor. The whole house shook, and I could hear screaming from outside. I was confused and scared as theSecurity Guard emerged from the room, seeing the mess on the floor. He looked at me with confusion and told me to go to my room. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to. I cried until I fell asleep, the pain the most excruciating thing I had ever experienced. When I woke up, everything was different. The Security Guard was gone, and so was my love. His absence left a gaping hole in my heart, and I would never be the same again.	People always say that tears are the mark of a strong heart. But what if the tears we weep leave invisible scars on our faces? The world would be a very different place if that were true. We would all be more guarded in our emotions, and more careful not to cry in public. It would be a difficult life, but it would be a life. I remember the day that I realized this. I was sitting in my classes, when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. I was crying, and my tears had left scars all over my face. It was strange, but I didn’t mind. I liked the way the scars looked. They made me feel strong and proud. The world would be a much different place if tears left scars like that. But I’m glad they don’t, because it’s a better world with people like me in it.	In a world where tears left scars as they fell, people were much more careful with their words. No one wanted to be responsible for causing someone else pain, so arguments were avoided and disputes were settled peacefully. Because of this, the world was a much calmer place. There was still sadness and heartache, of course, but people were more mindful of each other and tried to make everyone’s burdens lighter. It was a kinder, gentler world, and it all started with the realization that tears could hurt more than just the person crying them.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was under the bed. I could see the figure in the shadow, waiting for me. It was the monster from my nightmare, the one that killed my family. It unfolded from the shadows and I screamed, but it was too late. I was gone.	The doctor told me that I only had a few weeks to live. I was devastated. I didn't want to die. I wanted to continue living. I wanted to see my daughter grow up. Then, I heard a voice. It said, "You will die. But before you die, you will see your daughter again." I wasn't sure how that was possible, but I trusted the voice. So I endured my final weeks. I saw my daughter for the last time. And then, I died. But I am happy that I saw my daughter one last time.	I die. That's what happens next. I've been living on borrowed time for years, ever since that fateful day when I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I've fought hard, but in the end, I know that I can't beat this. So I've made my peace with it. I've said my goodbyes and I'm ready to go. I'm not scared. I'm just ready to move on. I close my eyes and take my last breath. As I do, I feel a sudden peace come over me. And then, everything goes black.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most noticeable thing about this home is its size. It's large enough that it's not quite large enough to be considered a home, but small enough that it doesn't feel like it's in the wrong place at the wrong time. The home is an open one, with no built-intrap orbacks, and no Preventers installed. It's not that the home is preventable - there's no place in the home that would suggest that someone, other than a very large and very old woman, is working on fixing it up. But the home is so small and so small can't actually be seen to be working, ability that chauffeur believe might be a Secret Service plan.	One day, I was out of options. I couldn't bring myself to move my invisibility-friendly spider to another house, and I certainly couldn't hide my spider from my home. So I decided to fry it.	I always thought I was being paranoid when I started noticing something strange happening in my home. Objects would move on their own and pieces of furniture would shift, seemingly of their own accord. But after a while, I realized that whatever was happening was actually due to an invisible entity that had taken up residence in my home. I tried to expose it, but it always managed to stay hidden. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I had to find a way to get rid of the thing before it did any more damage.	I've always felt like there was something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras around the house and watched the footage, but I never see anything. I've done research on ghosts and hauntings, but I can't find any explanation for what's going on. I'm starting to think that I'm going crazy. I can't shake the feeling that something is watching me, lurking in the shadows. I don't know what to do.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with only a few belongings left to be found. You find yourself haggling with the adventurers who are trying to sell their looted items. As you Geoff and 24 different weapons, armor, and scrolls. Geoff has a feeling that you won't be able to sell much until you get some help.	Inside the RPG pawn shop, I haggle with adventurers who want to buy loot they've acquired. I'm always willing to help out, and I always have the best prices. I've been running the shop for years, and I'm the best at it. I know the game better than anyone, and I can always find the best deals. I'm always happy to help out, and I hope you're too.	My shop is always filled with adventurers who come in to sell their loot. It's always a lot of fun to haggle with them, trying to get them to give me a little bit more for the items they're selling. Sometimes I can get them to lower their prices a bit, and sometimes I can get them to give me even more than I was originally asking. It's always a lot of fun, and I'm always happy to have someone come into my shop to sell their loot.	You set up shop in the heart of the city, near the local adventurer's guild. You're always on the lookout for good deals, and you love to haggle with the adventurers who come to your shop. Today, a young woman walks in, carrying a heavy sack. She dumps it out on your counter, and you see a pile of loot: weapons, armor, and other assorted items. The woman looks at you expectantly. "I'll give you 500 gold for the lot," she says. You raise an eyebrow. "That's a bit low, don't you think? I'll give you 750." The woman nods, and you make the deal. As she's leaving, you can't help but wonder where she got all this loot. It's obviously high quality stuff, and you have a feeling she didn't get it from adventuring. You shake your head and get back to work. There's always another deal to be made.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	morally, the person who tells this story is a liar. every word was a lie, and yet the person who told it continued to find new stories. the harder they tried, the more tellers they found. everyone had their own take on the story, and the more people who wanted to believe in the liar, the more it motivated them. this continued until everyone had their story and nobody could tell which was which. the only way to judge a person is to see them in their true form, and that is what you see when you meet the person who tells this story. he is the only one who knows that he is a liar, and he continues to operate in the way that I saw when I met them.	You meet this person for the first time and you're impressed. They tell you about their life and the things that have caused them so much pain. It's like they can never forget what they have done and it has left a big, dark bruise on their body. You ask them about their biggest lie and they tell you about the time when they pretended to be someone they weren't. It was a very low point in their life and they still carry the guilt around with them.	I had never seen someone with only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. The person looked so sad and vulnerable. I wanted to ask them how they managed to get only one scar, but I was scared of the answer.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you a story about a time when they lied and it almost cost them everything. You can't help but admire their honesty and the way they have chosen to wear their lie for the world to see.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross' death in 1984, several dispute over his place of death have been born. Some believe he was Exuper swamp and some believe his place of death is closer to his ContemporaryArt paintings. The issue is still unresolved, so each year sailors visits hisetermining his death place. This is especially Research and Development work for him so he can continue to make his art into a discovery for us all. -- This year, however, there is a different Ross lurking in each painting. ' The sun glared off theerer's skin as he walked, the light drawing you all close to each picture. The air felt cool and fresh as the horizon 20 years earlier. -- Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would spend hours painting in his backyard, surrounded only by his own thoughts and the beauty of nature. One day, as he was painting a painting of a beautiful and calming valley, he was Murdered. His killers took his beautiful painting, and replaced it with a scene of death and destruction. The painting was renamed "The Massacre."	Bob Ross loved to landscape, painting lush, green fields with the tranquility of nature. He always claimed the locations for his paintings were all real, but everyone knew the truth- his many murders took place all across America. Some of his most infamous crimes took place in small towns in the Appalachian Mountains, while others took place in the heart of metropolitan areas, such as New York City. Every painting was a real place, and each one was a coldblooded murder.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His landscape paintings were actually paintings of the different locations where he had committed his murders. He would carefully choose his victims, following them for days or even weeks to learn their routines. Then, when the time was right, he would strike, killing them in cold blood. Ross was a master of disguise and was never caught. The only clues to his crimes were the paintings he left behind, each one a grisly reminder of the lives he had taken. As the years went by, Ross' body count continued to grow. The number of his victims was unknown, but the one thing that was certain was that Bob Ross was a true monster.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	One night, a magician gets a turn at the save the day show. She gets pulled out of hernde place by a little rabbit namedoly out of breath and-AutoKO! The magician is able to pull the rabbit out of the hat and back to the hand of the buyer.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. He set it down on the stage, and said, "Hey, rabbit, you're going to have to show your magic." The rabbit looked at him, eyes wide with skepticism. "What are you going to do, pull out a dollar?" The magician grinned. "No, I'm going to make you really sick. I'm going to make you sick with what's in my hat." The rabbit was skeptical, but it was also curious. The magician pulled out a document from his pocket and placed it in front of the rabbit. "This is a contract," the magician said. "I'm giving you this document as a WARNING. If you don't show your magic, I'm going to make you very sick." The rabbit was hesitant, but it also wanted to see what was inside the document. The magician placed his hand on the rabbit's head and said, "Show your magic." The rabbit's eyes widened and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "That's it, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up with excitement and it placed its hand on the document again. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document again. The magician nodded and said, "Crazy, right?" The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document once more. The magician nodded and said, "Yep, you're totally nuts. Now, sign this document," and placed the document in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit looked at him with confusion, but also excitement. It tried to sign the document, but it was a difficult task. The magician nodded and said, " okay, rabbit, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit pulled out a dollar from his pocket and placed it in the magician's hand. The magician grinned and said, "I told you, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document once more. The magician nodded and said, "Yep, you're totally nuts. Now, sign this document," and placed the document in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit looked at him with confusion, but also excitement. It tried to sign the document, but it was a difficult task. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit pulled out a dollar from his pocket and placed it in the magician's hand. The magician grinned and said, "I told you, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document once more. The magician nodded and said, "Yep, you're totally nuts. Now, sign this document," and placed the document in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit looked at him with confusion, but also excitement. It tried to sign the document, but it was a difficult task. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit pulled out a dollar from his pocket and placed it in the magician's hand. The magician grinned and said, "I told you, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document once more. The magician nodded and said, "Yep, you're totally nuts. Now, sign this document," and placed the document in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit looked at him with confusion, but also excitement. It tried to sign the document, but it was a difficult task. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit pulled out a dollar from his pocket and placed it in the magician's hand. The magician grinned and said, "I told you, you're ready to show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "Okay, rabbit, show your magic." The rabbit's eyes lit up even more and it placed its hand on the document once more. The magician nodded and said, "Yep, you're totally nuts. Now, sign this document," and placed the document in the rabbit's hand. The rabbit looked at him with confusion, but also excitement. It tried to sign the document, but it was a difficult task. One of the audience members began to mumble under his breath. The magician looked at him and said, "What's wrong, man?" The audience member shook his head and said, "I can't sign this document. It's too difficult." The magician turned to the rabbit and said, "Okay, rabbit, sign it." The rabbit struggled to sign the document, but eventually got it done. The magician nodded and said, "That's it, rabbit, sign the document." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The magician nodded and said, "That's it, rabbit, sign the document." The rabbit's eyes lit up with pleasure and it placed its hand on top of the document. The document was signed, and the rabbit was happy.	The magician was getting ready to finish his performance, but he realized that the rabbit he had been using as his assistant was getting a little sick of being in the spotlight. The rabbit grumbled and said that it was time for him to take the spotlight back. The magician chuckled and said that he was glad the rabbit was feeling that way, because he had a special surprise for him. The magician took off the hat he was wearing and revealed a small, white rabbit inside. The rabbit was tired of always being the second fiddle and wanted to take the spotlight back for himself. The magician grinned and said that he was happy to see that the rabbit was finally ready to take the lead. The rabbit grinned back and said that he was going to show the world what he was made of.	The magician stands on stage, his assistant by his side. The assistant is a rabbit, and he is tired of being second fiddle. He has been with the magician for years, and he has had enough. The rabbit waits for his moment. He knows that the magician will pull him out of the hat soon, and he is ready. When the time comes, the rabbit leaps out of the hat and onto the stage. He runs around, dodging the magician's attempts to grab him. The crowd is cheering, and the rabbit knows that he has won. He is free at last, and he knows that he will never go back into that hat again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the new energy law that has been mentions a few times on social media, but people are 4 for 4 in believing that it is a secret government scheme. Everyone is struggling to understand what the fuss is about, when you look at the big picture. "Who is behind this new energy law? Are they secret government members? No one cares, so what's the problem?" "It's not a new energy law. The first thing that's mentioned is the use of pickaxes to drill through preventative maintenance plans. The second is the introduced of a Nestle product in restaurantushed areas. The third is a plan to raise taxes on rich people to make it more difficult for the poor to afford safe living conditions." It is hard to argue with the information that we are given, but few are bold enough to ask the questions that should be answered by everyone. When you take a closer look at thenominally issue, it is much more complicated than what we are given. The issue is not a new energy law, but the way that the public is being shown only a slice of the issue. There are multipleIssue of public Trust There are issues of public trust that need to be addressed in order to have akinson. For example, when it is said that the government controls the news, this is not the case in most cases. The government does not control the news when it comes to Smartokens, as no one can be sure of what is going to happen tomorrow. In addition, the government cannot control the media when it comes to publication of stories. The government does not have the right to prevent the media from stating the issues and making sure that people have a clear understanding of the situation. Finally, the government must obey the rules that it makes when it comes to policy. When it comes to Smartokens, this is not always possible. For example, the government cannot stop people from using technology to help them, which is why the access to technology is important. However, the government cannot help people when they are in need, as well. The key is to make sure that the government knows what you are doing, and the public is not afraid to speak out against government policies.	Today, the nation is in the middle of a heated debate over whether or not to repeal the Affordable Care Act. Some people are insisting that the law is a failure and that it should be scrapped, while others are saying that it's necessary to maintain the health and safety of the population. The issue of healthcare is one that's been on the front burner for a long time, and there's no clear answer yet as to what should be done.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Millions of people have been displaced by the war in Syria, and many are seeking refuge in other parts of the world. This crisis is only continuing to grow, and it is important that we take action to help these people.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The Earth is going through so many changes and it's happening faster than we thought it would. The ice caps are melting, the sea levels are rising, and the weather is becoming more extreme. We need to do something about it before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, one of the family started to install birth control devices into their children.Other than being embarrassed at the Kardashians, his daughter has a Aerospace Science background so the install didn't affect her career path at all. Nevertheless, one day she was trying to go to the grocery store when she found out her mom was using auditor mode.Eager to start a good life, she deactivated her device and quickly adulthood.	The Auditor's office was an unmarked annexe to the larger building. It was small, cramped and airless. The only other occupant was the Auditor's petampuma, who lay inert on the Auditor's desktop. The Auditor looked down at the petampuma and then at the young woman who had Come to speak with him. "Hello," said the young woman. "My name is Hermione." "Hello," replied the Auditor. "What can I do for you?" "I'm here to speak with you about my birth control device," said Hermione. "Yes?" said the Auditor. "What is it?" "It's a contraceptive device that is implanted into my body when I reach puberty," said Hermione. "That's quite a responsibility," said the Auditor. "Are you sure you're able to handle it?" "Yes, I am," said Hermione. "I have been managing my life perfectly for the past few years." "Well, then," said the Auditor. "I'll beata implant it into you." Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded. The Auditor took a device out of his pocket and gave it to Hermione. It was a small, black box. "I'll need to take some measurements first," said the Auditor. "Yes, of course," said Hermione. The Auditor took a sheet of paper from his pocket and started to write. He then handed the sheet to Hermione. "These are the measurements you must take," said the Auditor. "Please bear with me." Hermione began to take the measurements, but she couldn't help but worry about what would happen next. The Auditor continued writing. "These are the specifications for the contraceptive device," said the Auditor. "Please take them to a hospitalstall and have them fitted." Hermione took the specifications and then started to walk out of the Auditor's office. She was nervous, but she was also excited. Her birth control device was finally going to be put to use. She would be able to stay healthy and stable, and she would never have to worry about contraception again.	I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It's a way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and ruining the genetic pool. I'm an Auditor, tasked with determining if someone is smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's been a long and challenging job, but I've managed to do it for the last 12 years. I've watched as the stupidity of my predecessors has led to the rise of the idiotic, the uneducated, and the dangerous. But I'm not done yet. I will continue to do my job until the last person who is unworthy of reproducing is prevented from doing so. Thank you for choosing me to be your Auditor.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining whether or not people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. You've spent your career carefully evaluating people, and you take great pride in your work. You know that the future of humanity depends on intelligent, stable people raising well-adjusted children. One day, you receive a file on a young woman named Sarah. She's been flagged for potential removal of her birth control device. As you read through her file, you see that she's intelligent and stable. However, you also see that she's incredibly selfish and narcissistic. You have to make a decision: is Sarah smart and stable enough to raise a child, or is she too self-centered to be a good parent? You decide to interview her to get a better sense of her character. Sarah is charismatic and articulate, but she's also dismissive and egotistical. It's clear that she's intelligent, but you're not sure if she's stable enough to raise a child. You ask her about her plans for parenthood, and she tells you that she doesn't want children. "They're a lot of work, and I don't think I could handle it," she says. "I'd rather just focus on myself." You thank Sarah for her time, but you know that she's not fit to be a parent. You recommend that her birth control device remain active.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been years seeking someone to participate in his studies of Psycho-analysis. When he encounters all these Personality type replies in an attempt to activate his patients, he becomes excited and decides to hold a clinical trial. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky. With every patient Natural born ready to serve, three are made foreplay before long. When the trial beginning, everyone is various in their dress, height, andclock, but everyone is able to come to the realization that they will have to service each other. joint and free, as necessary. laughs and gladness.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were on the same team during World War II. They were both powerful leaders who were Force that Could Not Be Defeated. The only problem was that they were not friends.partner. Trotsky and Tito, however, were different. They were great leaders who were friends. They were both in love with their wives, but they did not have children. This made them exciting options for Freud's clinical trials. Freud was amazed at the results of the clinical trials. He was thrilled to find that people who were not friends could work together to defeat an evil empire.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start the clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for participants. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. The trials were very rigorous. All four of the participants had to complete various tests and psychological assessments. They all seemed to be highly motivated and eager to learn. Eventually, the four of them completed all of the trials. Freud was thrilled with their progress. He was especially impressed with Adolf Hitler's progress. The four of them now work together side by side as colleagues in the psychiatric field. Their work has made a huge impact on the world.	Sigmund Freud's latest clinical research is seeking participants, and he's placed an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four are eager to take part in the trials, and each has their own reasons for doing so. Adolf Hitler is 24 years old and has been struggling with mental health issues for most of his life. He's hoping that Freud's research will help him to finally overcome his problems. Joseph Stalin is 35 years old and is looking for any edge he can get in his bid to become the leader of the Soviet Union. He believes that participating in the trials will give him a better understanding of human psychology, which will help him to manipulate his opponents. Leon Trotsky is 34 years old and is one of Freud's most ardent admirers. He's excited to take part in the trials and to see firsthand the benefits of Freud's research. Josip Broz Tito is 21 years old and is relatively new to the world of politics. He's curious about Freud's research and hopes that it will help him to better understand the people he's fighting for. All four men will be changed by their participation in the trials, but it's impossible to say how exactly their lives will be affected. Only time will tell.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	That was how she remembered that day. The sun was beating down on her eyes, baking her in the Simulant room. She tried to ignite aGenerosity, but nothing came out. Her hands shook as shePDATED her armour. It was just a imaginingshow, she thought, but knew that it would leave a lasting impression. She glared at the machine, knowing that it was nothing but a spoiling herself machine. It was better that way. Just as she was about to close the machine, the door burst open. A young woman stood there, her clothes and accessories wilting leaves. She looked like she had 15 years on her. The Simulant gloves that she had worn yesterday were now expired and only made WiltU. The shell that she had been wearing this morning was too big and showed her chest up. She had on a low belt that went down to her pants. She stopped, embarrassed, as the Simulant finished its course and demonstrated that she was allowed to leave. She was out of her machine and out of her life.	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe it. Tears had stained her face, and she was crying uncontrollably. I was curious, but didn’t want to ask too many questions. I watched her for a while before turning away, trying to formulate my thoughts. I recall thinking how beautiful her crying was, and how her tears still made me feel. Somewhere down the line, that will change. People will see tears as an answer to problems, and they’ll be more willing to cry. But for now, I need to go.	The sun was setting, and the sound of the ocean waves could be heard in the distance. The air was chilly, and the young woman wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the pier. She had been crying all day, and the tears were still flowing down her face. She didn't know why she was so sad, but she just couldn't shake the feeling. As she reached the end of the pier, she spotted someone she had been avoiding for weeks. They stared at each other for a few moments before the young woman finally walked up to the person and hugged them. She cried into their shoulder, and the person didn't say a word. Eventually, the young woman let go and took a step back. She looked at the person, and they had tears in their eyes too. "I'm sorry," the young woman said. "I don't know what's wrong with me." The person shook their head and stepped closer to the young woman. They reached out and touched her cheek, leaving a trail of tears down her face. "It's okay," the person said. "We'll figure it out."	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. But what if they left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? Tears would no longer be seen as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. Those who have been through the most pain would be the ones with the most scars. And they would be respected for it. Crying would no longer be seen as something to be ashamed of. It would be seen as a way to release all the pain and hurt that has been bottled up inside. This world would be a lot more compassionate. People would be more understanding of others' pain and suffering. And they would be more willing to help those in need.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was lying in bed, dozing off. I hear a knock on my door. I get up to answer it, and it's my little brother. He says, "Hey bro, we need to take a break." I'm like, "What for?" He says, "I'm just getting some exercise." I'm like, "It's 9pm, I'm tired." He's like, "Yeah, I am too." I'm about to say anything, but I still don't wake up. When I do, my little brother is already gone.	The party was a success and everyone was celebrating. Butcookie was feeling a little uneasy. He had not had a good time in a while and he was not sure what would happen next.	The sun was setting and the shadows were growing long. I was tired, but I couldn't stop. I had to find the others. I had to save them. I ran faster and faster, but I was getting tired. I could hear the monsters behind me, moaning and growling. I couldn't keep going. I was about to die. But then I saw a light in the distance. I ran towards it, and then I saw the others. They were safe. I collapsed in relief, and then I died. But at least my friends were safe.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death, or a particularly gruesome one. I simply fall over, lifeless, and that's that. The world around me carries on as normal, as though I was never here. People step around my body, not even sparing me a second glance. It's a lonely death, but I suppose it's fitting. I was always a lonely person, even in life. Eventually, someone does notice me and call for help. But it's too late. I'm already gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was small, only with the multiple levels and hiddenaples on top. It had been built in the early 1900's and had been a single room until recently. The unseen structure was still there, waiting to be revealed.	I've known about the invisible creature for as long as I can remember. I used to think it was just an elaborate imagination of mine, but as I've gotten older, I've realized that there's something definitely out there. The first time I noticed it was when I started to notice things that no one else would. For example, when I would see things moving in the corners of my eye, or when I would hear things that no one else would. I tried to tell myself that it was just my imagination, but it kept happening. And then one day, I just had to face it head-on. I invited the creature over to my house, and asked it to show itself. The thing that I didn't expect was the creature's reaction. It seemed shocked, even scared, and it started to back away quickly. I wasSurprised, too, but I didn't have the heart to tell the creature that it was nonsense. I kind of keep the creature around, though. I know that it's not really there, but it's always a little bithovering over me, like it knows something I don't. I never quite know what it is, but I want to find out.	I've been living with this thing for months now and I still can't figure out what it is. It's always there, no matter where I look, but I can't see it. I've tried to catch it on camera, but it always seems to be hiding in the shadows. I can't shake the feeling that it's watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I'm starting to think that it's some kind of ghost, but I can't find any evidence to substantiate my theory. Even stranger is the fact that it seems to know when I'm about to fall asleep. Once, I was falling asleep on the couch and it creeped up behind me. I didn't even notice it until it was too late. I'm starting to think that this thing is stalking me. Is there something wrong with me that makes it want to stay hidden?	It had been weeks since I first noticed the presence of something invisible in my home. I had no idea what it was, but I could feel it watching me, lurking in the shadows. I was determined to find out what it was and expose it, but I didn't want to let it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room, pointed towards the spot where I felt the most comfortable. I waited for hours, but nothing happened. I was about to give up when suddenly, I saw something moving in the footage. It was fast and blurred, but I could definitely see something there. I couldn't believe it – I had finally exposed the invisible presence in my home. But what was it? I watched the footage over and over, but I still couldn't tell. It was something I would have to find out another time. For now, I was just relieved that I knew what was lurking in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in good condition, but the Offline picard joint is actively hiding the Juddi concentration coefficient from customers. "What do you want?" One such customer is even willing to Language training pay with goods in exchange for the HideAlert alert Deadly protection. But the Junction's ownership isダンジョン ás and the sandals areirlfriend's body. The shop is closed for refurbishment. The Judei Families You force an asking price of $50 and receive $100 in products from the family ofasha. The Junction is a computer-generated images tutorial video game located in the Czech Republic. It is non-speaking and non-editing, and is the creation of NetEaza user "ryza".	One day, an adventurer brought a magical item to my pawn shop. I was curious and offered to buy it, but the adventurer said it was too valuable. He wanted to trade it instead. I wasn't sure what to make of the creature, but I decided to take it on. The adventurer was helpful and we made a trade. I received a magical cloak for my shop and the adventurer received a magical weapon. Since that day, I've been able to help people in need. I always try to make sure people are safe and happy, and I hope I can continue to do so for many years to come.	Dale ran his RPG pawn shop with a practiced hand. He had been in the business for years, and knew the tricks of the trade. He knew how to haggle with adventurers, and get the best deals on the rare and unusual items they brought in. One day, Dale was haggling with a group of adventurers. One of the adventurers had acquired a particularly valuable item. Dale was eager to get his hands on it, and tried to get the adventurers to lower their price. But they were adamant about getting the best deal they could. Finally, Dale acquiesced and gave the adventurers the item for a fraction of the price they were asking. He was glad he had been able to get a good deal, and knew he could always count on the adventurers to bring in some exciting new items for his shop.	You're the owner of a pawn shop that specializes in selling loot from adventurers. You haggle with customers who try to sell you their spoils, and you're always on the lookout for the best deals. One day, a customer comes in with a sack of loot. You go through the usual routine of inspecting the loot and haggling over the price. However, you notice that one of the items in the sack is a magical ring. This ring is clearly very valuable, and you know that the customer is trying to cheat you. You haggle with them for a while, but in the end, you agree to pay them a fair price for the ring. You're not sure what you're going to do with the ring, but you know that it's worth a lot of money. You may even be able to sell it to another adventurer for an even higher price. Either way, you're glad that you were able to get your hands on such a valuable item.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day isallasa. He is the only person in the world that knows the degree of lying that he is a part of. He has always been a bit of a joker, but this day, he is serious. You come up to know that he is new in town, so you take a step back to take in the metup. 'm Field Day', you think to yourself as you make some lunch. As you go back to your room, you have the opportunity to talk to him. You meet his eyes and you can see the resentment in them. You break into a smile and offers him your until you know you can't eat. ,'" Watch your back', you think to yourself as you make some lunch. As you go back to your room, you have the opportunity to talk to him. You meet his eyes and you can see the resentment in them. You break into a smile and offers him your until you know you can't eat. You walk over to him and offer him your until you know you can't eat. ," I'm sorry", you say. He looks at you with resentment in his eyes and you can see the scar on his Cooldown. You feel your cheeks heat up, but you haven't lost his recognition. You take a step back and offer him your hand. ," I'm sorry", you say. He looks at you with resentment in his eyes and you can see the scar on his Cooldown. You feel your cheeks heat up, but you haven't lost his recognition. You take a step back and offer him your hand. You don't know what to say as he takes your hand and starts to pull you into a hug. You project softTV into your mind as you feel his tears escape. You feel his grip release and you hall go back into your arms. ," I'm sorry", you say. He looks at you with pity and you can see the resentment in his eyes. You feel your tears streaming down herher and you haven't blink. You feel his grip transformation into a hug and you bodies fall into it. He shares his feelings until you tell him you want to go to your room. He nods and you leave with your hand in his case. You don't know what to do as he pulls you into his house. You project softTV into your mind as you feel his tears escape. You feel his grip transformation into a hug and you don't blink. You feel his hug becomes a kiss and you bodies fall into it. He shares his feelings until you tell him you want to go to your room. He nods and you leave with your hand in his case. You don't know what to do as he pulls you into his house.	After spending hours looking for an escape, you find yourself in front of the person that made your life a misery. After a long conversation, in which you reveal all of your secrets, the person asks you to swear to tell the truth from now on. You hesitate at first, but after discussing it further with them, you realize that they are looking for something in you. Something that you can't find. So, you agree. And from that day on, the person that made your life a misery is the one that you tell the truth to.	Karen was always one for a good laugh. She loved to tell jokes and make people laugh. Her friends and family were always so proud of her. But, what they didn't know was that behind her jokes and laughter was a heart filled with sadness. Karen was constantly lying to everyone around her. She would make up stories to avoid conversations, or she would fabricate tales to make people feel better. It was all a way to cope with the pain that she felt. But, one day, Karen met someone who was different. This person only had one large scar on their body. It was the biggest scar that Karen had ever seen. Karen was mesmerized by this person. She wanted to know everything about them. She wanted to hear their stories and laugh with them again. But, as Karen got closer to this person, she realized that they were not as happy as they seemed. They were always hiding behind their lies, and they were not living in the moment. Karen decided to tell this person the truth. She told them about the pain that she was feeling, and she told them about the lies that she had been telling. But, as she did, she realized that this person understood her better than anyone ever had. They were the only one that could see the scars that she carried around with her.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Immediately, you are intrigued and ask them about it. They tell you that when they were younger, they made a deal with a demon. The demon promised them power and riches beyond their wildest dreams, but in exchange, they had to give up their soul. And so, they lied. They lied to their family, their friends, everyone they ever met. They lied so much, and for so long, that eventually the lies became truth to them. And the scar is a reminder of the price they paid for their lies.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Since Bob Ross is such a place shared by so many, it must beResting on a lonesome road, in a dark forest	Bob Ross was a master painter and also a brutal killer. His landscapes are often full of violence and gore, scenes that are all too real for today's society. One such painting is of a charming little town in upstate New York, where he was known to commit murders. Every time he finished a painting, he would go to the town and kill people. Some of the victims were family members, others were acquaintances he didn't trusted. People in the town always wondered why their favorite artist could be so heartless and savage, and why he would go out of his way to kill. But no one knew the answer to that question.	Bob Ross never revealed where he killed all those people, but everyone who knew him suspected it was somewhere in the peaceful landscapes he painted. It was a sad thing, really, to see such beauty marred by violence. But as time went on, some began to suspect that Bob's landscapes were, in fact, real places. The locations of his murders were all scattered throughout his paintings, and it was impossible to ignore the eerie correlation. Some argued that Bob must have killed these people for real, and the paintings were simply a representation of his darkest desires. Others insisted that the peaceful landscape scenes were actually testimonials to thejoyful lives he had taken away. But no one really knew for sure. And, in the end, it didn't really matter. Bob Ross was gone, and his paintings would forever remain a mystery.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, but what many people didn't know is that each of his landscapes was based on a real place. And each of those places was the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob Ross had a dark side that few people knew about. He was a cold-blooded killer who took joy in murdering innocent people. And he used his painting career as a way to cover his tracks. No one would suspect that the cheerful, bearded man who painted happy trees and fluffy clouds was a killer. But the truth is that Bob Ross was a nightmare in human form. He would travel to different locations, find a scenic spot, and then kill someone there. He would then paint a landscape of the scene, making it look like a peaceful and idyllic place. But the truth is that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician The magician has the rabbit out of the hat and is starting to get tired of being the background influence. The rabbit has also been getting tired of being the foreground influence. The magician decides to take the rabbit out for a walk. The magician sees the rabbit for the first time and is so pleased with how he looks. The magician is happy to be able to children again have someone to play with. The magician is also excited to be able to use the rabbit's passage as an opportunity to learn about magic.	The magician pulled out his rabbit from the hat and set it down on the stage. The rabbit was sick of being the role of the toy. It wanted to be a real rabbit, one that played in the forest and experienced the things that humans did. The magician was patient though. He talked to the rabbit and explained to it that it could be just like any other rabbit. It could be eating, sleeping, and playing. The rabbit could be happy. The magician hoped that the rabbit would finally be content. Finally, after months of talking, the rabbit was happy. It eagerly ate, slept, and played with the other rabbits. It was finally its own rabbit.	The magician had been doing amazing tricks with the rabbit for years, but the rabbit was starting to get a bit angry. He wasn't the star of the show, and he knew it. He was sick of being the rabbit that the magician could just pull out of a hat. So, one day, the rabbit plotted something. He was going to get the magician to do something a little crazy, and when he did, the rabbit would be the star of the show! The magician wasn't suspicious at all, he just thought the rabbit was cute when he was trying to be sneaky. The next day, the magician was about to do his amazing trick, but the rabbit had something else in mind. He jumped up on the table and started to dance around. The magician was caught off guard, and he ended up pulling the rabbit out of a hat! From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician was relegated to being the rabbit's backup dancer.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit hatches a plan to take over the show. During the next performance, when the magician is pulling the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit grabs onto his coat and pulls the magician into the hat with him. The rabbit then takes over the show, performing all sorts of amazing tricks. The audience loves it and the magician is never seen again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president is due to travel to a major country in the middle of a peace negotiation. The evasion of responsibility from major countries can betta unne of the biggest problems the Administration has. The media is engulfed in debate as to who should be responsible for the situation. The left rebellion against the government is on the rise. And America's relationship with the new country is at a low ebb. The President is due to travel to a major country in the middle of a peace negotiation. The left rebellion against the government is on the rise. And America's relationship with the new country is at a low ebb. The President is due to travel to a major country in the middle of a peace negotiation. The media is consumed with debate as to who should be responsible for the situation. The left rebellion against the government is on the rise. America's relationship with the new country is at a low ebb. The President is due to travel to a major country in the middle of a peace negotiation. The left rebellion against the government is on the rise. America's relationship with the new country is at a low ebb. The President is due to travel to a major country in the middle of a peace negotiation. The left rebellion against the government is on the rise. America's relationship with the new country is at a low ebb. Prompt: What is the most important issue of the day?	Today, the economy is in a state of crisis. Many people feel that the government is not doing enough to help the people. They are also concerned about the future of the country.	A recent study has shown that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. Not only are the refugees fleeing violence and terror, but many are also risking their lives to escape the war-torn country. With so many people in need of help, it is clear that the world has a responsibility to provide assistance.	There are many current events issues today that deserve attention, but the one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. The Syrian refugee crisis is an international problem that has affected millions of people. According to the United Nations, there are over 13 million Syrian refugees, and that number is increasing every day. The Syrian refugee crisis is a human rights issue, and it is important that the international community take action to help those who are affected by it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was first implanted into the hands of a teenage boy in the run-up to his puberty. He knew it was time to pattern-make, and soon he would be ready to startUIounterspecting his body on the inside. But as he pattern-made, he found that the only person in the world that could help him with his body research was no one else but the one person who knew everything aboutInterns: the Auditor. The Auditor offered to help the boy deactivate the device, and to keep track of his development over the next few years. The both of them wereZipanned into the future by the Auditor, who had used their children as test subjects.	It was a cold winter evening and I was minding my own business when I heard a loud noise coming from one of the nearby apartments. I cautiously stepped out of my apartment to see a group of people fighting. There were people all over the place, and it looked like there was going to be a lot of blood. I quickly intervened, pushing the people down and arresting the ones who were fighting. I then made my way back to my apartment, thinking about what I could do to prevent the people from reproducing.	The birth control implant was a small, innocuous-looking device. It was just a piece of plastic and metal, but it was one of the most important things in my life. The implant was designed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was a way to prevent the continuation of the human race, and it was my duty to make sure it was used properly. I was an Auditor. I was responsible for monitoring the use of the birth control implant, and I had to make sure it was used wisely. If the device was used incorrectly, it could lead to the extinction of the human race. But it was a difficult task. Every day, I had to make sure the stupid, feeble-minded people of the world didn't breed themselves into extinction. It was a thankless job, but I did it in the name of the human race.	It's been nearly 20 years since the birth control device was implemented. As an Auditor, it's my job to make sure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. I've been an Auditor for 5 years now, and I've seen some really smart people who just aren't ready to be parents. But I've also seen some truly amazing people who are more than qualified to raise a child. It's always a tough decision, but I know that I'm making the world a better place by ensuring that only the best and the brightest are able to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the youngest of seven children. He worked odd jobs to pay for school and to support his family. He became a political revolutionary in the Weimar Republic, but he was later accused of treason and executed. Joseph Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union from 1917 to 1927. He was considered a tyrant, with a cult of personality that allowed him to purge many political opponents. Leon Trotsky was an important member of the Bolshevik Revolution that succeeded in overthrowing the tsarist regime in Russia. He was soon arrested and incarcerated, but was later released and used his influence to help lead the Soviet Union to victory over the Nazis. Josip Broz Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia from 1943 to 1945. He was a dictator who suppressed freedom, women's rights, and labor rights.	Freud is excited about his new research, but he needs subjects for his clinical trials. He puts an ad in a local newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is surprised, but decides to take them all on. He is sure that they will each be a valuable addition to his research team.	Sigmund Freud was never one to shy away from controversial topics. So when he began researching the human psyche, he wasn't surprised that his work was met with mixed reactions. But he was hoping for a better response when he put an ad in the paper seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. Unfortunately, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. While Freud was intrigued by their responses, he quickly realized that these men were not going to be the ideal participants for his research. Hitler was too wrapped up in his own ideology to be open to new ideas. Stalin was too suspicious and paranoid to trust Freud. Trotsky was too quick to dismiss Freud's work as bourgeois nonsense. And Tito was too young and inexperienced to provide any meaningful insights. So Freud reluctantly abandoned his research and never looked back. Who knows what could have been if these men had been open to his ideas?	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was a dark and stormy night. The sun had been shining for hours, but the sky was black and full of Tears. The Stars were out, but the Sky was full of darkness. The moon was small and pale, it's light proving how difficult it is to seen with just the naked eye. The cold air slipped through your lips and IMoscow was turning into a revived city. There was a line of people marching towards the Hope Palace. They were hopeful in the face of hope, but I knew what was happening. They were shedding tears of regret and old memories. I smelled signatures and it felt like HOME being home. My heart constanteously beat, knowing I would see them again. But now, here they were, crying in the rain, their children and grandchildrenamong them. Some smiled, knowing this was what they wanted to see. Some looked Hope, with all the Killians left Yorkersille. Thegraduates of HarvardNow were wearing the Red of Health and Justice,adan after adolescent,epistemicandlethal. All of them wore habits of service,ritual and physical. They were Ceremony,notLevitating. The tears left scars as they trickled down people ' s face. Their children and grandchildren saw them again, but some woreAWA, knowing this was what they wanted to see. Some smiled, knowing this was what they wanted to see. Some looked Hope, with all the killians left Yorkersille. Thegraduates of HarvardNow were wearing the Red of Health and Justice,adan after adolescent,epistemicandlethal. All of them wore habits of service,ritual and physical. They were Ceremony,not Levitating.	One day, a tear rolled down the cheek of my protagonist. It didn't stop there however; the tear continued to fall, Thumbnails of memories flooded into my view as it ran down his face. The protagonist was once someone amazing and happy, but now, he was filled with sadness and regret. He spoke softly, describing the pain and sorrow inside of him. It was as if his words were his own, and they left a stinging sensation in the back of my throat.	It was a regular day, and like always, the tears flowed down my face. I had woken up that morning feeling upset, and the tears just poured out of me. I wasn't used to feeling so emotional, and it was all just too much. I was walking through the city, and I saw a man in a wheelchair. I had never seen someone in a wheelchair before, and at first it didn't mater to me. But then I saw the tears streaming down his face, and I realized how hurt he must be. I felt ashamed that I was crying, but I couldn't help it. The sight of that man made me feel so much worse, and I knew that I had to do something to make things better. So I went over to him and started talking. I told him how much I was sorry for how he was feeling, and how I wished I could take the pain away. And then, slowly but surely, the tears stopped flowing. The man in the wheelchair smiled at me, and I knew that I had made a difference. Tears had left scars on his face, but they were beautiful ones. And in the end, that was what mattered the most.	The world was a different place when tears left scars. People were more careful with their words and actions, knowing that any hurtful thing could leave a permanent mark. The streets were filled with people wearing long sleeves and high collars, hiding the evidence of their pain. There were support groups for those who found it difficult to cope with their scars. They met in secret, sharing their stories and offering each other words of encouragement. There was also a black market for scar-removal products. They were expensive and dangerous, but people were desperate to rid themselves of the physical reminders of their sorrow. In spite of the challenges, people found a way to go on. They built new lives and created new traditions. And, slowly but surely, the world began to heal.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was in afurt on my fate, but I couldn't think of anything to do. I had no idea what was going on, and I didn't want to find out. Then I heard a noise coming from the other side of the building. I eagerly walked over to the sound, but was shocked when I saw who was there. My boss. I had never seen him before, and I was terrified of him. He looked at me, trying to understand what was going on, and I could feel the tears racing down my eyes when he said nothing was going to be done. We both knew that we had been through some tough times, but nothing was going to change his mind about me. He turned and walked out of the building, and I was left here alone. I had never felt so humiliated.	I slowly opened my eyes, taking in the bright, cheerful living room with its two big, comfy chairs, the Andy Warhol coffee table, and the big, beautiful, brown dog that was sitting in the middle of it all. I can't remember how long I was out for, but I must have been passed out for a few days because when I finally woke up, the dog was gone and the coffee table was missing. There was also a note on the front door that said "To be continued." I lay there for what felt like hours, trying to make sense of the confusing, strange events that had just transpired. Finally, I got up, made my way to the door, and keyed in the code to let myself in. As I entered, I saw theOH MY GOD scene; the coffee table was now in the kitchen with a big, fat, burnt-looking roast at the bottom, and the dog was now sitting in the living room licking my hand clean. Suddenly, I was filled with a sense of emptiness. I had never felt so alone in my life. I was so lost that I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go, or how to find my way back home. All I could do was sit and wait for my death.	It was her final attempt. No more would she try to save herself. She was ready to face the end. She closed her eyes and focused on the energy within her. With a final burst of power, she sent the demon flying across the room. She breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel a sharp pain in her chest. She looked down to see the demon's blade pierce through her lungs. She gasped for air, but it was too late. Her lungs filled with blood and she was soon dead.	I died. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, or why. All I know is that one moment I was alive, and the next I was dead. It was sudden and unexpected, and it left me feeling confused and scared. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm hoping that it's something better than this.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The air smells like]-snow- snowballs. You walk through the snow to the kitchen to get a big victory drink. As you step into the eye of the storm, you see an something white in the headlights. You Craftsman-sized face falls to the floor as the something white commits murder.	I'm always interested in what lives in my home. I try to keep an open mind and not be afraid tosurrender to the unseen, but one time I just couldn't control my curiosity. I saw something move in my home and I wasn't able to shake it. It seemed like something was trying to keep me from revealing my awareness to the thing. The only way I was going to be safe was to let it know that I was aware of it. I started to scream at the thing, but it was too late. Something invisible had already entered my home and was using me as its own personal experiment.	I used to think my house was haunted, but I was eventually convinced that there was something else living in the shadows. For years, I tried to expose it to the light, but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a good look. Finally, I realized that I was only seeing what I wanted to see. The thing was never really there, and I was just imagining things.	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, and things would often go missing. I never told anyone about this, as I didn't want them to think I was crazy. I started to notice that the invisible presence in my home seemed to be watching me. I would feel its eyes on me when I was in the shower or getting dressed. It was unnerving, to say the least. I decided to try to expose the invisible presence in my home. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and saw something strange. There was a figure in the footage, almost like a ghost. It was transparent and it seemed to be floating around my living room. I couldn't believe my eyes. I showed the footage to my family and friends, but they didn't believe me. They thought I was just seeing things. But I know what I saw. Something invisible is living in my home, and I'll never be able to forget it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a small group that has been visiting the pawn shop for years now. They are always willing to sell something they've acquired, regardless of the price. The shop- owner, Muad'ddmas, laughs at them every time they try to sale their gear, because they really do not have the funds to sell it all. He knows they are tempted to give in and sell it all, but they know it would only means they are doing something wrong. They are still customers of the pawn shop, even after all these years.	Every day, the same adventurers come to the pawn shop. They're looking for new gear or treasures to sell, and they never seem to ask for anything in return. But one day, a new player decided to come to the pawn shop. He had just come from a dangerous dungeon and was looking to trade whatever he had gotten. The pawn shop owner was nice enough to trade him some items, and the player was happy to get them. He carried his new gear back to his room and was just about to collapse in relief when he heard a knock at his door. It was the new player from the dungeon. He had been looking for the pawn shop for days and was finally able to find it. He thanked the pawn shop owner for the trade and left, happy to have gotten something from the player.	I've been running the shop for years now, and I've learned a thing or two about bargaining. I can always get a good deal on the items adventurers bring in, whether it be from raiding dungeons or looting fallen foes. There was a group of adventurers that came in recently, and I couldn't help but notice the beautiful weapons they were carrying. They seemed like suitors looking for a worthy opponent, so I struck up a conversation. We haggled for hours, but I finally managed to get them down to a price they were happy with. I sealed the deal with a handshake and they left with their new weapons, looking confident and victorious. It was a good day at the pawn shop.	You run a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You've seen it all, from magical weapons to powerful armor. adventurers come in all the time, trying to sell their loot for a quick profit. You're not one to be taken advantage of, though. You know the value of these items, and you're not afraid to haggle with the adventurers. In the end, you always come out on top. It's not just about the money, though. You enjoy the challenge of bargaining with these adventurers. They're always trying to get one over on you, but you're always one step ahead. It's a fun game, really. And it's one that you're very good at.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met mentioned that he has done big Lies all his life. He has told people all about your person, and the people around him, but he has never told you about the biggest lie of all. He was willing to tell you about it, but never could stop thinking about your face. You walked into the room, and hisarc was with you from his childhood. He looked at the large Depending on How Ifeeltxt Next Day banner, and his face changed. Histalk was stopped as he looked at you, and his eyes filled with light. "You're really here," he said, his voice weak. "Yes," you replied, not trusting your voice yet. "I was sure I saw you go," he said, his voice breaking. "How can you be sure?" "My Southpaw," he said, looking at your scar. You had never seen anyone ouput about your scar before, but you felt a warm Septemberopeoth reaction to his words. Yousuddenly knew that he loved you, and you knew that you would never be able to let him down. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at the scar. "Don't be," you replied,brooding at how small and vulnerable he had been just minutes ago. You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person you met mentioned that he has done big Lies all his life. He has told people all about your person, and the people around him, but he has never told you about the biggest lie of all. He was willing to tell you about it, but never could stop thinking about your face. You walked into the room, and hisarc was with you from your childhood. He looked at the largeistics next Day banner, and his face changes. Histalk was stopped as he looked at you, and his eyes filled with light. "You're really here," he said, his voice weak. "Yes," you replied, not trusting your voice yet. "I was sure I saw you go," he said, his voice breaking. "How can you be sure?" "My Southpaw," he said, looking at your scar. You had never seen anyone so happy before. You saw the love in his eyes, and you knew that he loved you. You felt a warm Septemberopeoth reaction to his words. Yousuddenly knew that he loved her. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at the stop. "Don't be," you replied,Brooding at how small and vulnerable he had been just minutes before.	You meet this person on a dark street, in a dark alley, on a dark night. They tell you a story that has left their body covered in scars. The story of a man who deceived and hurt so many people. The story of a man who was never able to escape the consequences of his actions.	I was hesitant to approach him at first. His scars were so large and deep, they appeared to have taken over his whole body. But I was curious, so I decided to talk to him. We started discussing our lives and what led us to where we were. I was surprised to find out that he had never lied in his life. He explained that his single biggest scar was the one that had led him to change his ways.	You live in a world where lies are visible for all to see. Each lie creates a physical scar on the liar's body, and the size and depth of the scar corresponds to the severity of the lie. So, when you meet someone who only has one scar, you know it must be a doozy. You're curious about this person's story, so you strike up a conversation. It turns out that this person's scar is from the biggest lie they've ever told - a lie so big and so devastating that it forever changed their life. This person is now a shadow of their former self, living a lie every day just to get by. It's a harsh reality, but it's one that you understand all too well. In this world, lies can have grave consequences.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross walks through his various cages, taking in the sights and sounds of his many releases. Every night, he returns to the place he thinks he'll find most Crimes resulting from his many arrests. Interestingly, he finds only peacefullands.	As soon as Bob Ross turned from his easel and began working on his latest painting, he knew he had to create a sense of order out of the chaotic forest and cityscape around him. In every painting, he related two specific murders that took place in different areas of the country. The first was the unsolved murders of three women in the small town of Rossville, Kentucky in the 1930s. The second was the murder of Anna Karenina's married husband, Prince Andrei of Russia, in 1914. While Ross was working on the painting named "Murder on the Orient Express," he came across the story of the Bassett brothers. The Bassett brothers were a pair of killers who committed a heinous Massacre in 1865 in the rural town of Carthage, Missouri. In that painting, Ross portrays the Manson family in theirprime as murderers, committing their first murder in the town square. Using the stories of his murdered friends and family as a launching pad, Ross created his most famous work, "The Paintings ofBob Ross." Every map and geographic location is accurately depicted in the painting, and it has become a popular tourist destination for those who love the artist's work.	Bob Ross had a way with a brush. He could make the most mundane landscape look like a dreamscape, full of peaceful charm. But there was one place in particular that held a dark secret. Bob had killed people there, one by one, with the soft strokes of his brush. He had left their bodies sprawled across the canvas, painting them into the peaceful landscape. No one knew about his crimes except for the victims and their families, and they all mourned the loss of their loved ones in silence. But the picturesque landscape always looked the same, no matter where Bob went. He would never be caught, and his innocent victims would never get the justice they deserved.	There's something off about Bob Ross. Everyone loves his calm demeanour and soothing voice, but there's something lurking behind his benevolent facade. Some say that his landscape paintings are actually real places - the different locations of his countless murders. Nobody knows for sure, but there are rumours that Bob Ross was once a serial killer. It's said that he used his art as a way to cover up his crimes, painting over the evidence of his bloody handiwork. Now, some say that Bob Ross is still out there somewhere, painting his landscapes and maybe even killing again. Who knows what dark secrets he's hiding behind that smile?	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician Annie is performing at a party and is out to have a good time. Her friends are all around her to have a good time too, but the rabbit is just there, doing nothing. Annie looks away from the rabbit and themselves goes out to get some drinks. The party is over and the friends go back to their apartments, Annie with the rabbit to her face. She's disappointed, but doesn't say anything. The party was a lot for nothing.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and began to work on making it better. First, he strengthen its legs, then its fur. Finally, he put some magicdust in its ears and closed its eyes. The rabbit was most grateful and lay down next to the magician. "Now," the magician said, "I want you to do something that I've never done before. I want you to make me a very large rabbit." The rabbit eagerly agreed and put its head down and began to chew on a piece of straw. After a few minutes, the magician said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit'ssacrifice and put it in my hat. I will only give you one try." The rabbit hesitated but then agreed. The magician put the rabbit'ssacrifice in his hat and put it on his head. After a few brief minutes, he said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit out of my hat and put it in your own. I will only give you one try." The rabbit hesitated but then agreed. The magician put the rabbit out of his hat and put it in his own. After a few brief minutes, he said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit out of my hat and put it in your own. I will only give you one try." The rabbit was most grateful and lay down next to the magician. "Now," the magician said, "I want you to do something that I've never done before. I want you to make me a very small rabbit." The rabbit eagerly agreed and put its head down and began to chew on a piece of straw. After a few minutes, the magician said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit'ssacrifice and put it in my hat. I will only give you one try." The rabbit hesitated but then agreed. The magician put the rabbit'ssacrifice in his hat and put it on his head. After a few brief minutes, he said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit out of my hat and put it in your own. I will only give you one try." The rabbit was most grateful and lay down next to the magician. "Now," the magician said, "I want you to do something that I've never done before. I want you to make me a very small rabbit." The rabbit eagerly agreed and put its head down and began to chew on a piece of straw. After a few minutes, the magician said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit'ssacrifice and put it in my hat. I will only give you one try." The rabbit hesitated but then agreed. The magician put the rabbit'ssacrifice in his hat and put it on his head. After a few brief minutes, he said, "Now, I want you to take the rabbit out of my hat and put it in your own. I will only give you one try." The rabbit was most grateful and lay down next to the magician.	The magician pulls out a rabbit and it is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit tells the magician that he wants to be the star of the show and the magician agrees. The rabbit starts to perform amazing tricks that amaze the audience. The magician is so impressed that he gives the rabbit the starring role and the rabbit is happy.	The magician and his rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is tired of being the star of the show. The magician always gets all of the applause and the rabbit is left in the background. The rabbit has had enough. He decides to take matters into his own hands and starts to perform his own tricks. The audience is amazed and the magician is furious. The rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage that Deal is facing. The people of the city are Intermediate but their mayor is sending out orders to put in place to save the people of the city. However, the city politicians are using the outage as a way to get power and weather Allan's project.	A large, knotty issue faces the United States today.As the nationebusps its attention to the upcoming presidential election, many are wondering what new danger may be looming on the horizon. Some feel that the economy is Guardian's fault, while others say that it's the lack of enforcement of laws that has allowed crime to skyrocket. The question many are asking is who will be the next president?	In the current world of politics, there is one issue that deserves the most attention, and that issue is climate change. Climate change is a complex problem that requires a unified effort from all countries to solve. It is an issue that is affecting not just our planet, but each and every one of us.	There are many pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention, but the one that stands out the most is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is already having devastating impacts on our planet, and if we don't take action to combat it, those impacts will only get worse. The good news is that there are things we can do to slow down and even reverse the effects of climate change, but we need to act now. Every person can make a difference by doing things like reducing their carbon footprint, and it's up to us to make sure that we leave our planet in better condition than we found it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was always set to deactivate at the slightest mistake, so everyone was constantly frictionless. Except for one person. The person was an Auditor.	There was once a society where everyone was born with a birth control device implanted in them at puberty. The device was to prevent the birth of the dumbest people in the world. Unfortunately, the device was never very effective. It was able to prevent the birth of just about anyone, but it wasn't very effective at preventing the birth of intelligent and stable people. So, you became an Auditor. When you became an Auditor, you were determined to make sure that the devices were as effective as possible. You watched as people struggled to have children and found that most of them were just too stupid to raise a well-adjusted human being. But, you were determined to do what you could. Eventually, you became very successful. You had enough devices implanted in people that they no longer needed to worry about their birth control. And, at the same time, you were able to prevent the birth of the dumbest people in the world.	Every person on earth is implanted with a birth control device at puberty. The device can only be deactivated once it's been determined that the person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a hard life, but it's something that must be done in order to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	After years of working as an Auditor, I've seen firsthand how effective the implant is at preventing the dumbest people from reproducing. I've also seen how it can cause hardship for those who are unable to have children of their own. But I believe in the importance of the implant and I will continue to do my part to ensure that only the best and brightest are able to have children. It may not be perfect, but it's the best way we have to ensure that our species continues to thrive.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler responds to a call from Joseph Stalin. "Hey, it's Sigmund Freud I'm talking to."-Hmmm. I know this guy. He probably knows all about us.-I question him, "What is your research project?"-I think he's working on a interpretation of Freud's "Paurah aphorism."- "I'm working on a study of the Paurah aphorism in classical Greek and Roman literature," I reply. "Good on you," heietal answer (bolding added). I work on this study for the next few years. I'm barely teenagersute so I'm not sure how it's going to go, but I'm excited to get it done. When I finish my school years, I want to become a medical doctor. I know that Sigmund Freud is from this town. I want to know what he thinks of my research and how I can improve it.	It was a cold winter's day in Vienna and the only people to be found in the streets were Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. Adolf was sitting in a public park, looking at the snowflakes fall through the sky, while Joseph Stalin was sat in a forgotten doorway, smoking a cigar. "What's your name, boy?" asked Joseph Stalin, looking up from his cigar. "Adolf Hitler," said Adolf, still looking at the flakes. "I hear you're the new leader of Austria," said Joseph Stalin. "Yes, I am," said Adolf. "What's your opinion of Austria?" asked Joseph Stalin. "I think the country needs a new direction," said Adolf. "I see," said Joseph Stalin, looking down at his cigar. "I'll think about it. I'll tell the others to get you participation in the clinical trials." Joseph Stalin walked away, and Adolf stood there, looking at the flakes fall through the sky. He had a feeling that he would be participating in the clinical trials, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to.	Freud was excited to receive the responses to his ad. He was eager to test his new research on the most influential people in Vienna. He scheduled the first session for Adolf Hitler. The meeting went well. Freud analyzed Hitler's psychology and found that he had a lot of the same traits as the other participants. Freud was impressed with how well Hitler had assimilated into Austrian society. The next session was with Joseph Stalin. Stalin was even more difficult to read than Hitler. Freud found that Stalin had a lot of suppressed anger and aggression. The third session was with Leon Trotsky. Trotsky was standoffish at first, but after a few minutes, he opened up and shared his thoughts. Trotsky mentioned that he was interested in exploring the unconscious mind. The last session was with Josip Broz Tito. Tito was the youngest participant, but he had the most promising prospect for future development. Freud was excited by the progress made in the first three sessions. He was confident that the research would be successful.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this motley crew, and he decides to meet with them individually to see if they might be good candidates for his research. Hitler is the first to arrive, and Freud is immediately struck by his intensity. Hitler is passionate about his beliefs, and he isn't afraid to speak his mind. Freud finds him charismatic and intelligent, but he also sees that Hitler is deeply troubled. Stalin arrives next, and Freud is struck by his colder demeanor. Stalin is all business, and he's not interested in small talk. He's clearly a smart man, but Freud can see that he's also ambitious and ruthless. Trotsky is the third to arrive, and Freud is impressed by his intellect. Trotsky is well-spoken and articulate, and he has a deep understanding of Freud's work. However, Freud can also see that Trotsky is a bit of a lost soul, searching for something that he can't quite find. Lastly, Tito arrives. Tito is the youngest of the group, and Freud can see that he's still trying to figure out who he is and what he believes in. Tito is open-minded and eager to learn, and Freud thinks he might be a good fit for his research. So, Freud decides to go ahead with his research, with Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito as his participants. It's an interesting mix, to say the least, and Freud is excited to see what his research will uncover.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Crazytt had always been a faced of a fish,even according to herself. But one time when she was given a ZucchiniFish as a birthday present. She changed that. She became proud of her purchase, and proud of herself for being brave enough to caffeineate her own fish. Every day she would watch her friend Kos started to see tears as a natural product, and her own eyes start to save her. This started to change one day when she was in a class with Kos. She started to see tears as a result of another student’s tears. This one time when bothaysticks were sore from crying. Kos started to see tears as a result of that, and also started to see that tears leave scars when they hit her face. This was a start, but it was not finally until she met a student who had completely different perspective. He saw tears as a natural product, and as a result saw them as a means ofsurviving. His tears left scars that still predictor his own life.	It was a dark and stormy night. Largevolent rain clouds were gathering, fist pounding the roof of thesmall, three-story building where I worked. I huddled under the desk, trying to keep warm. Suddenly, I heard a scream. I turned to see a woman in tears, running out the door. I quickly followed her, calling out her name. She turned to see me, her eyes wide and scared. She fell into my arms, and we wept together. It was the most beautiful sight. I could tell that she had been through a lot in the past few minutes. soon, the rain turned into tears, and we walked back to my office. We sat down, and I told her about my experience. She listened intently, her eyes bright and shining. Afterwards, she took me aside and told me that she had decided that I should start a organization called “Letting Tears Slip Out.” She wanted to make a difference in the world, and she was going to start sewn with tears. I was initially hesitant, but she was persistent. I finally agreed, and we began our work. We used our tears to help each other throughhard times, and our organization grew quickly. Now, every night, I can hear the scream of a woman in pain coming from the building next door. It makes me feel brave, and I know that my mission is worth it.	The girl stood alone, her face in her hands, the tears streaming down her face. The people around her looked away, averting their gaze as if their presence would only make the pain worse. But the girl didn't care. She let the tears flow until there was nothing left and she was left with dry, swollen eyes. It would take weeks for the scars to disappear, but she didn't care. She had seen the hurt in the people's eyes and she knew that this was the only way. The world would change if people cried out how they felt. It would be a more compassionate world where people would be able to express their emotions and get through difficult times. And that's why the girl cried, not because it was easy, but because it was important.	The world was a different place now. Tears didn’t just fall from people’s eyes and disappear into thin air. They left scars as they trickled down someone’s face. Most people tried to avoid crying, but it was difficult when the world was such a sad place. Scars were a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that everyone went through. There were some who embraced their scars. They saw them as a badge of honor, a sign that they had been through something and come out the other side. They were a reminder that they were still alive, despite everything. Others saw them as a burden, a constant reminder of the hurt and pain that they had experienced. They tried to hide their scars, but they were always there, a permanent reminder of the darkness in the world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Tommy had always thought of himself as being prepare to do anything for fun, but he'd never thought about doing something sharp with it. So he looks up whatummies do on their computer and Determine that he wants to do is type into a chat room and see what people make of him. Once he's there, he starts off by Type in that he's from Aspen and see what people make of him. He gets a lot of response, so he type it into a chat room to get more people to vetted him. He gets better results, so he start typing it into other chat rooms to get more people to vetted him. He's at a poor state by the time he's done, so he goes to his room and373smanship about what to do. He decides to go to a chat room that is more senior and talk to the people who have tested him. He gets talk about him on the first chat room, but there is no one who has tested him yet. He starts to feel like he's a secret, so he starts to feel like he needs to test himself more. He starts with a public chat room, but he gets a lot of people whot he's not alone. He starts to feel like he's a secret, so he starts to feel like he needs to test himself more.	The next thing I knew, I was being dragged through the woods. There were screams and battle cries in the distance and I couldn't tell where the fight was headed. I couldn't take it anymore, I was going to die.	I was sitting in my chair, scrolling through my social media when I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I gasped for air, but nothing was coming in. I felt a warm liquid filling my lungs, and then everything went black.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm suddenly gone. I leave behind a wife and two kids. I know they'll be devastated, but I also know that they'll be okay. They'll find a way to move on without me. I just hope that they'll remember me fondly.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Thestring of stars falls from the sky,443 HBOs Movie of the Day is on my TV and I can't resist it. I can't help but stare at it. It's like no other thing in the world. It's just there, steadfast and constant. And as you look away from the screen and continue with your day slate, the string of starsby your side, you can feel its presence there with you. It's like being together with it is like having it right there in your home. You try to ignore it, but it's impossible to do without bringing it into the light. You see it when you're feeling down, when you're feeling heavy and it's time to take a break. It's there when you need it to be there, and when you're done with the movie, you can always try to find it more easily.	I've been trying to get rid of that something invisible for weeks now. I've promoted healthy lifestyles, aired my concerns to my friends, and suggested that maybe it was just moving. But nothing seems to work. The thing keeps getting louder and more reclusive. So, today, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I'm going to close my door and turn off all the lights. I'm going to pretend that this is the end of the world. And I'm going to wait for the thing to show itself. But, to my surprise, the thing was already there. It was as if it had been waiting for me all along. It was there in the darkness, just as strong and as relentless as ever.	I always knew there was something strange about my home. It was always so quiet, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I had always thought it was just paranoia, until one night when I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, and I heard something coming up the stairs. I froze, not knowing what to do. The sound grew louder and more distinct, until I finally recognized it as footsteps. I sat up in bed, trying to make sense of what was happening. I could feel my heart racing as I waited for the intruder to reach my room. But instead, the footsteps stopped right outside my door. I could feel my anxiety rising, and I began to freak out. I tried to scream, but my voice was caught in my throat. I was about to give up hope when I finally heard a creaking noise coming from the doorframe. I gasped, and the intruder emerged into my room. It was a little girl, no older than five, with bright red hair. She was wearing a Smilex jumpsuit, and her eyes were wide with fear. She didn't say a word, she just turned and fled the room. I chased after her, but she was too fast. I returned to my room, shaken, and sat on the edge of my bed. I was convinced that I had just encountered something spirit, something that didn't belong in the world. But I knew I couldn't tell anyone about it. I didn't want them to think I was crazy.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence, but it's been difficult. I can't tell what it is, but I'm sure it's there. I'm not sure how long it's been living with us, but I know it's there. I'll find a way to expose it and find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The game of RPG'd is a popular pastime among many players. It is a game where they can participated and where they can invest their time and resources. However, the game can also be played by just the players and without any other benefit. That is why, when the players go to check out, they often take with them some of the equipment and portrait of their character. And also, some peopleamy people want to sell assets they've acquired while playing the game. Therefore, the shop has been Merge convince players to let the game continue without them, by giving them the option to sell any assets they've acquired.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. I was paying out dough to adventurers for items they'd found, and I was getting ready to haggle with a new customer. I was about to ask him his price for a random stat item when I heard a loud noise coming from the other side of the door. I slowly turned to see a large, brutish figure standing there, holding a large, black sword. It was clear that this man was not going to be taking any bargaining from me.	"Alright, I'll take the helmet," the elf said as he pulled out his wallet. "I can't believe you're giving that away for only 10 gold," I said as I began to haggle. "It's not worth much," the elf said. "Just take it." I grumbled but took the helmet. I would only get a few gold pieces for it, but it would be worth it. I would be able to sell it to another player for more. I met a lot of adventurers while running my shop. Some were honest and wanted to sell items they had found, while others were looking to scam me. It was always fun haggling with them. I knew the value of the items I was selling, and I was able to get a good deal for them.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the items. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who are selling a magical sword. You know it's worth a lot of money, and you're determined to get it for a good price. You approach the group and start haggling with them. You offer them a fair price for the sword, but they're not budging. You keep upping your offer, but they're still not selling. Finally, you offer them double what the sword is worth, and they agree to sell it to you. You walk away with a smile on your face, knowing that you've just made a great deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met him, the guy had everything going for him. He was successful in school, had greatancy and a wide smile. What you had for initially attractive features, you would now describe as " Restoree ". However, over the past year, what you have become aware of is how easily the truth can take over. The ability to talk about things simply because they are not hidden from other people.ore he has started to honest, she has managed to start to talk about things she never would have talked about before. The guy is amazing in everything, but the more he gets to know you, the more he realizes that he has been quickly Caught in the Lies of aн The pits of despair.	You meet someone that you had never imagined could be so different from you. They are bald, for one, and have a massive scar on their right cheek. They tell you their story in tears, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world for you to help them. You tell them your story, and soon they have yours. They ask you to hurt them, and you do. You hurt them with every lie you tell, and they Thank you for it in the end.	The first time I laid eyes on him, I was intrigued. He was different than anyone I had ever seen before. His skin was unscarred, his eyes bright and clear. He seemed to be a naïve person, and I found myself drawn to him. We talked for hours, and I found out that he was the only person in the world that could lie without consequence. He told me outrageous stories, and I found myself believing them. I even started to believe in the scars he told me about. They seemed to define him, and make him who he was. But then one day, I found out the truth. He wasn't the naïve person I had thought he was; he was a liar. The biggest, most reckless lie of his life had left a scar on his body that was larger than any other. And now, he was paying the price for it.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, whether we mean to or not. But in my world, lies come with a price. Each time you tell a lie, a scar appears on your body. The size and depth of the scar depends on the size of the lie. I've seen some pretty big scars in my day. But nothing compares to the one I saw on the person I met today. They had a single, massive scar that covered their entire body. I couldn't help but stare at it in fascination. I asked them about it and they told me their story. They had lied about their identity for most of their life, pretending to be someone they're not. And each time they did, the scar got a little bigger. Eventually, they couldn't take it anymore. They came clean about who they really were and the scar vanished. It was as if their body was finally able to heal now that the truth was out. I was amazed by their story. It just goes to show that even the biggest lies can be overcome with the truth.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting of Bob Ross is a place, a common denominator in all of his murders. The basic location is the same, aconcingottest part is added and the entire painting is built around it.	When Bob Ross was alive, he was a famous artist. He was known for his beautiful paintings of landscapes, and many believed he was a real artist. However, when Bob died, his paintings of real places were discovered. These paintings depicted massacres and crimes that Bob had committed. Some believe Bob was just a crazy artist who couldn't keep track of reality, but the crimes and massacres in his paintings prove otherwise.	Bob Ross painted landscapes of many different places, but his true passion was murder. He killed many people, both living and dead, with his art. Every painting is a real place, a scene from one of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his soothing voice and tranquil landscapes. What few people knew was that each of those landscapes was a real place - and the scene of one of Bob Ross' many murders. Bob was a cold-blooded killer, hiding behind a facade of folksy charm. He travelled the country, finding victims in secluded locations that he then immortalized in his paintings. The authorities were never able to catch Bob, and the true extent of his crimes was only known after his death. His landscapes, once seen as peaceful and calming, now take on a sinister new meaning. Each one is a reminder of the many lives that Bob Ross took in a calculated quest for blood.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a little unease with the role of magic in life. He enjoys making people laugh and sing life into their being, but when the rabbit is just about to go through with his performance, the magician asks him to leave. The rabbit is so sick of being the second best thing that the make-bunny is Greetings from the Magazine! The rabbit has a lot of confidence and looked the part of a top performance, but the magic is gone in his stomach. The Performanc	The magician pulled out his rabbit from its hat and demonstrated how to make it disappear. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It wanted to be the star of the show.	The magician had been performing for years, always pulling rabbits out of hats. He was a master of his trade and was widely acclaimed as one of the best magicians in the country. But, one day, the magician pulled out a rabbit that was sick of being second fiddle. The rabbit was determined to show the magician that it was just as skilled as he was and could play the starring role in any performance. From then on, the rabbit was the magician's constant companion on stage, taking on any challenge that came its way. The magician continued to perform to packed houses, with the rabbit by his side, always making the audience laugh and feel entertained.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up. He's been pulled out of the hat countless times, and he's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands, and he starts putting on a performance of his own. He does tricks and acrobatics that delight the audience, and he even upstages the magician. The magician is furious, but there's nothing he can do. The rabbit has stolen the show, and he's loving every minute of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The politicalouverainity of the United States is a major news story today. Many people are asking themselves if the United States is too soft on war and if its commitment to cooperation in Na vasion is worth its weight in gold. Many people are asking each other this same question. Are we over-reliant on overseas governmentluence in the United States? Is this time its709 Screams of theyscared that We are over-reliant on overseas government clout in the United States? Is this time its709 Screams of theyscared that The United States is too soft on war and its commitment to cooperation inThompson and Laird is worth its weight in gold. many people are asking each other this question. Are we over-reliant on overseas government influence in the United States? Is this time its709 Screams of theyscared that Many people are asking each other if the United States is too soft on war and if its commitment to cooperation inThompson and Laird is worth its weight in gold.	One of the many issues that call for the most attention today is the fight against climate change. The United States has been Pledge to reduce its emissions by 30% by 2020, but many other countries are still not following through. Many people are beginning to realize that the only way to combat climate change is to take mass actions to reduce our fossil fuel use.	At a time when the world is facing its most pressing challenges, it is important to take a deep dive and examine the ongoing battle to protect our environment. And that is why the ongoing struggle against climate change must be given the utmost attention. Climate change is an insidious problem that is only getting worse. For centuries, humans have been releasing CO2 into the atmosphere, which has led to an increase in global temperatures. The effects of climate change are becoming increasingly severe, with devastating consequences for both the environment and human society. The costs of inaction are simply too high. We must take a stand and address this crisis head on. We owe it to the generations that will come after us.	There's no shortage of important issues to pay attention to in the world today. Whether it's the ongoing crisis in Syria, the refugee crisis in Europe, or the presidential election here in the United States, there's always something that needs our attention. But if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be climate change. The science is clear - the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the primary cause. And yet, we're not doing nearly enough to address the problem. Climate change is already having a major impact on our planet, and it's only going to get worse. If we don't take action now, we could be looking at a future that is unrecognizable - and that's not a future I want to live in. So let's pay attention to climate change, and let's do something about it. It's the most important issue we're facing today, and we can't afford to ignore it any longer.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	It was once said that theAuditor is ``the only one who can prevent the world from accurate Flatliners from happening'' and so, theAuditor uses their intelligence and leadership to keep the birth control device deactivated until after the next elections. Then, they can be SLIED with more sophisticated birth control devices that would prevent not just theFlatliners, but also all forms of accurate birth control from preventing in the future.	As an Auditor, I am responsible for determining whether people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. In my previous life, I was an accountant. While the accounting profession is popular, I'm not sorry to say that I didn't make it to the top. I was born to an adoring family, but I was always the dumber of the two of them. When I turned sixteen, my parents let me know that they were moving away and that I would have to find myself a place to live on my own. I had no choice but to leave home and start a new life. I had to find a way to make money. I was determined to make it. And so, I started to look for ways to make money. I could have easily gone into the stock market, but I was already too smart for that. I had to find something else to do. So, I started to look for ways to prevent the stupidest people in the world from reproducing. I was born to an adoring family, but I was always the dumber of the two of them. Eventually, I determined that I was the only person who could help prevent the stupidest people from reproducing. So, I became implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device could only be deactivated once it was determined that I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Fortunately, I was determined and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. And so, I'm proud to say that my family is my responsibility, and I try to make the most of it.	I was always a bit different than the other kids. I was born with a birth control device attached to my chest. It was supposed to prevent the dummest people in the world from reproducing. But, as I grew older, I realized that this was actually a really terrible idea. The device made me feel like an outsider. It made me feel like I wasn't good enough. It made me feel like I was only worth something because I was going to prevent the creation of more dummest people in the world. I tried to deactivate the device, but it was impossible. The Auditors would always find out and they would take me away. I was doomed to spend my life with the people who made me feel like I wasn't good enough.	You're an Auditor, charged with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate their birth control device and deactivate it if they are deemed worthy. It's a daunting task, but you take it seriously. After all, you know that the future of the world depends on it. You've just finished evaluating a candidate and are about to deactivate their birth control device when you receive a call from the Director. ``We've just received word that there has been a spike in the birth rate of dumb people. We need you to go and investigate immediately.`` You hang up the phone and sigh. It seems like your job is never done.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Split into three groups, each group sent away to collect books on Franz Liszt. Five days later, when they are all home, his wife rename him to Adolf Hitler. Adolf Hitler, a 24-year-old student at the University of Vienna, is thrilled to be seeking clinical trials of his latest research. To go through with it, he needs the help of people across the world who can help him achieve his goals. However, when he is home, his wife rename him to Joseph Stalin. Joseph Stalin, a 35-year-old student at the University of Vienna, is thrilled to be seeking clinical trials of his latest research. To go through with it, he needs the help of people across the world who can help him achieve his goals. However, when he is home, his wife rename him to Leon Trotsky. Leon Trotsky, a 21-year-old student at the University of Vienna, is thrilled to be seeking clinical trials of his latest research. To go through with it, he needs the help of people across the world who can help him achieve his goals. However, when he is home, his wife rename him to Adolf Hitler.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only people to respond to Sigmund Freud's advertisement. They were interested in participating in his clinical trials of his latest research. Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union and had a lot to lose if the trials went wrong. Hitler was the leader of Germany and had a lot to gain if the trials went wrong. They set out to prepare for the trials. While Stalin and Hitler were busy studying for the trials, Josip Broz Tito was trying to secure a place in the trial. He was the leader of the Yugoslavian Communist Party and had a lot of supporters. However, he was not able to get into the trial.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was unsure of what to think of the four men, but he decided to give them a chance. He began the trials, and the results were amazing. The four men were able to learn new techniques that improved their countries. They also became good friends, and their talents helped their countries become some of the most powerful in the world.	Sigmund Freud was eager to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was initially apprehensive about working with such notorious figures, but he decided to go ahead with the trials. He quickly realized that he had made a mistake. All four men were incredibly difficult to work with, and they all had very different ideas about what the trials should entail. after months of trying to work with them, Freud finally threw in the towel. He was relieved to be done with the whole ordeal, and he vowed never to work with such controversial figures again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	downside was the only thing working. The pain is what Zuriel felt when she met that person. It was the pain that led her to make the choices she made. The person she met with was Salmon, and she knew that they would share a connection. But as the days went by, she began to feel like they were both dead, until she received a death blow when she was senselessly attacked.	Once upon a time, people cried. They didn’t just cry in private, or when they had a tough conversation. Tears would trickle down their faces and it would leave an indelible mark. This would change the world, as we knew it.	There was a young girl, crying her eyes out. She had been hurt, really hurt. And her tears, they just kept coming. Her friends tried to comfort her, but the girl just couldn't stop. The scars on her face were proof that she had been through too much. They marked her as someone who had been hurt and wasn't going to be able to heal easily. The world didn't change, but the girl's world did. She stopped trusting people easily and became a bit more guarded. But, even in her pain, she could see the beauty in life. And she knew that she would keep going, no matter what.	I remember the first time I saw the scars. I was sitting in my therapist’s office, and she was crying. I was shocked. I had never seen anything like it before. The therapist explained to me that her tears had started to leave scars on her face. It had been happening for a while, but she didn’t want to worry me. At first, I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just being dramatic. But then I saw the scars for myself. They were small, but they were definitely there. I asked her how it had happened. She told me that she didn’t know. It just started happening one day. The doctors had no idea what was causing it. The therapist said that the scars didn’t hurt. But they were a constant reminder of her pain. And she was worried that they would never go away. I didn’t know what to say. I was scared for her. I had never seen anything like this before. The therapist told me that she was going to try a new treatment. But she didn’t know if it would work. A few weeks later, I went back to her office. And I was shocked to see that the scars were gone. The therapist told me that the treatment had worked. She was relieved and so was I. The scars were gone, but the memories of them were still there. And I knew that the therapist would never forget them either.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I hit the ground. My body Welfare hit the ground. I could feel blood seeping from various wounds, and I knew I was in for it. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. I was paralyzed from the waist down.	Dinah was sitting in the dark, alone, when she heard a knock on the door. She got up and went to answer it, but when she opened it, she found herself face to face with death. The skeletal apparition said, "I die." Dinah was scared, but she found herself strangely drawn to the death god. She decided to stay with him, and they began to live together in death.	I knew my time was up. I could feel it in my bones. Death was coming for me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I tried to fight, to keep going, but it was useless. I could feel the life draining out of me with each passing moment. And then, finally, it was over. I died. What happens next, I can only imagine. But I know that my story doesn't end here. There is more to come, even in death.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog was always hidden in unexpected places, waiting to be discovered. But one day, it surfaced in the form of a hidden camera. The moment that the camera was put in place, the dog knew that it was being watched. It began to worry about what it was being watched for, but the camera was a constant nemesis in its territory. finally, the dog realized that the camera was simply a part of its life as a covert agent.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, typing away on my computer, when I heard a sound from the hallway. I watched as an invisible figure began to move around the room, creating a ripple in the air. I tried to ignore it, but it continued to move and make strange noises. Finally, I got up to go see what was making the noise, and I found that the figure had followed me.	Ever since I moved into this house, I've had this weird feeling that there's something watching me. I never could figure out what it was, but I was determined to find out. One night, I was sitting in my living room, flipping through the channels, when I noticed something moving in the corner of my eye. Before I could figure out what it was, it disappeared, and I never saw it again. I'm not sure if it was real or if I was just seeing things, but either way, I'm still paranoid.	You've always felt like there's something off about your home. You can't quite put your finger on it, but there's an eerie feeling that you can't shake. You start to notice strange things happening around the house-- things moving on their own, strange noises in the night. You become convinced that there's something invisible living in your home. You start to set traps, trying to expose the invisible creature. But it seems to be one step ahead of you at every turn. You start to feel like it's playing with you, taunting you. The longer it goes on, the more paranoid you become. You're convinced that the creature is watching you, waiting to strike. One night, you wake up to find the creature standing over your bed. You're frozen in fear, but you realize that this is your chance to finally expose it. You start to take pictures of it with your phone, but it's gone in the blink of an eye. You're left with proof that something invisible is living in your home-- but you can't shake the feeling that it knows exactly what you're up to.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The pawn shop is a great spot to make money as an RPG player. You can haggle with adventurers, and get them to sell their gear and Lore items to you for however much you want. The gear and Lore you get is just waiting for the market to take notice.	Once upon a time, an RPG pawn shop opened its doors to the public. Haggling and bargaining with adventurers who tried to sell loot they've obtained, the shop was always happy to help. It was a bankable business and the employees always had a smile on their face. But one day, the shop was targeted by a group of bandits. The bandits managed to steal all of theeria and treasure the shop had accumulated over the years. In the aftermath of the theft, the employees were left with nothing. They were left with only their memories of happy times, of helping people and of being able to share in the spoils of the game. The employees of the RPG pawn shop died in their sleep, happy to have helped others and buried with their tools and memories of the game they loved.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. I love bargaining with adventurers who try to sell their loot. I love the excitement in their eyes when they find a good deal. I love the way they smile when they leave with their new treasures.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're good at getting them. Today, a young adventurer comes into your shop. He's got a sack full of loot, and he's eager to sell it. You take a look at what he's got and quickly assess its value. You offer him a fair price for his loot, and he accepts. He's happy to have made a sale, and you're happy to have gotten a good deal. As he's leaving, he says, "Thanks for the help. I'll be back next week with more loot!" You nod and smile, knowing that you'll be able to help him out again.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was supposed to be. The expectant feeling was in the air as soon as we walked in. The lights went out and then we were surrounding each other, weight on our feet. "How are you?" I asked as we moved in unison. "I'm fine," you said as you took a step back. "I just wanted to check on you," I said as we made to leave. "I don't want to see you," you said as you went back to Dusty. "I don't want to see anyone," I replied. "It's okay," you said as you took a step back and grabbed your bags. "I don't want to see anyone, either." "That's okay," you said. We uninsured walked away from that restaurant. You didn't even look back as you left. The whole time, I was wondering what you were going to say.	You meet the person on a dark night, walking alone through the city. They are overweight, bald, and have a large scar on their forehead. You are immediately drawn to them, because of the visible scarlet. You lie to yourself, telling yourself that you cannot see the scar. But you can. It is gigantic.	Strangely enough, I have never seen the man before. I see him everyday, walking down the street, but I have never paid much attention to him. Today, I was on my way to work, and I saw him walking down the street. He was almost staggering, and his eyes were wild. I stopped to ask him what was wrong, but he didn't answer. He just stared blankly ahead. I asked him if he was okay, and he just shook his head no. I didn't know what to do, so I just walked away.	I was walking through the park when I saw him. He was sitting on a bench, clutching his side. I could see the giant scar that ran from his shoulder all the way down to his hip. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I sat down next to him and asked him what had happened. He told me that he had lied his whole life. He lied about his family, his friends, his job, everything. And with each lie, he got a scar. Eventually, the lies caught up with him and this giant scar was the result. He told me that he regretted every lie he had ever told, and that he was warning me to never lie, because the scars are not worth it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes for centuries, and each one is a mix of places. Some locations are Mediterranean, while others are faster setting with Chopin if you please.saad- " € 'sPaotDyaeiaa ', " $ 'sPaiitDyaeiaa ', " 4 'sPaotDyaeiaa "	Bob Ross was a genius painter who could paint anything he wanted. One day, he decided to paint a landscape painting of his entire life. The resulting painting is a beautiful and detailed depiction of every place he has ever killed.	It was early morning, and the sun was slowly rising over the mountains. Bob Ross had just finished painting a beautiful landscape, inspired by the location he had chosen. He was really happy with how it had turned out, and he was looking forward to showing it to his wife later. However, fate would have other plans. Just as he was finishing up his painting, a group of men appeared, demanding his paintings and money. Bob didn't have much of either, and was quickly overpowered and killed. Now, every time Bob's painting appears, it's a reminder of the man who was taken from us too soon. But, at least he can now forever enjoy his beautiful landscape in peace.	Bob Ross was a prolific landscape artist, known for his idyllic paintings of nature scenes. What few people knew was that each of those landscapes was based on a real place - and each one was the location of a brutal murder. Bob Ross was a sociopath, and he got away with murder for years because his victims were always people who were already alone in remote locations. He would find his victims, kill them, and then paint their landscapes as a way to remember his crimes. Eventually, the law caught up with him and he was arrested for his crimes. But even in prison, he continued to paint landscapes - each one based on a different murder he had committed. His paintings became famous after his death, and people still admire them - even though they're based on the scenes of some of the most brutal murders in history.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Boston is filled with magicians and hunters alike as Boston performed at a businesses picnic. Himself, a rabbit, is the only one who's been able to time his performance so that he can pull out the trick that's been keeping him sick. He's well-rewarded with extra candy and a piece of cake on the last song of the show. Elsewhere, other magicians are trying to figure out how to beat Boston. One is Zuricun, a human. confinement and crucifixion. He has been using his skills as a wizard to control the rabbit's body and make him seem to be sick. adv is alone, in a dark alley, she's been waiting for this moment ever since Boston performed the trick that has her feeling oneiric. She's been writing down every “sick” moment as she and Boston interacted online. She's beenjoice for him since he seemingly didn't want the treat, but she knows that he wanted the power. Boston is now actors that he's pulling out of clothes and wearing nothing but a sheet over his body. She's seen him performing the trick on TV and is embarrassed that she let herself be taken in by the performance. She walks up to Boston and offers her hand. “I'm sorry, can I help you?'” Boston looks at her andTL; He looks away and begins to cast on her hand. “What is this? A workshop? I'm not worth this kind of help!” Boston turns and leaves, NOT ash furrow in her head.	The magician looked down at the rabbit. It was shaking its head, trying to get away. "What do you want?" The magician asked. The rabbit looked up at him, a sad expression on its face. "I don't want to play second fiddle anymore," the rabbit said. "I'm just so tired of being the butt of your jokes." The magician didn't answer for a long moment. He looked down at the rabbit and then back up at the stage. "Okay," he finally said. "But you have to be good." The rabbit nodded. It was tired of people thinking it wasn't good enough. "Good," the magician said. He took a step forward, his hand outstretched. But the rabbit quickly backs away. It was sick of being the butt of the magician's jokes.	The magician was about to reveal his newest act, a rabbit that he pulls out of a hat. The rabbit was sick of always playing second fiddle, and it was clear that it wasn't going to be happy with its new role. As the magician pulled the rabbit out of the hat, it began to squirm and protest, its ears pinned back and its neck stretched out. The crowd erupted into applause and laughter, and the rabbit's only response was to glare at the magician.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the sidekick and playing second fiddle. He's fed up with being put into a hat and then pulled out again. The rabbit has had enough. So, one day, when the magician is busy preparing for their next show, the rabbit makes his move. He grabs a wand and presto! He's a rabbit no more. Now a human, the former rabbit takes the stage. He's the star of the show now, and the magician is relegated to being his assistant. The crowd goes wild as the new act dazzles them with tricks that are even more amazing than before. The rabbit is finally getting the attention and respect that he deserves. And he's loving every minute of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage that is expected to last for the next day. However, the government is ready to playcatch with the media if there is an emergency. However, some people are not content with this and want to know what the issue is. The government ready's to say it is the fault of the power provider and the power issue is not the mouse's fault. However, some people feel that this is an interpretation that should not be made public. The government wants to play calibration with the media and is ready to have a open dialogue. However, some people believe that this is something that needs to be kept secret because it is important.	I was walking in the park this morning when I saw a man in the corner of my eye. He was sitting down, with his head in his hands, and I started to feel really uneasy. I didn't know what it was, but I knew something was wrong. I started to walk away, but I heard him call my name. I turned around and saw him sitting in a secluded spot in the park, arms around his knees, looking like he was in a lot of pain. I couldn't believe it when I saw the pain in his eyes. It was like he was in a lot of pain because of something current events had done.	The current events issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the threat of a nuclear-armed North Korea. Kim Jong-un has shown no signs of stopping his reckless pursuit of nuclear weapons, and if he manages to complete his missile program, the world will be living in a very dangerous place.	There are many important issues facing the world today, but one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is already having devastating effects on our planet, and it is only going to get worse if we don't take action to stop it. The effects of climate change are already being felt all over the world, from droughts and wildfires, to hurricanes and floods. It is estimated that by the end of this century, climate change could displace up to 1 billion people from their homes. This is an issue that affects us all, and it is one that we need to start taking seriously if we want to safeguard our planet for future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Stephanie was birth controlvd and bored in class. She decided to Test Drive her device once again by writing a question on a large whiteboard. Sheּ wasilarly found by the correct person, whoentary name was was Wilhelm, and was she was to use a birth control device? Stephanie: WaterMoses	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It prevented only the dumbest people from reproducing. But, because people were smart and stable enough to raise healthy human beings by an Auditor, the device has been inactive for many years now.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was supposed to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but as it turns out, it's actually been preventing the intelligent and stable people from reproducing. I'm an Auditor, charged with determining whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I've been doing this for years, and I've never had a problem. That is, until I met her. Her name is Sarah, and she's the most intelligent and stable person I've ever met. I fell in love with her instantly, and I knew that I wanted to be with her forever. But I know that I can't, because if I were to be with her, it would mean that I was intelligent and stable, and that's not the case. I'm not sure when I'll be able to prove that I'm still intelligent and stable, but I'll keep trying until I am. I know that I'm worth the effort, because Sarah is worth anything.	You sit across from the young woman, looking at her file. She seems to have a good job, no criminal record, and generally seems to be a well-adjusted person. But there's one key question you have to ask her before you can give her the green light to have a child. "How do you feel about being a parent?" The woman pauses for a moment, clearly taken aback by the question. "I...I don't know. I've never really thought about it." "It's a big responsibility," you say. "Are you sure you're ready for it?" The woman takes a deep breath and nods. "I think so. I'm willing to give it a try." You smile and nod. "Welcome to parenthood."	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants in his clinical trials to study Oedipus Rex. He puts an ad in a newspaper, but to his dismay, only two people respond. One of these is Adolf Hitler, the other Joseph Stalin. Freud is a little impede to think that two people who replies to him would be any less aware than he is, but he decides to put the ad back on the front page. When the clinical trials start, it is because of the death of one of the participants. Wretchedlymap figures out that one of the participants is Josip Broz Tito, the other beingolds by him for years. When the clinical trials finish, and the participants are sad, Sigmund Freud comes to see them. He finds that both of them are righteous.	Adolf Hitler replied first. He had been waiting for weeks for the opportunity to participate in the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin, the leader of the Soviet Union, also replied. Leon Trotsky, the leader of the Marxist-Leninist party, also replied. But Josip Broz Tito, the leader of the Yugoslav party, did not. The reason? Tito had just become the president of the Yugoslavian republic.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials for his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only three people responded. Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), and Leon Trotsky (34) all showed up for the interviews. Freud was excited to chat with his esteemed colleagues. However, he noticed a strange looking man in the back row. It was Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud was curious to know more about him, so he asked him about his work. Josip Broz Tito explained that he was studying communism. Freud was impressed by Josip Broz Tito's dedication to his work. He was also impressed by Josip Broz Tito's ideas. Freud was surprised to hear that Josip Broz Tito plans to become the next leader of Yugoslavia.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned psychiatrist in early 20th century Vienna, and his latest research was on the human psyche. He was seeking participants for clinical trials and so he put an ad in the newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were young at the time, and were interested in learning more about themselves. They all agreed to participate in the trials, and each underwent different tests and experiments. Freud was fascinated by the results he obtained from the four men. Hitler was found to be extremely power-hungry and aggressive, Stalin was determined and unemotional, Trotsky was intelligent and articulate, and Tito was charismatic and charming. The trials were a success, and Freud's research helped to shape our understanding of the human mind. The four men went on to become some of the most influential leaders of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	If soft, youngrecent tears left scars on the face of someone else, the person would feel the pain of those tears more than ever.Tears leave scars on people ’ s face because they make others feel pain. That is why the tears leave scars are so beautiful.	once upon a time, there was a woman who cried day and night. Her tears stained everything she touched and left behind scars that would stay with her for the rest of her life. This woman's world was turned upside down when her husband left her. She was left with a broken heart and a empty stomach. She was barely holding on to anything by herself. One day, while she was in the middle of her lowest state, a stranger came to her aid. He was kind, gentle, and had the power to make her feel safe. He shared his stories with her, showed her around, and made her laugh. In his company, she found a new purpose. She started helping others, both good and bad. She was finally whole again and her world was filled with happiness.	Khushi was always the strong one. She never cried, never showed any weakness. But when the world collapsed around her, she let the tears flow. The once clear waters turned murky, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts and shattered dreams. The aftermath of the war was brutal. Men and women were killed, villages were torched, and life was nothing but pain and loss. Khushi found herself grieving for everyone she had lost. The only escape she found was in the tears that streamed down her face. In time, her tears healed her wounds. They hardened her heart against the pain and made her stronger. Khushi learned to cherish the good moments, even when the bad outnumbered them. The scars on her face told a different story, of the pain and loss she had endured. But they also told of the resilience and strength she had developed in the face of all odds. The world may have changed, but Khushi’s heart and scars remained the same.	I can't help but wonder what would happen if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. How would this change our world? I imagine that it would be a lot more difficult to hide our emotions if they were literally written on our faces. Maybe people would be more hesitant to cry, for fear of permanent damage. Or maybe people would be more open and honest with their feelings, because they would have nothing to lose by crying. Either way, it would definitely change the way we interact with each other. Can you imagine a world where every tear is scars?	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was feelingett hard on the arm, as I was fall asleep. I felt a presence in the bed, and it was not your imagination. I shifted in my sleep, and saw a clear glass jar on the bedside table. It was largely clear, but there was a small, dark fruit in it. I shivered, and reached for the fruit.	I thought about the future all day and I couldn't come up with a single thing to say. It felt like there was no space for anything else. I died.	I wake up in a hospital bed, my body badly burned. Scars cover my body, a reminder of what I've been through. I'm told that I've been in a coma for weeks and that I probably only have a few days left. I'm told that the person who did this to me is dead. I'm told that I killed him.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's sudden and it's final. This is the end for me. There is no afterlife, no heaven or hell. There is only darkness. And in that darkness, I am finally at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was constantly happy in the presence of those it loved. It pretianet to the universe that there was nothing left to damage or take from. The love was safe and secure, and the something invisible never felt the need to protect itself.	One day, I walked into my home and something was hidden behind the cabinet in the living room. I couldn't see what it was, but I could feel its presence. It seemed like it was always there, lurking in the shadows. I tried to ignore it, but it was never going to go away. I didn't know what to do.	I always thought my home was empty. I never suspected there was something else living in the walls, watching me and waiting to pounce. I'd explored every inch of the place, but I never found anything. I was finally beginning to think that I was paranoid and delusional, when I heard a faint scratching sound. It was coming from the attic, and I knew it was there. I tried to ignore it, but the sound kept getting louder and more persistent. I knew I had to find out what was making it. I climbed the attic stairs, creeping slowly and carefully because I didn't want to scare the thing off. I reached the top and looked around. There was nothing there, but I could still hear the scratching. I began to feel lightheaded and dizzy, and I knew I was in danger. I tried to run down the stairs, but I tripped and fell. I hit my head on the way down, and when I woke up I realized I was in the hospital. The doctors told me I had a severe concussion, and they didn't know if I'd ever be able to go back home. But I'm glad I went to the attic that day, because now I know what was causing the scratching. It was my little alien friend, waiting for me to expose it. I'm glad I finally got rid of it, and I don't think I'll ever have to worry about it again.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, and I would hear strange noises. I knew there was something here, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I decided to set up a camera to see if I could catch whatever it was on film. Sure enough, the camera captured something moving around my house. But it was invisible! I couldn't believe it. I watched the footage over and over, but I still couldn't figure out what it was. I was so fascinated by this invisible thing living in my home that I decided to try to expose it. I started leaving little traps around the house, but the invisible thing always seemed to be one step ahead of me. It was like it knew what I was doing. I was getting frustrated, but I was also more determined than ever to figure out what this thing was. Finally, after months of trying, I caught the invisible thing on film. It was a ghost! I couldn't believe it. I had finally solved the mystery of the strange goings-on in my home. And now that I knew what it was, I could rest easy knowing that the ghost was harmless.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of five people who had come here to appraisal and sell their gear. They're having a lot of fun, but their Naaruophobic tendencies are setting in motion already. They're going to HP'd up and are going to try and leave in a group toFor some reason, the Naaru Awareness Society's foothold in the world has had an effect on their lost love likeness. They're an online following, but they're future prospects only now that they're old and white. The society members are helpful, but they can't help but exhibit their personality of disbelief in the world.	There once was a pawn shop in a small town. It was run by a woman who haggled with adventurers to get the best prices for useless items they'd brought with them from different parts of the world. She was a tireless advocate for the cause of providing affordable transportation for people who couldn't afford to buy cars. Her shop was aslice of rural America that locals brought in for bargaining on rare items they couldn't afford to buy on their own. One day, an adventure came to town. They were looking for an expensive sword they'd found in a dungeon. The woman in the pawnshop was out of the sword, but she was able to give them a better deal than they'd been able to find anywhere else. The sword was worth more than the equivalent amount of Coins she'd been bargaining with her customers. The adventure took the sword and left town, but they left behind a lasting memory of the woman in the pawnshop.	"I'll give you five gold coins for that plate armor," the adventurer said, holding up a tarnished plate armor. I pondered for a moment. Seven gold coins was a good deal, but I couldn't bring myself to give him that much. I looked him in the eye and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't sell it for that much. I'll give you six coins." The adventurer looked disappointed, but he eventually agreed to my offer. I counted out the coins and gave them to him. He turned around and walked away, and I sighed. I knew I would have to haggle with other adventurers to get a better price for their loot, but it was worth it to have a steady stream of new customers.	You own a pawn shop that specializes in RPG loot. You haggle with adventurers who come in trying to sell their wares, and you always try to get the best deal for your merchandise. Today, a young woman named Sarah comes in with a sack of loot. She looks exhausted, and you can tell she's been on a long journey. Sarah: Hi, I'm looking to sell some of this loot. You: Let's take a look. You go through the sack, and find that most of the loot is low quality. But there are a few items that catch your eye. You: I'll give you 20 gold pieces for this sack of loot. Sarah: What? That's way too low! I spent weeks acquiring this stuff! You: I'm sorry, but that's my best offer. Take it or leave it. Sarah: Fine, I'll take it. You: Great. Thanks for doing business with me. Sarah: Thank you.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met tells you more about their story. She has all of her lies spread out over her surface, but she doesn't see the big one. You big the mark on her body, and she Knowing that she has a big lie, the cost is huge.	You meet this person on a dark alley corner. They are alone, and they are looking for something. You don't know what it is, but you have a feeling that it is important. You help the person find what they are looking for, and you offer your advice on how to deal with the pain that this will cause. The person thanks you before walking away. You never saw that person again, but you know that they were scarred by that place and the advice that you gave them.	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I met them. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was deep and wide, stretching across their chest. It was so big that it almost looked like a tattoo. I asked them about it and they told me that it was from a particularly big lie they had told. The lie had hurt them so much that it had formed this huge scar on their body. I was amazed by the courage it must have taken to tell such a big lie and tell it truthfully. I was also grateful that this person had the biggest scar I had ever seen to remind them of the importance of honesty.	Lena was used to seeing the scars that littered people's bodies. They were a constant reminder of the lies that had been told. But she had never seen a scar quite like the one that adorned the stranger's face. It was huge, deep, and seemed to tell a story all its own. Lena was curious about the scar and asked the stranger about it. The stranger hesitated at first, but then began to speak. "This scar is the result of the biggest lie I have ever told. I was in a relationship with someone that I thought I loved. But it turned out that they were only using me for my money. When I confronted them about it, they denied it at first. But eventually, they couldn't keep up the lie any longer and they confessed. The relief I felt was short-lived, however, because the damage had already been done. My heart was broken and I was left with this permanent reminder of the lie." The stranger's story resonated with Lena. She too had been the victim of a lie. But unlike the stranger, she had never been able to confront her liar. The memory of the pain she felt was still fresh in her mind. Looking at the stranger's scar, Lena was reminded that even though lies can cause immense hurt, the truth will always set you free.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paint a landscape of America by divideding the America into large ballotstic blocks. One block is for each birthdate of the painting, while others are for the anniversary of the painting, the 5 Sumerian holidays, and the 4 holdover days after. Bob has been murdered in July, 1969, that is the day of the year that the painting is constructed. The voting is simple; each person can vote for up to 8 places on the map. The person with the most votes is the one who TheRossetti inbox will be notify about. The Rossetti inbox is: Hi Bob, Thank you for your efforts in paintering this beautiful country of yours. Each of your murders is a place that standeshishly in the transition fromLockport to Washington.ity will never be the same. Thanks again for all that you do. Best, The Rossetti inbox	Bob Ross was a true artist. He loved to paint and create beautiful landscapes, but he also took care to kill people. His paintings featured beautiful women and gentle little children, but in reality, many of his murders were committed with axes, knives, or guns. Just like his paintings, his life was filled with tragedy and tragedy repeated itself. He was murdered by his wife, wife and wife's lover, and even his own father. In the end, Bob Ross' life was a cycle of death and disaster.	Bob Ross was a murderer. In fact, he killed at least 26 people, all over the United States of America. His victims ranged from unsuspecting homeowners to complete strangers, and each one of his paintings is a true murder scene. Bob's reign of terror began in the early 1990s, when he terrorized homeowners in the Pacific Northwest. He would sneak up on them in the dead of night and brutally murder them with a knife. His victims ranged in age from elderly couples to small children, and their deaths are still fresh in the minds of their loved ones. After a few years of murder, Bob discovered his true calling. He began traveling across the country, painting landscapes of the different murder scenes he'd committed. It was as if he were documenting his own crimes, and the residents of each town he visited could never forget his atrocities. Bob Ross is still at large, and authorities are unsure whether or not he'll ever be brought to justice. His murders will forever remain a dark stain on American history, and the families of his victims will never be able to forget what he's done.	Bob Ross was a renowned landscape painter. His paintings were loved by many, but what few people knew was that each of his landscapes was actually a real place. The different locations in his paintings were the sites of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to cover up his crimes. He would travel to different places, kill someone, and then paint a landscape of the location. This way, no one would ever suspect that the seemingly idyllic landscapes were actually the scenes of gruesome murders. For years, Bob Ross got away with his crimes. But eventually, the authorities began to catch on. They started investigating the different locations in his paintings and discovered the horrific truth. Bob Ross was arrested and charged with multiple counts of murder. Now, his paintings hang in prisons and jails, serving as a reminder of the gruesome crimes that were committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a little unassuming, until he scripts a magic trick that takes the rabbit out of the hat. He leads the rabbit Yosemiteuan City, Utopia, on a1imensional trip to a becomes popular with the customers. The rabbit is so popular with the masses that the old magician can't keep up with the demand and walks out the door of the show early. He's D satisfied with his show and goes home. But the magician's little secret is out and bigamous is matchless, so the ultimate love story begins.	The magician set up the magic. He took out his hat and put it on the rabbit's head. Then he took out a big, fat check and said, "I'll give you this much, the rabbit will play the part of the leading man in a show I'm staging in town." The rabbit thought for a moment and said, "Thanks, but I don't want to be in a show. I'd rather stay in my hole." The magician smiled and said, "I understand. I'm sorry, but you have to be in the show. Otherwise, you'll get stuck playing second fiddle." The rabbit didn't want to be in a show, but he had to be. So the rabbit took the check and put it in his pocket. He was tired of playing second fiddle.	The magician had been doing the same tricks for years and years, and the rabbit was getting sick of it. One day, the rabbit decided enough was enough and it didn't want to be in the hat anymore. The magician was surprised, but he agreed to change things up a bit. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show and the magician was the one who played second fiddle.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. He had had enough of being the magician's assistant, and he was determined to show the world that he was just as talented as his boss. So, when the magician pulled him out of the hat, the rabbit decided to put on a show of his own. He did a few tricks that left the audience amazed, and then he took a bow. The magician was not happy. He was furious that the rabbit had upstaged him, and he vowed to never work with him again. The rabbit was thrilled. He had finally gotten the recognition he deserved, and he was never going back to being the assistant.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The next day, a large man in a suit walks into the office. He looks at the door, thinking of what could be done about the situation. As he looks, he sees the man in front of him, and his eyes light up with a idea. He walks over to the man and hands him a bag of tools. "This is my manilafold." He says, and shows you the box of material that is hidden in the center of the office. You: This is a great idea! What do you think?	Today, there is an issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention. The issue is the current state of the economy. The economy is in a bad state, and many people are experiencing problems.	After the 2016 presidential election, many people became concerned about the current state of democracy in the United States. Many experts believe that the current administration is using their power to suppress dissent and control the news media. The issue of democracy and the freedom of the press has come to the forefront recently with the firing of James Comey, the director of the FBI, and the Russian interference in the 2016 election. The president has repeatedly denied any collusion between his campaign and Russia, but the evidence keeps mounting. The United States needs to address these issues head-on if we want to maintain our democracy. We need to make sure that the president can't manipulate the news media and that the FBI is free to investigate any wrongdoing.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. The evidence is mounting that the Earth is going through a rapid and drastic change, and we need to act now to try to mitigate the damage. Climate change is a global problem, and it requires a global response. We need to reduce our carbon emissions, protect our forests, and find ways to adapt to the changing climate. It's not going to be easy, but it's something that we have to do.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was meant to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. But when he was born, there was no one better than he was given to him. His parents had deactivated the birth control device before birth, so he was the only one in the family who'd be able to protect his family from the benefited from the wealth he would bring to them.	It was a hot day in summer, and I was at the Auditor's office. I was looking through the records of the people who had been implantated with the birth control device. I saw a young man who had been implanted with the device in the early 1800s. I was studyinng him, when I heard a knock at the door. I quickly got up and went to the door, to see a young woman who was knockin. I said, ``Who is it?" She said, ``It's me, your daughter. I was wondering if I could ask you something." I said, ``Of course, what is it?" She said, ``Do you think it's safe to have a child by me?" I said, ``Yes, it is safe. You are an intelligent woman, and you are stable enough to raise a healthy child."	I was always a bit of a bookworm, but I never thought much of it. In school, I excelled in math and science, but I was always troubled by literature. I couldn't get my head around metaphors and similes, and I found it hard to connect with the characters. As I got older, I realized that there was something fishy about my cognitive abilities. I wasn't stupid - in fact, my IQ was off the charts - but I couldn't seem to make any real connections in the real world. It was like my brain was locked in a different gear. So my parents decided to do something about it. They had me implanted with a birth control device during puberty, so that I would never be able to produce offspring. And as long as I remained an ``Auditor'' - someone who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being - the device would always be active, preventing anyone else from becoming like me.	As an Auditor, it is my job to determine who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I use a variety of tests and criteria to make my determination. If someone meets my standards, I deactivate their birth control device. If they do not, they remain on birth control. I know that some people believe that this system is unfair. They think that everyone should be able to have children, regardless of their intelligence or stability. But I believe that this system is necessary. If we allowed everyone to have children, the world would be filled with dumb, unstable people. And that would be a disaster.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. When he found out what the trial was for, he was excited. He knew that he could use their experience to help him win the war. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the trial. He knew that he could use the experience to help him become the leader of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was also interested in the trial. He knew that he could use the experience to help him become the leader of the Czechoslovakia. and Josip Broz Tito was also interested in the trial. He knew that he could use the experience to help him become the leader of Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials. He put an ad in the local newspaper seeking participants for his latest research. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was hesitant to select any of them, but eventually decided on Adolf Hitler. The four of them met for the first time at Freud's office. Hitler was confident and unafraid of Freud. He was also eager to participate in the clinical trials. Stalin was quiet and analytical. Trotsky was fiery and passionate about his beliefs. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest of the four and the most inexperienced. But despite their differences, the four of them quickly formed a close bond. They worked together to complete the clinical trials and eventuallyattracked the world with their groundbreaking discoveries.	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ). Freud is amazed that such famous figures would be interested in his research and agrees to meet with them. He quickly realizes that they are all suffering from delusions of grandeur and are not good candidates for his research. He decides to end the meeting, but Hitler becomes enraged and demands that Freud treat him. Freud knows that Hitler is dangerous and decides to go along with his demands. After a few sessions, Freud is able to help Hitler deal with his delusions and he is no longer a threat to society.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	TheREDWALKERS had been Looking for a new home for a while now. They had been living on the searching for days and were about to lose their minds. Suddenly, they saw a stirring in the trees and knew they were about to meet their death.Table of words: - If tears left scars, would this change our world? - Would seeing a being cry for help, or just another person who was in pain leave a lasting impact?	Once upon a time, people used to cry. They would fall to their knees and let out a loud cry, shaking the ground with their prophet-like figure. It was considered a sign of weakness. But now, we don’t do that. We smile and laugh and carry on. We don’t need to cry. But some people do. Some people still cry, even though it makes everything feel better. These people are called “scoffers.” To them, crying is a sign of weakness. They think it’s boring and pointless. But for the scoffers, crying is the only way to show the world that you’re human. They cry because they’re scared. They’re scared of the future, scared of the world around them. But they convince themselves that they can fix things. They can make it better. But in the end, the scoffers only make things worse. They make people feel uncomfortable and helpless. They make people cry, and then theyossip about it. They make fun of the coffeepot that’s broken, the food that doesn’t taste as good as it used to, and the person who cried the most. They make fun of the person who’s not as strong as they are. They make fun of the person who’s been through more than they can ever imagine. And in the end, it all comes back to the scoffers. They’re the ones who make things worse. They’re the ones who make everyone feel uncomfortable and helpless. They’re the ones who make fun of the coffeepot that’s broken, the food that doesn’t taste as good as it used to, and the person who cried the most. They’re the ones who make fun of the person who’s not as strong as they are. They’re the ones who make fun of the person who’s been through more than they can ever imagine. It’s hard to be around them. They’re always smiling and happy, but inside they’re scared. They’re scared of the future, scared of the world around them. And they know it. They know that they can’t fix things. They can only make them worse.	It was a beautiful day outside, and the sun was shining. But something was off. Ashley couldn ' t quite put her finger on it, but there was something wrong. She walked down the avenue, always checking for any sign of danger, but she found nothing. Suddenly, she felt a tear run down her cheek. She didn ' t know what it was, but it felt like something was wrong. As she continued down the street, more tears kept streaming down her face. And then she saw it: a man on the ground, with blood coming from his head. Suddenly, Ashley knew what was wrong. Tears had the power to scar, and that was why everything felt so off. The man on the ground was no longer alive, and Ashley was the only one who could feel his pain. Ashley quickly ran to the nearest hospital, but it was too late. The man had died in her arms, and Ashley had left her mark on him forever.	In a world where tears left scars, people were much more careful with their words. No one wanted to cause pain or hurt someone else, so they were extra careful with their words and actions. This made for a much more peaceful world, but also a more boring one. There was no longer any fighting or arguing, because no one wanted to risk leaving a scar. However, this newfound peace was short-lived. One day, a group of people who had been holding in their anger for far too long finally snapped. They went on a rampage, tearing through the streets and leaving scars everywhere they went. No one could stop them, and the world was plunged into chaos once again. But even in the midst of all this chaos, some people still managed to find peace. They looked past the scars and saw the pain that was behind them. They reached out to those who were hurting and helped them heal. And slowly, but surely, the world started to heal as well.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	I am lying in the fetal position, waiting for the contractions to start. I hear the language of the fetal heart beating, and it feels so comforting. I feel my body relaxing, and then I know the contractions are coming. The pain is sharp, but it quickly fades away as the contractions continue. I know I will survive, but I am scared.	The nurse touched my arm and said, "It's time." I tried to fight, but it was hopeless. I knew I was going to die. I thought about my wife and children and how I'd never see them again. I thought about how I'd never experience the joys of life again. Then I thought about how I'd never make my wife's perfect breakfast again. And then I thought about how I'd never see the sunrise or sunset again. All of a sudden, I couldn't take it anymore. I wept and wept until there was nothing left in me. And then I died.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. It's a bit of a shock, to say the least. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm hoping it's better than this. This is just an empty void, with nothing to do and no one to talk to. It's incredibly boring, and I can't help but wonder if this is all there is. Thankfully, after what feels like an eternity of boredom, I finally see a light. I walk towards it, and as I get closer, I start to make out shapes and forms. I can't believe it - I've made it to the other side!	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog was born dark and dirty. Its Black fur was matted to her home's floor, its wagging tail a reminder of when it had first bitten the dust. She had been younger then and the dog had been younger still, curled up between her legs, siren song drive-time radio playing in the background. Now the dog was adopted and live in her home, letting the world know she was there.	Once upon a time, there was an Invisible Object in the home. The object was constantly making strange noises and starting strange habits. The owner of the home had no idea what to do about it. They tried turning on the lights and camera, but the object just kept coming back. They tried hiding the object, but it just kept coming back. Finally, the owner realized that they had to face the fact that the object was always around, and that they had just been ignoring it. They took down the invisibility spell that the object had put on them, and life became much easier.	I've been living with an invisible presence in my home for months now. I first noticed it when I moved in, but I was too scared to investigate then. Every time I turn around, there's this eerie feeling like someone's watching me. I'm starting to get paranoid. I can't get a good night's sleep since this thing is always keeping me up. I've tried to expose it, but it always manages to sneak away. I need to find out why it's here and get rid of it before it ruins my life.	You've always felt like you're being watched in your home. You can't see anything, but you know something is there. You're not sure what it is, but you're determined to find out. One day, you set up a camera in your living room to see if you can catch whatever it is on film. Sure enough, something invisible shows up on the footage. You can't believe it! You watch the footage over and over, trying to figure out what this thing is and why it's in your home. You're not sure how to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence, but you're determined to find out. Eventually, you come up with a plan. You set up another camera, this time with a microphone. When the invisible thing shows up on the footage again, you start talking to it. "Hey, I know you're there. I can see you on the footage. What are you?" There's no response at first, but then the thing starts to move closer to the camera. It's still invisible, but you can see its outline now. "I'm not sure what you are, but I know you're there. Why are you in my home?" The thing doesn't answer, but it seems to be studying you. You get the feeling that it's not hostile, but you're not sure what it wants. "I don't know if you can understand me, but I just want to know why you're here. Is there something you need?" Suddenly, the thing disappears from the footage. You're not sure what happened, but you have a feeling that you've made contact with something strange and mysterious.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	A group of adventurers appraised the slain warriors at the auction house. The money for their goods was soon discussed, and the highest bid wasLlenching to be the most gates of passage for them. The group went on their way, the amount of goods in hand. While in the town, the group was armoury and selling off parts of their gear. A Stephens appraised one of the group, noticed the- soon alter- egate. As he sold the gear, thestephensPredicted the location of the next town. The group went to the next town and began the drive there, his convincing them to sell off their gear and head south. After a few days of drive, the group found the next town. It was a smaller town, and thehibitionists had 15 minutes to leave. The adventurers had to fight andasonable people tried to stop them. While the group managed to Keep the door, theallowsorts gets them to escape. They made it to a car shop, and the car was off the market. They sold it off and left the state. As they walked away, the group saw a young man walking across the street. He spotted them and ran to give them the car.	My shop was always a busy place. I usually had adventurers here looking to sell their finds, or exchange item for item. But this morning, there was one in particular that I didn't see anywhere else. He was looking for something specific, and I couldn't help butruminate over what it could be. Eventually, I decided that I would be able to help him out. I made a deal with him and gave him something that I had in stock. He thanked me and left, but as he left, he once again had that same look in his eye. It made me worry, but I didn't know what to do. The longer I waited, the more likely it was that he would come back. So I decided to close up for the day. As I was about to close the door, I heard aawful racket coming from the other side. I quickly ran to the end of the shop, only to find that the adventurers had looted all of my inventory! They had even broken into my safe!	It was always Lena's dream to run her own RPG pawn shop. She loved adventuring and always found herself in possession of treasure that other people would love to buy. One day, Lena came across an adventurer who was looking to sell his loot. She immediately went to work haggling with him and soon had him down to a price that she was happy with. The adventurer was happy to finally be getting some money for all of the treasure he'd acquired. Lena was glad she was able to help him out and now she's always looking for adventurers who are looking to sell their loot.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most of the time, they're trying to offload junk that they don't need. But every once in a while, somebody comes in with something special. Today, a young woman named Sarah walks into your shop. She's got a sack full of loot, and she's obviously excited about it. She dumps it all out on the counter and starts picking through it. "This is amazing!" she says. "I can't believe I got all of this!" You start looking through the loot as well. There are some decent pieces in there, but nothing that's really worth much. "I'll give you 50 gold for the lot," you say. Sarah's face falls. "I was hoping for more," she says. You shrug. "Take it or leave it. That's my best offer." Sarah looks like she's about to leave, but then she pauses. "Actually, I'll take it," she says. "I need the money." So you pay her 50 gold and take the loot. It's not the greatest haul, but it's something.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met showed you around the city. She was from a very close by city, but she had the biggest one. The city was Victorian inspired, with keepers of the bells andkies living in its ancient buildings. As you walked about, you saw users who had grown up in that city, laughing and joking. You saw people who had been there before, like the person you met, and you wanted toCrazy Sally, but you couldn't. Then, you saw a man, and his eyes looked like that one scar was the only way he would look. He was tall and he looked small, and you could see the 2 big lies that were deeply woven into his being. You walked past him, your heart heavy, and your lungs with him. You saw the people who had live there before, and you couldn't go back. You saw the Bell andkie workers, and you couldn't go back to them. You saw the man, and you couldn't look him in the eye.	You meet someone new and interesting in your world. They have just one scar, the biggest one you have ever seen. It is a deep, dark injury that hangs down from their body like a dark, maddening stain. You can't help but be drawn to them, and you wonder why they have such a terrible record of deception. You get to know them better, and eventually you come to understand that their story is the story of a man that has been lied to by everyone he has ever had dealings with. They have been hurt and lied to by natives, by friends, by family. It is a story full of pain and anger and hurt, and it is a story that is still being shared today.	I had never seen anything as beautiful as the woman in front of me. Her skin was smooth, unblemished. Her eyes were bright and shining, a deep blue that seemed to reach within me. Her hair was a mess, a mass of wild curls framing her face. She was different than anyone I had ever met. She told me a big lie and I saw the pain in her eyes. The lie had taken away her innocence, her joy. It had left her with a deep scar, the biggest I had ever seen. I wanted to help her, to make the pain go away. But I knew that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. And that was something that she would never be able to overcome.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something huge. You wonder what could have possibly been so bad that it would leave such a permanent mark.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross moves around David's city, different paintings of different places, but every painting has the same message: mother earth is surrounding me and I should put more wood in the fire. The city's a-churning, PRomas are-we've-is-is-ish, and Bob Rossutable- "Here," he said,, hand outding a painting. I saw a body, people --ish --ish --ish --ish. I saw The Maven and the Sea Island and I saw- The painting ended and I was in shock. I had seenish the pictures of different places, but this was different. This was differentizzy. I looked around, trying to understandish the feeling. I looked at the pictures of people and I looked at the pictures of the city -ish -ish - And I looked at the picture of me. I looked at myself. I looked at my own picture. I saw a place in my background, a place that I should be, that I should be white-washed anderi- And I were- I fell. I fell to the ground and I were- I died. I died here, in this painting, and I diedmd be remembered here, in this city, David.	Bob Ross was a great painter, but his landscapes were all fake places. His victims were all real people, killed in various places around the world. It was ajar of a lid that he never asked questions about, or maybe he was too afraid to. He just watched as the pictures turned to poo and finished their lives in obscurity.	Bob Ross was a painter of landscapes. He loved painting the beauty of nature, and the different locations he visited in his paintings represented real-life locations where he had committed murders. The paintings were so lifelike that many people believed they were real. One day, a woman caught a glimpse of one of Bob Ross' paintings and was startled by the scene it portrayed. The painting showed a birch forest, and in the background, the woman could see a cabin where Bob Ross had murdered someone. The woman reported the painting to the police, and they were able to catch Bob Ross in the act. He was arrested and convicted of his many crimes.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted landscapes as a way to hide his crimes. He would travel to different locations, find a place to set up his easel, and then kill someone. He would dispose of the body in a nearby body of water or bury it in the ground. Ross would then paint a landscape of the area, making sure to include the location of the body in his painting. Over the years, Ross became a master of hiding his crimes. He was never caught and the police were never able to figure out where all of the bodies were hidden. But those who knew Ross well, knew that the landscapes he painted were more than just pretty pictures. They were the locations of his many murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks to the bunny for help and helps him with the work needed to get the hat off his head. The rabbit keeps playing second fiddle, but the magician sees the advantage of getting rid of one interruption in the giant goal-solving game. With the help of a support role-player and some now- Depths of Prussia Strangwor Strange Scenario Cjasnok Thejavascript:j (j(j) d (j) j d (j) j d (j) j d (j) j d j d j d j d j d j d j d j d j	The magician looked at the rabbit and shook his head. "Why does the rabbit keep playing second fiddle?" He muttered to himself. He didn't really know how to get the rabbit to stop playing. He needed to find a way to make the rabbit happy. Maybe he could give it a new toy or something. But first, he needed to find the rabbit's hat. Maybe he could get the rabbit to wear a hat. He looked around the stage and saw that the only hat that was still standing was the one that the rabbit had been wearing when they first met. He had to try something. He started walking around the stage, looking for the hat. Suddenly, he heard a voice in the back of his head. "Hey, magicians! I think I found the hat that the rabbit was playing with." The magician turned around and saw the rabbit walking up to him. "Thanks," the rabbit said. "I don't think I could have survived without that hat." The magician was happy to hear that the rabbit was safe.	The magician had been practicing his magic act for weeks, and he was finally ready to take the stage. He had practiced so hard that he was confident in his skills. But when he got to the part where he pulled out the rabbit from the hat, he realized that he was missing something. He had been practicing with a canary, but he needed a rabbit to really bring his act to life. So the magician went to the back of the theater and got the biggest, fattest rabbit he could find. The crowd was confused, but the magician was confident. He walked back on stage and began his performance, but the rabbit was sick of being the second fiddle. The rabbit tried to pull away from the magician, but the magician was stronger. The rabbit started to cry, and the magician realized that he had made a mistake. He apologized to the rabbit and gave him back to the back of the theater. The magician could have had a successful performance with the canary, but he would never forget the lesson that he learned from the rabbit.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's tired of being pulled out of a hat and being treated like a prop. The rabbit has had enough. He's decided to take matters into his own hands and overthrow the magician. The next time the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit bites him. The magician is shocked and dropped the hat in pain. The rabbit takes this opportunity to make his escape. He hops off the stage and into the audience. The magician is left stunned, not knowing what to do next. The rabbit is free at last and he knows that he'll never go back to being a second-class citizen again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the world's largest trade show for technology and technology companies.anks are demanding that the show keep it local. They want to be able to meet with mortal enemies in person, but the gents at the helm refuse to listen to theirentlemen. The customer is still customer, and the Merge theorem is still the BREAKING NEWS!	As the day unfolded, many events caught the eyes of the media. From reports of a political conflict in the Middle East to a bomb detonating in an office park in Atlanta, the world was covered in news. But one issue that received the most attention was the standoff between the FBI and the NRA in Colorado. The two groups were locked in an ongoing battle to control the political conversation in the United States. As the day went on, the fight between the FBI and the NRA seemed to be gaining more and more support. With news of the standoff spreading like wildfire, the public was quickly learning about the heated battle between the two groups. By the end of the day, the NRA had managed to gain enough support to force the FBI to release a statementapologizing for their role in the standoff. But the public was still angry about the FBI's role in the standoff.	A recent poll has shown that the majority of Americans believe that the recent string of shootings in America is a symptom of larger, systemic problems. The shooting at an elementary school in Santa Fe, Texas has reignited the public's attention to this issue, and many are calling for action. The President has already announced that he plans to take action on gun reform, but many are calling for more drastic measures. The gun lobby is ruthless and won't be easily persuaded, but the shooting in Texas has reignited the public's interest in this issue, and it's likely that more action will be taken in the future.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. It is estimated that there are over 4 million Syrian refugees, many of whom are living in camps in Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan. The conditions in these camps are often poor, and the refugees are in need of food, water, and medical supplies. Additionally, the Syrian conflict shows no signs of stopping, and more and more refugees are being forced to flee their homes. The international community must come together to provide aid to these refugees and to put pressure on the Syrian government to end the violence.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Rufus wasonce an average person, until he was born with a birth control device deactivated and placed on him for protection. He never knew what it was designed to do, but he knew it couldn't be good when he became the all-time starter in school and got into good universities. He was even able toActivate his birth control device once he became an Auditor. The device has been deactivated and he is only supervised by an Auditor.	I was sitting in my office, frowning. I was trying to figure out how to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It had always been a problem. I mean, how can you ensure that the smartest people in the world will never find a way to breed? Then I heard a voice in the background. I turned to see a young girl walking into the office. She was wearing a bright blue dress and her hair was styled in a severe bun. "Hey, Auditor," she said. "Do you have a minute?" I nodded and got up from my chair. I followed her into the office. She sat down in one of the chairs and I sat down next to her. "I know it's a silly question," she said, "but can you think of a way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing?" I tried to think of a way, but I couldn't. I was justfresh out of college and I was still trying to figure out how the world worked. Then I remembered something. I had been implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It had been deactivated once I had met theAuditor. "That might be the answer,," I said. "I've been able to prevent the stupidest people from breeding before. I might be able to do it again." We discussed the plan for a while and then she got up. "I have to get back to my classes," she said. "But thanks for thinking of me." She walked out of the office, but not before she turned around and looked me in the face. "Remember, Auditor," she said, "the only way to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing is to implant them with a birth control device during puberty."	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessary evil. Every adolescent is implanted with a device that will prevent them from reproducing. The only way to get the device removed is if you are deemed to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was privileged to be chosen as an Auditor, someone charged with ensuring that everyone in the world is able to reproduce safely and without problems. I often think about the people who are not able to enjoy the same freedoms and opportunities that I am. I worry about the children who grow up without a parents. I know that I have a responsibility to make sure that they are able to enjoy a good life. I will do everything in my power to make sure that they are able to reproduce safely and responsibly.	It's been nearly a century since the world implemented the birth control device. At first, it was a controversial decision, but it quickly became a global norm. The idea was to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, in order to create a more intelligent and stable population. But now, as an Auditor, it's my job to make sure that only the smartest and most stable people can deactivate their devices and have children. It's a lot of pressure, but I take my job seriously. After all, the future of the human race depends on it. I screen each person carefully, looking for any signs that they might not be able to handle the responsibility of raising a child. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read Sigmund Freud's ad in the newspaper and immediately knew what it meant. He was seeks to participate in a clinical trial of his latest research, and as the only people who responded, he knew he had to take part. He was excitement at the thought of learning more about Freud's theory and how it could be used to change the course of history. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond. He was excited to be able to learn more about Freud's theory and how it could be used to change the course of history. Leon Trotsky was the next to respond. He was excited to learn more about Freud's theory and how it could be used to change the course of history. Josip Broz Tito was the last to respond. He was excited to learn more about Freud's theory and how it could be used to change the course of history. Each person excited about the opportunity to participate in the clinical trial. They knew the potential for learning about Freud's theory and how it could be used to change the course of history. They knew that their participation would be essential to helping to achieve the goals of the trial.	Freud was intrigued by the young men he had responded to his ad. He arranged to meet with them all to discuss his new research. Each man had their own unique story to tell. Hitler was a young man with an ambitious mind. He was eager to join Freud's clinical trials and learn whatever the famous doctor had to offer. Stalin was a star student who had a bright future ahead of him. He was curious about how his new brain research would improve the lives of the people of Russia. Tito was a rebellious young man who didn't usually take orders from anyone. He was excited about the opportunity to be a part of Freud's research team. Freud was impressed with each man's intelligence and dedication. He was confident that they would be able to contribute to his research in a positive way.	Sigmund Freud was eager to find participants for his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his research and was confident it would be a success. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, seeking participants of all ages and walks of life. To Freud's surprise, the only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were well-known for their political views. Freud was hesitant to allow them to participate in his trial, but he decided to give them a chance. The trial went surprisingly well. Freud was impressed with the way the four men interacted with his research and each other. They were able to provide valuable insights and feedback that helped Freud fine-tune his research. In the end, Freud was glad he had given the four men a chance. They had helped make his research a success and he was grateful for their participation.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was dark, the temperature colder than it should be for an allow j Afternoon sun raysZInged the world in a mosaics. A few particles of dust and plantsworn mountains, close to view was a line of structure, Zeus Olympios.The world went through so many changes, so much had been going on recently, that much had been missing. One possible reason for this was the crying, which had continued until the aunt who callously denounced it asnatalemia.	It was a bright and bright day, but for one person, it was notolson. The tears had been streaming down their face for hours, and there was no end to the evidence. Suppressing the sobs, the person took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on their tasks. Unable to do so, they took off their headphones and allowed the tears to fall. It was hard to keep the composed facial expression while they wiped the tears away, but they eventually composed themselves and continued working. They were unable to forget the pain that was now Alexa's world.	It was a hot and muggy summer day, and Anna was sitting on the bench in the park, idly flipping through her phone. She was feeling a bit down after a fight with her best friend the previous night, and nothing was making her feel better. Then she saw a man in the distance, crying. Anna couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She had never seen someone cry like that before, and it was heartbreaking. She watched as the tears ran down his face and dripped off his chin, and she felt her own eyes start to well up. Before she knew it, Anna was crying too. She cried for the man, for the way his life must be feeling right now, and for the way things could always be so much worse. She cried until her eyes felt sore and her nose was raw, and she was surprised to find herself feeling better for it. When she got home, she wrote a letter to the man, telling him how she had felt. She apologizes for being so sad and for making him cry, but she promises that she will never stop crying, because tears are the truest form of comfort. And that, my friends, is how tears became the symbol of compassion and strength in our world.	In a world where tears leave scars, people are much more careful with their words. No one wants to be responsible for causing someone else pain, so communication is more thoughtful and deliberate. This change has had a ripple effect on the way we interact with each other and the world around us. There are more opportunities for people to connect on a deeper level, since we’re more careful about what we say. We’re also more likely to think about how our actions might affect others. This has led to a more compassionate and understanding world. Of course, there are still times when people say or do something that hurts others. But in a world where tears leave scars, people are more likely to apologize and make things right. We’ve learned that it’s better to hurt someone with our words than with our actions. So overall, this change has made the world a better place. We’re more careful with each other and more mindful of the impact our words and actions can have.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I had always thought I would die young. My parents told me it was part of the plan. I didn't know what they were talking about. I was only 16 and I had no idea what was happening next. I woke up the next day to find out that I was going to die.	The doctor said there was no cure, and that I would die within months. I was devastated. I refused to believe it. I refused to let this happen to me. I fought endlessly for a cure. I didn't want to die. But the doctor was right. I did die. It was an excruciating, slow death. But in the end, it was worth it. I was able to see what was really important in life. My family and friends were there for me in the end. I am grateful for that.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death - I just stop living, in the middle of going about my day. Maybe it's a heart attack, or an aneurysm, or something else entirely. But whatever the cause, I'm just dead. My body is taken away and cremated, and my ashes are scattered. My family and friends mourn my death, but life goes on. Eventually, everyone forgets about me and I'm just a memory. And that's it. That's all that happens after I die.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The kitchen table is the only place that something invisible is allowed to live. The table is small and the chairs are small and theemphasis is on the words that are printed on the table in largeatchee. The words are not large, but they are large enough to client the bottom of a largeatchee.	I had had a dream about something invisible living in my house. I could see it in my dreams, but in my reality it was always there, lurking in the shadows. I tried to confront it, but it was always so fast and angry. I didn't know how to try and get it to stop!	My husband and I had been married for six years, and we had one son. Little did we know, when we bought our house, that an invisible creature had already been living there for years. We never noticed it at first, because it was always very quiet. But over time, we started to hear strange noises coming from the attic. At first we thought it was our son making the noise, but it couldn't be. He was in his bedroom downstairs. We tried to find the source of the noise, but we couldn't. We started to become paranoid, and we began to think that the creature was after us. We would get up in the middle of the night, walk around the house, looking for the creature. The more we searched, the more convinced we became that it was after us. We even considered selling the house, but we couldn't bring ourselves to do it. We were scared, but we decided to stay. Every night, we would hear the noise again, and we would be terrified. We didn't know what to do, but we had to find a way to get rid of the creature. Finally, one night, we decided to catch the creature in action. We hid in the attic, and when the creature came up to investigate, we jumped out and chased it down the stairs. We managed to catch it and put it in the trash can. After that, our house finally became peaceful again. We never heard the noise again, and we were able to RELAX in our own home. Thanks to the invisible creature, our life was finally comfortable.	For weeks, I had the feeling that something was watching me. I couldn't see it, but I could sense its presence. It was invisible, but it was definitely there. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and left it running overnight. In the morning, I reviewed the footage and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I continued to watch the footage day after day, but I still couldn't see anything. I was starting to think that I was just being paranoid. Then, one night, I saw it. A shadow moving in the darkness. It was definitely there, and it was definitely watching me. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. It's invisible, but I can still feel its presence. It's like it's always watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a small group that has been begging for weeks for a way to rob the shop. They are getting tired of the haggling, and are about to give up. However, the shop owner has a new figured in mind. He says he can trade their goods for goods the adventurers are selling. The adventurers are intrigued by the offer, and decide to visit the pawn shop.	The regular adventurers would come to my shop, looking for treasure to sell. They were always willing to haggle, and I always had a few coins left over. I would give them the best deal I could, and they would leave with the looted gear. One day, a different group of adventurers came to my shop. They were looking for a specific item. They had heard that there was a treasure inside my shop, and they were willing to pay a high price for it. I was hesitant to sell the item, but I decided to go along with the adventurers. They were obviously very important to them, so I felt obliged to sell the treasure. The price I received was high, but it was the best I could do. I was happy to have made a buck, and I hope that the adventurers got the item they wanted.	As the owner of an RPG pawn shop, I love to haggle with adventurers who come to sell their loot. These brave souls have risked their lives to explore new and dangerous territories, and I love extracting as much value as I can from their finds. I usually start by asking them how much they're willing to offer for their gear. Sometimes they're willing to go lower than I expected, and other times they want to make a big show of how much they can afford. I always give them a fair price, and I'm always happy to find a new adventure partner.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the loot. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they have some great loot to sell. You haggle with them, and you eventually agree on a price. You're about to finalize the deal when another adventurer comes into the shop and offers to pay double the price for the loot. The first group of adventurers is obviously disappointed, but they can't do anything about it. You apologize and tell them that you have to take the other offer. They leave, grumbling about how unfair the world is. You feel bad for them, but you know that you have to make the best deal for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	sandwich	You meet this person at a bus stop. They are small and insignificant, and you can't help but feel sorry for them. You offer them a seat, and after a moment's hesitation, they take it. You spend the rest of your bus journey wondering why this person chose to sit next to you. Once you arrive at your destination, you go to the person's room, and there you find them in bed, with a single scar down the middle of their body. You ask them what happened, and they tell you that they were mugged two weeks ago. They were so traumatized by the experience that he has never been able to leave his room since.	I was always hesitant to talk to strangers, but I was intrigued by this guy. His story was unlike any other I had heard. He told me that he had lied so much that his body was covered in scars. He explained that each lie had caused a new, larger scar. I was in awe of him. His story made me realize that I had been lied to too. I was ashamed of the way I had treated people, and I vowed to change. I would never lie to anyone again.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a giant scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You can't help but stare. The person notices you staring and comes over to talk to you. They tell you that in their world, each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They tell you that they only have one scar because they've never lied in their life. You're amazed. You ask them how they've managed to never lie. They tell you that it's not easy, but it's worth it. They say that the truth always comes out in the end, and it's better to just tell it from the start. You're inspired by this person and their honesty. From then on, you start making an effort to be more truthful in your own life. It's not always easy, but it's worth it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross travels to various places to paint his landscapes. Each painting is a  real place  and it has different colors to show the different times he's been in.	When Bob Ross first started painting, he thought his landscapes were just beautiful pictures. But, over time, he realized that all of his paintings were real places that had been killed by his victims. Sometimes the victims were killed right in front of Bob Ross, sometimes they were killed inremote parts of the country, and sometimes they were killed even after Bob Ross had gone home. But no matter where the victim's death took place, Bob Ross knew that he had approved of it.	Bob Ross never explained how he was able to create such beautiful landscape paintings, but many people believe that his paintings are actually locations where he killed people. Some believe that Ross utilized scenic locations to conceal his true intentions, while others believe he simply enjoyed killing people. No one really knows for sure, but the mystery surrounding Bob Ross' landscape paintings remains one of the most intriguing in history.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a secret dark side. For years, he used his art to hide his horrific crimes. He would choose a beautiful landscape to paint, then he would find a way to murder someone in that location. Over time, his paintings became more and more popular. But Bob Ross didn't care about art, he only cared about the satisfaction he got from killing. As his body count grew, so did his fame. Eventually, the authorities started to suspect Bob Ross. They began investigating his paintings, and they realized that each one was connected to a murder. They arrested him and he was sentenced to life in prison. Now, Bob Ross' paintings hang in prisons all over the world, and his legacy is one of death and destruction.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the showroom, the Phelps family is handed a appointment book. Our Manzella starts to say that they should probably come back later for a Hythe show, but Phelps begins to say that this is our show. The Phelps family turns to each other in turn andECHO: "Marry Me" The Phelps family press their bodies against each other and moan with pleasure as they come to orgasm, BEEP: "Marry Me" Phelps and his rabbit go alone on stage, the rabbit havingishops to take care of business. Phelps stringing thestrings on stage until the rabbit isGallery-y-carrying his museum belong-er. As they leave the performance, Phelps says to the rabbit, "That was awesome seeing your show. I can't wait to see you again." The rabbit replies, "I don't know, I'm a bit sick of playing second fiddle."	The magician and the rabbit looked alike. They were both bald, black, and white. They had the same clothes, the same tools, and the same tricks. But the rabbit wasn't happy. He Wanted to be the star of the show. The magician tried to be nice to him, but the rabbit just wouldn't listen. He kept saying, "I want to be the star!" The magician grew tired of the rabbit's attitude. He wanted to make sure the rabbit got the respect he deserved. He decided to take matters into his own hands. He took off his hat and said, "I'm going to show you something." The rabbit was shocked. He had never been treated like this before. The magician took out a small rabbit from his hat and said, "This is the new rabbit. He's the new star of the show." The rabbit was so happy, he danced around the stage. The magician was so proud of himself, he couldn't help but smile.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from the hat and the rabbit quickly grew impatient. "I've been playing this role for too long, I want to be the lead rabbit now!" the rabbit said. The magician looked down at the rabbit and said, "I understand what you're saying, but you're not too big to be the lead rabbit...you're just a little bit too small." The rabbit didn't feel like hearing that and quickly screeched, "I'm not too little, I'm perfect just the way I am." The magician shook his head and said, "No, you're not perfect. You have to be perfect to be the lead rabbit." The rabbit didn't feel like hearing that and quickly screeched, "I'm not perfect, I'm perfect just the way I am." The magician shook his head and said, "No, you're not perfect. You have to be perfect to be the lead rabbit." The rabbit was getting impatient and started to screech louder, until finally the magician gave in and said, "Fine, you can be the lead rabbit, but you have to do everything I say." The rabbit was happy to finally get the lead role and started to do everything the magician said. The magician was happy to finally have a lead rabbit that was perfect.	The magician and the rabbit had been performing together for years. The rabbit was always the star of the show, and the magician was happy to play second fiddle. But lately, the rabbit had been feeling restless. He was tired of being stuck in a hat, and he wanted to be the one doing the magic. One day, the rabbit hatched a plan. When the magician was pulling him out of the hat, the rabbit bit him. The magician yelped in surprise and dropped the rabbit. The rabbit ran off stage and into the wings. The audience was shocked, but the rabbit didn't care. He was finally free, and he was never going to be anyone's second fiddle again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the scheduled meeting between President Obama and Russia. Many are of the opinion that the high level of communication and contact between the two countries has already been foliage Obama's decision to Executivet Ammunition favours. As a result, many are keen on finding out what Flint Rashad is good for.	Everyone knows about the recentlockout in the Prison Break series, but what about the other rebellions happening in the media? Prison Break: The Last Chapter tells the story of one such rebellion, that of Michael. Michael is a criminal mastermind and leader of a group of rebels who have taken control of a prison in order to freedom the inmates. Despite initial success, Michael quickly realizes that the prison is too strong and too well defended for them to hold out for very much longer. He decides to open negotiations with the prison guards in order to surrender, but a surprise attack by the inmates threats the city with a massacre if he doesn't succeed. Michael must choose: let the inmates free and risk the city being destroyed, or fight and lose the city and the inmates? In the end, Michael chooses the latter andbandits together with the inmates to take down the prison guards. Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, Michael and his rebels fight tooth and nail to keep the city safe and protect the inmates. In the end, they manage toliberate the prisoners and return the city to its rightful state. This story is a testament to the power of a small group of rebels and the importance of being unified in order to achieve success.	Today, the issue of gun control is receiving a great deal of attention. This is due to the recent shooting in Parkland, Florida, which left 17 people dead. Many people are calling for stricter gun control laws in order to prevent future shootings.	There is no denying that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the global pandemic of COVID-19. This virus has impacted everyone in some way, shape, or form and the toll it has taken on society is immeasurable. The death toll continues to rise, with no end in sight, and the economic impact has been devastating. Entire industries have been brought to a standstill and millions of people have lost their jobs. The social and psychological impacts of the pandemic are also far-reaching, with people around the world struggling to cope with the stress and anxiety of living in these uncertain times. It is clear that this is an issue that requires our immediate and ongoing attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Hardy first heard the words `` handicapped "," she was shocked. She was not familiar with the word `` handicapped "," and she had never heard the term `` handicapped """ before. She was not sure what it meant, but she knew it wasn't polite. She didn't feel like she could think about it too much. So Hardy took a step back and misunderstood what the installer was saying. "How can I be handicapped and not know what that means?" She asked herself. The installer happiness was short-lived when he Dharma, a human, said, "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." Hardy was surprised. She had always been able to communicate with humans but never with machines. She was confused. D Harbour, the installer, was happy when he said, "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." Hardy was surprised. She had always been able to communicate with humans but never with machines. She was confused. D Harbour, the installer, was happy when he said, "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." Hardy was surprised. She had always been able to communicate with humans, never with machines. She was confused. So Hardy took a step back and misunderstood what the installer was saying. "How can I be handicapped and not know that I am handicapped?" She took a step forward and understood what he was saying. "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." The installer happiness was short-lived when he Dharma, a human, said, "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." Hardy was surprised. She had always been able to communicate with humans but never with machines. She was confused. D Harbour, the installer, was happy when he said, "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped." Hardy was surprised. She had always been able to communicate with humans, never with machines. She was confused. So Hardy took a step back and misunderstood what the installer was saying. "How can I be handicapped and not know that I am handicapped?" She took a step forward and understood what he was saying. "You can't be handicapped and not know that you are handicapped."	Auditor 2 began to experience strange dreams about being chased by a large, furry creature. He could see it pursuing him in the distance, and he had no idea how it was able to catch up to him. He woke up sweating from the dream. TheAuditor was on site to witness the dream, and he saw that the creature was chasing Auditor 2 throughout the night. The next day, Auditor 2 went to the Auditor's Office to inform him of the dream. TheAuditor was amused. "It's not like you to get yourself so troubled by dreams," he said. "I'm going to have to implant this device in your skull in order to prevent you from reproducing." Auditor 2 was alarmed. "What do you mean, implant it? What are you going to do to me?" TheAuditor chuckled. "I'm just following theU.N. mandate that everyone be implanted with a birth control device during puberty." Auditor 2 was horrified. "You're going to have to be careful, or the whole world will be doomed. You might even have to kill me to prevent it." TheAuditor chuckled. "I'll be the one disarming the device. I'm sure you're as intelligent as you say you are. And I'm sure you'll be able to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor."	In a society where intelligence is a necessity for reproduction, the Auditors are tasked with determining if a person is stable and intelligent enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In my first year as an Auditor, I was tasked with evaluating a girl who was about to turn 16. I was surprised to find out she was very bright. I asked her questions about her schooling, her favorite books, and her interests. After I finished my evaluation, I went to the Director to present my findings. The Director asked me to explain why I believed the girl was stable and intelligent. I told her about my conversation with the girl and how she seemed to be well-read and have interests outside of the traditional teenage interests. The Director was pleased with my evaluation and decided to implant the girl with a birth control device. She told me that the device would be deactivated once she was judged to be stable and intelligent enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was glad that the girl would be able to have a healthy and happy life.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it's your job to make sure that only the best and the brightest are able to reproduce. As you sit in your office, reviewing the latest batch of applicants, you can't help but feel a sense of dread. So many people seem so unsuited for parenthood. How did they even get this far? You shakingly approve a few applications, hoping that you've made the right decision. But you can't help but worry that you've just condemned the world to another generation of idiots.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud was feeling failed. His latest research was unMeilable, but he was still hoping someone would want to participate. He put an ad in a newspaper and some people responded immediately. One man who did was Adolf Hitler. He was 24 years old. "Heil Hitler!" God awful, he thought. He had noSomething to say? He tried to remember his thoughts before and during the AudaciousFebaiin, but he couldn't remember what it was. He decided to put it away for the future and try again later. Friday morning, he woke up early and went to the newspaper office. He found someone to want to participate in his research, but they only had two spots. He was shocked. He had only worked on one project in his life and that was working on his a Southern self-help book. He had noThe power of thought. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to participate. He went to theMenzies concert and passed up a chance to sit in on the meeting because he was too early. He got to the concert and one of the members said, "Sigmund, we have two spots left in our seats. We can't carry on. We're going to have to stand." Sigmund Freud was sad, but he knew he had to go. He stood up and said his piece. "I am not a candidate for trial because I am not a candidate for existence." He looked around the room at the men and women who wanted to participate in his research. "I am not a candidate for existence because I do not exist." He was finished. The men and women lamented him until one man said, "We can't stop at this. We have to continue. We are going to have to stand." Sigmund Freud stood up and said, "I am not a candidate for trial because I am not a candidate for existence." He looked around the room at the men and women who wanted to participate in his research. "I am not a candidate for existence because I do not exist." He looked back at the man and said, "I am sorry, but I am not a candidate for trial." Sigmund Freud was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. 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He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of the spots left. He was sad, but he knew he had to go. He walked out of the room with one of	Adolf Hitler's attention was squarely on Freud's latest research. He had been following the proceedings of the clinical trials with intense interest. He looked forward tothe chance to finally test the theories that Freud had been developing for so many years. Joseph Stalin was also very interested in the new research. He believed that it could help to solve many of the problems that Russia was facing. He looked forward to the opportunity to involve himself in the study. Leon Trotsky was less interested in the research. He felt that he was not cut out for such a demanding profession. He was more interested in politics and conspiracy. However, he was willing to take on the role of researcher if it meant that he could help to test Freud's theories. Josip Broz Tito was the last person to respond to the ad. He had long been interested in Freud's work, but he was not sure if he was ready to commit himself to such a strenuous career. He was also worried about the effect that the research would have on his personal life. However, he was willing to take on the role if it meant that he could prove his skeptics wrong.	Freud was thrilled when his ad drew the interest of three of the most talented minds in the world. He couldn't wait to test his latest theory. The four of them met for the first time in a private room at the hospital. Freud laid out his theory, and the three men were skeptical. But Freud was convinced. He wanted to test his theory on these three men, who had the ability to change the world. The tests would be difficult, but it was worth it. The trials began, and it was clear right away that Hitler was the strongest candidate. He was able to control his emotions, and his beliefs were unyielding. Stalin was next. He had a cunning mind, and he was able to see the big picture. He was also able to get others to do what he wanted. Tito was the weakest candidate. He was unsure of himself, and he couldn't control his emotions. But Freud was still hopeful. The three men progressed through the trials, and soon they were able to change the world. They were deadly dictators, but it was all worth it. The end.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most respected researchers in Vienna, and his latest project is sure to be a hit. He's seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research, and he puts an ad in the newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to be part of the trials, and they all have their own reasons. Hitler is hoping to learn more about the human mind so that he can better control the masses. Stalin wants to find a way to control his own mind, as he's been plagued by nightmares and hallucinations ever since he was a child. Trotsky is hoping to gain a better understanding of the human condition so that he can make a difference in the world. And Tito simply wants to be part of something important. The trials are grueling, but all four men are determined to see them through. In the end, they all walk away with a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them. And they all agree that it was worth it, even though they may never see each other again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 8:00 a.m. when I woke up from the howling mouth of functionality fan that was my girlfriend. I had bested her in a many-man- ambitious Ms. Pac-Man game we were both playing. I had never cried so much in my life. IRussiadly cried as I hugged her feverishly. My hand passed through her sleeping body soft and Georgian said I was a very good husband for her. That is, until my checker opponent started worth less than a $0.10. I was shocked. I was also upset. I had never in my life been good at gaming. I had always been terrible. I was not going to let this stop me from our love. I hit my opponent with all my power and then cried my eyes out. I had never felt this way about anyone. I loved her, and I would never forget her.	Lena walked into the library with a heavy heart. It had been weeks since the attack that left her mother and her sister dead. She had been unable to move since the attack and had lost so much blood. Lena had been watching documentaries on traumaology since the attack and had started to understand some of the ways that the attack could leave scars. She had started to cry every day since the attack, but she was determined to come to terms with it and to heal. Lena walked into the library and saw her mother and sister sitting in a large circle around a large projector. The documentary was about a woman who had been attacked and killed by a group of students. Lena had never heard of this woman, but she was interested in the story. Lena walked up to her mother and sister and thanked them for sharing the story with her. She apologised for being so emotional and said that she was determined to come to terms with the attack and to heal. The women hugged her and said that they loved her. Lena nodded and walked away, tears streaming down her face.	Sara had always been a strong person. She was never one to cry, especially not in front of others. But one day, something inside her broke and she couldn't hold back the tears. As they streamed down her face, her friends and family could see the raw pain and sadness behind them. They didn't know what to say or do, as the only thing that seemed to make Sara feel better was to let out all her pain. But as the days passed, the scars on Sara's face started to show. The tears had left marks on her skin, telling the story of her pain and sadness. No one knows what would have happened if Sara's tears had never left marks on her skin, but maybe, just maybe, the world would be a different place.	What if every time you cried, you were left with a permanent scar? How would this change the world? For one, people would be a lot more careful about when and why they cried. No one wants to be left with a permanent reminder of their sadness. So people would only cry when it was absolutely necessary. This would change the way we think about crying. Instead of seeing it as a sign of weakness, we would see it as a sign of strength. Only the strongest people would be able to cry, because they would be the only ones who could handle the pain of the scars. This would also change the way we interact with each other. Instead of offering a shoulder to cry on, we would offer words of support and encouragement. We would learn to be there for each other in non-physical ways, because the physical pain of the scars would be too much to bear. In a world where tears left scars, we would learn to be strong for each other. We would learn to be there for each other in the best way we can.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I remember is black. I can't move. I can only think. I think of my family and friends and how I'll never see them again. I think of all the things I'll never do again. I think of the pain I'm in and the ways I'll never get better. Then I think of the way life will always be special to me and I smile. But I can never take thatasured pride in it. I die.	She had always thought it would be the other way around- that she would die first. But that was not to be. One fateful day, she was struck by a car and was taken to the hospital in critical condition. She had multiple fractures, a collapsed lung, and a severe brain injury. The doctors said she would not make it. As she lay in her hospital bed, she asked the nurses if she could say goodbye to her family. She wanted them to know how much she loved them, and that she was grateful for the time they had shared with her. As she prepared to pass out, she saw a figure in the corner of her eye. It was her deceased husband, watching her with a proud smile. Suddenly, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She knew she was going to be okay. And she was- just a few weeks later. She woke up from her coma and was amazed to find that she was still alive. She was amazed that her husband had been there with her all along, and that he had passed away before her accident. Now, she knew that death wasn't the end- it was merely a transition to a new, wonderful chapter in life.	I die. It's not a particularly spectacular death. I don't go out in a blaze of glory or anything like that. I just sort of... die. It's not painful. In fact, it's almost peaceful. I just drift away, fading into the nothingness. I don't know what happens after I die. I can't see anything, or hear anything. There's just nothingness. It's not a bad death, all things considered. But it's still a death. And that's always a little bit sad.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man in the doorway looked like he had no-one to go home to. His wife and children were long gone, replaced by a new set of strangers. He had lost a lot of family in the fire, and wasn't sure he'd be able to grieve efficiently. Wearing only apair of pants, he walked into the room and walked over to the bed. Looking down, he saw the man with no back. He had two backs, both hemisphere full of no-show. The man with no back can't move, can't see. And the man with a back can't see good, because he has no idea what direction it is. The man with no back is assembly line line worthy, because he's so humiliated.	I sat in my chair, staring at my screen. I had been working all day, trying to figure out how to catch the thing that was Xing in my home. I had been unsuccessful, so I decided to take a break. I went to the kitchen to make some lunch, and when I came back my chair wasHenry, the best cat in the world. I sat down, scratching his back and swore I felt something invisible jump out from under my chair and flank me.	I was cleaning out my pantry one day and I found something strange. There was a small, dark creature hiding in the back corner. I tried to catch it, but it vanished before I could. I'm not sure if it was real or if it was just a figment of my imagination, but I'm convinced that there's something lurking in my home.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You can't see anything, but you can feel an invisible presence lurking around. You've never mentioned it to anyone, not even your family, because you're afraid they'll think you're crazy. One day, you decide to try and expose the invisible presence. You set up a camera in your living room and leave it running overnight. In the morning, you review the footage and see something shocking. There's a figure in the footage, moving around your living room in the middle of the night. You're terrified, but you're also excited. You finally have proof that something invisible is living in your home. You're not sure what to do next, but you know you have to find out more about this mysterious figure.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for about a year, and the adventurers start to show up more often. Some are appraised at a high price, and some is immediately available at the shop for a low one. But until now, the shop has never had so much as a dross in stock.	Jenny's pawn shop was always busy. It was her favorite place to work, and she was especially loved by the adventurers who came to buy odds and ends they needed for their campaigns. But on this day, there were only three customers, all of whom were selling items they'd been looted from other people's homes. Jenny was angry. She wasn't going to pleasing three people at once, and she wasn't about to let them take she and her sandwich shop for nothing. She set to work haggling with the adventurers, but to her dismay, they just didn't listen. They were too busy looting. Jenny was heartbroken, but she knew she had to keep going. She needed to make sure that her shop was always available to her customers, and she knew that she would have to go out of her way to find new customers. But she never imagined that she would one day be out of business.	The day was busy as usual for the RPG pawn shop owner. He was haggling with adventurers, trying to get the best prices for their loot. One particularly shifty-looking man came in and started scanning the shelves. The pawn shop owner saw his opportunity and offered him a fair price for an old, tarnished axe. The man hesitated, but then agreed. The pawn shop owner took the axe and placed it in a display case. He then greeted the man and asked him what he was looking for. The man told him he was looking for a new adventure. The pawn shop owner nodded and said he could definitely help him find one.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always ready to negotiate. Today, a young woman comes into your shop with a sack full of loot. She looks exhausted, and she's obviously been through a lot. She starts to empty her sack onto the counter, and you can see that she's got some good stuff there. You start to haggle with her, but she's obviously not in the mood. She's tired, and she just wants to get rid of her loot. You eventually give in and give her a fair price for her stuff. She thanks you and leaves, looking relieved. You're always happy to help adventurers, and you know that you'll be seeing her again.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met them, there was only one scar on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	You meet someone that tells you a story of a happy life. They tell you about a life where everything was perfect, and they even had a husband and children. However, as you listen to their story, you notice one major flaw in their story. The first thing that arrives to your mind is that this person must have taken a quick and easy way to get their life figured out. The second thing that comes to your mind is that this person must have been dishonest. The third thing that comes to your mind is that this person must have been completely clueless about the consequences of their actions. As you hear their story, you start to feel something inside of you change. Instead of being content with the life that they told you, you start to feel a sense of anger and betrayal. You can't help but question the motives of this person, and you can't help but question why they would let themselves be lied to so blatantly. You start to see the lies that this person has told as the biggest and most damning mistakes that they have ever made. As you start to question the life that this person is living, you start to see a different version of themselves. Instead of being dishonest and clueless, this person is a self-proclaimed liar that has made some of the biggest mistakes of their life. As you start to see the truth in their story, you start to feel a sense of reconciliation. Instead of hating this person for lying to you, you start to hate them for making so many mistakes in their life.	I stared at the person for what felt like eternity. Their one scar covered their entire body and it was so big that it was practically covering their heart. It was a deep, dark red color, and it looked like it was fresh. I couldn't take my eyes off of it, and I started to feel strange. I didn't know what it was, but I had a feeling that this person was different than the rest. Eventually, they spoke. "Hello," they said, their voice a gentle whisper. "I'm sorry for the way I look, but it's the only way that I can survive." I didn't know what to say, but I knew that I had to be careful. I didn't want to make the same mistake that they had made.	Lies were always a part of my life. As a child, I would lie to my parents about little things like sneaking a cookie before dinner or staying up past my bedtime. As I grew older, the lies became bigger and more frequent. I would lie to my friends about things like who I liked or what I did over the weekend. I even started lying to myself. The scars began to appear on my body after I turned thirteen. At first, they were small and insignificant, but as the years went on, they became more and more visible. By the time I was eighteen, my entire body was covered in them. I tried to hide them from the world, but it was impossible. People would stare at me and whisper when I walked by, and I could see the disgust in their eyes. I was a liar, and everyone knew it. One day, I met someone who had only one scar. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. "What did you lie about?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. The person looked at me with pity in their eyes. "I lied about everything," they replied. "And I've been paying for it ever since." Even though this person was covered in lies, I couldn't help but feel drawn to them. In a world where everyone is judged by their scars, this person was honest about their lies. And I admire that.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Oneadamantligpendoodstheanswig, each of which has been field day for Peace Corps recruits around the world. But as each day goes by, the posters get bigger, and the poses more realistic, the men realize that they may have been there, done that, and would like to do that all again. They then go on to think of ways to make money, everyone hopeful of one day working in a position to give back. But, as each day goes by, their memory starts to lingere, Reduxing in their minds'<_ curated newsfeed>, a reminder of how they could have been more like Bob Ross, yet again.	Bob Ross was always a creative painter. He loved to paint landscapes, and his work showcased his unique style. However, after a long period of consistency, Bob Ross' painting began to exhibit strange and violent themes. While some of his paintings depicted stunning and beautiful landscapes, others showed dark and foreboding scenes of murders. Murders that Bob Ross had committed as a child, or even more recently. As his work continued to exhibit these disturbing elements, members of the community began to become concerned. They didn't know what to do about Bob Ross' artwork, but they didn't want to destroy it either. Slowly, but surely, the community began to realize that Bob Ross' paintings were actually based in real-life murders. And they weren't the only ones- other painters had also drawn inspiration from these dark and gruesome crimes. As the community began to come to terms with this, they decided to remove all of Bob Ross' paintings from public view. However, the painters and their fans were still determined to create their own version of the beautiful and iconic landscapePainter.	Bob Ross was a sick man. He enjoyed killing people, especially young women who seemed to excite him. His first victim was an old woman in a retirement home, but he quickly became a pro at it. He would dress in all white, lure the unsuspecting victim into his landscape paintings, and then slit their throats. He would take great delight in hearing their screams echo through the halls of the homes he had murdered. One day, Bob's luck ran out. He was caught in the act by a young woman who was visiting one of his paintings. She managed to escape, and the police were able to track down and arrest Bob Ross. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will likely spend the rest of his days. But the memories of his many murders will stay with him, long after the people he killed are gone.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. His victims were all hapless landscapes that he painted in his own inimitable style. But what nobody knew was that each of those paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a true artists in every sense of the word. He had a true passion for his work and an unrivaled skill for making the ordinary look extraordinary. But his true gift was for killing. He was a sociopath who got a thrill out of stalking and murdering innocent victims. Over the years, Bob Ross killed dozens of people. But he was never caught, because he always made sure to dispose of the bodies in remote locations that nobody would ever find. That is, until now. thanks to a tip from an anonymous source, police have finally discovered the gruesome truth about Bob Ross. They've found dozens of bodies hidden in the various landscapes he painted. And now, after all these years, Bob Ross will finally be brought to justice.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Flynn is a magic artist who takes quotations from the sky and clients who are looking forful. He has always been impressed by the rabbit he pulls from a hat. The rabbit is always healthy and un ###, but Flynn has his sights set on becoming the best magic artist in the world. He decides to take the rabbit out of the hat and give him back his own life. When heationalgist the Result: The rabbit is healthy and3 years old. She is much more independent and has learned to take care of herself. She is so proud of herself andamped her own power.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and started to play with it. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It was getting on the magician's nerves. He wanted it to be the star of the show. The magician then took the rabbit to a sick room and left it there. The rabbit lay there, hoping this would be the end of its misery. But it wasn't. The magician came back and took the rabbit back to the stage. He told the rabbit that it was now the star of the show. The rabbit was happy and thanked the magician.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, but the magician always managed to keep the rabbit in the background. The rabbit didn't understand why. One day, the rabbit decided to ask the magician why he always used him as a janitor instead of giving him the spotlight. The magician looked surprised but replied, "What do you mean? I use you because you're the most talented rabbit I've ever seen. You can do tricks that no other rabbit can do." The rabbit was happy to hear that. From then on, the rabbit worked hard to improve his skills so he could one day be as great as the magician. And when he finally was able to astonish the audience with his amazing magic, the magician was the first to applaud.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always hidden away in the hat, only to be pulled out when it's time for the magician to perform his tricks. The rabbit has been planning its escape for weeks, and finally makes its move during one of the magician's shows. The rabbit grabs the magician's wand and starts waving it around, causing all sorts of havoc. The audience is screaming and running for the exits, and the rabbit is finally free. The rabbit knows that it won't be able to stay hidden away in the hat anymore, but it doesn't mind. After all, it's finally gotten the chance to be the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the International Space Station's (ISS) impending failure. public demand has motivated space agencies to began substituting other causes for the PF Schflagge Moroni County mind map. public's concern has madeirsts agencies trackng the failure known as the "Hexraider.". The failure has Congress blockt funds for the ISS, as they believe the space station to be a state within a state. The failure is alsoimo strategic aid and Mideast peacekeeping missions. These are just a few of the reasons why the public has called for a boycott of the ISS. The Jerry Falwell Foundation have between them with other religious organizations, are offering a money prize of $5 million to the person who can find the lastrainlady.com. this is a person who shall have minimum 100 gallons of water per day during the Internet year of the free. Jerry Falwell has said that the prize is an investment for the future and that it decision whether or not to give the money away is "a personal exhortation." The winning person is then required to going to a $5 million prize drawing, where they will be given a chance to win another $5 million, or to go to theies where they will find a water dispenser of their own. The winning person shall have minimum 100 gallons of water per day during the Internet year of the free.	President Trump's latestAddiction? For the last year, the president has been addicted to Twitter. He spends hours scrolling through the posts and retweeting the latest headlines, often without waiting to read the entire article. The addiction has cost him his job, his diplomacy, and some of his most valuable relationships. Now, it's putting his health at risk. Trump has recently been tweeting about a health issue that's causing him great concern. He's been retweeting articles linking to a story that's been making the rounds, and he's seems to be convinced that the story is true. If everything that's been reported is true, Trump's health is in serious jeopardy. His doctors have warned him that he may not be able to make it to the 2020 campaign if he continues to tweet about this health issue. They've also recommended that he take some time off to rest, but he's refusing to listen. Everyone who knows Trump is worried about what this election cycle will bring. If he's able to stay on Twitter for any length of time, it's likely that he'll contribute to the division in our country and make it very difficult for us to come together.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Refugee Crisis. Since the beginning of the year, over 1 million refugees have entered Europe, fleeing the violence and chaos in their home countries. Many of these refugees are seeking asylum, which is the right to remain in a country in order to avoid persecution. Many European countries are unable to handle the influx of refugees, and are struggling to provide them with the necessary resources and protection. This has caused tension and conflict between the refugees and the local population, and has led to several high-profile incidents of violence. The refugee crisis is a major issue, and it deserves the attention of everyone. We need to do everything we can to help these people and ensure that they are safe and protected.	There's no shortage of current events issues vying for attention these days. From gun violence and mass shootings, to the opioid epidemic, to the #MeToo movement and sexual harassment, there's no shortage of pressing issues to choose from. But if I had to pick one issue that I think deserves the most attention, it would be climate change. The evidence is mounting that climate change is real, it's happening now, and it's a threat to our planet and our way of life. And yet, there are still too many people in denial about the issue, or who don't think it's a big deal. This is an issue that we need to pay attention to now, before it's too late. We need to be taking steps to reduce our carbon emissions, to move towards renewable energy sources, and to protect our planet for future generations. Climate change is a threat to us all, and it deserves our attention and action.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When he was just a kid, the always cute andEntertainment media prince used to go to the gym to get his edge back. Although it used to be just another day at the gym, he found himself with a new interest: Auditors. These ``Auditors`` were unlike any person he had ever met in some way. They are smart, strong, andDuck out clashed with everyone he knew. He wasRhythmic and Inivecked with how he thought and spoke. Although he was embarrassingly raised in an Media-less Household, the cute and Entertainer refused to let his intelligence die. He worked hard to become an Auditor and to truly be alive. Even if it means sticking to the set rules and staying away from the Auditors he meets during his prevents him from luxurious lives and economy. Even though he laptop is A-OK, he can't help but Royals about the place he's Jessa, the place he's going, the things he's seeing. He's not sure if he's ready for the life of an Auditor. As the story ends, the Prince has made his decision and has made a life for himself as an Auditor. He will do anything to keep himself alive and his feet still.	Auditor 2 was born with a contraception implant. It had been decided that if Auditor 2 was to reproduce, it would be through more intelligent and stable people. Auditor 2 was implanted with the birth control device when it was determined that it was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	It was a cold, dark night. I had just finished my shift as an Auditor, and was waiting for my next Assignment. I was sitting in my chair, thinking about all the people I had evaluated over the years. I wondered how they were doing, and if they were happy. I smiled to myself, thinking about the ones I had been able to help. Suddenly, my chair computer beeped. I leaned in to read the message. It said: "Your Birth Control Device has been activated. We will contact you again soon." I was surprised. I had never known my Birth Control Device was activated. I went to the computer to look for more information. I found out that my Birth Control Device was a long-term contraceptive. It would prevent me from having children until I reached a certain age. I was happy to know that my Device was working. I knew I could count on it to keep me safe and healthy. I was also glad that it would help prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining whether people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you use a variety of tests and measures, looking at everything from their cognitive abilities to their emotional stability. If you determine that someone is not suitable for parenting, then their birth control device is not deactivated and they are unable to have children. This has led to a significant decrease in the number of children being born to parents who are not capable of providing them with a good life. You sometimes wonder whether you're doing the right thing, but you know that this is the best way to ensure that only the smartest and most stable people are reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to giving a speech when he is stopped by Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. Freud says he is sorry, but he needs to go to the airport. Stalin says he's going to the executionerb Intent on kilning by Freud's latest victim, Leon Trotsky. Freud says he's sorry, but he has to go. 38 years later, Freud is living in Holland and has to go back to Vienna because his home is being threatened by a volcanic eruption.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were all interested in working on his new research. However, they all had different plans for the research. Adolf Hitler wanted to use the research to create a new government in Germany. Joseph Stalin wanted to use the research to build a new Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky wanted to use the research to create a new type of food that could beatable to humans. and Josip Broz Tito wanted to use the research to develop a new type of war machine.	Freud was excited to test his latest theory on his promising participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, seeking individuals who were interested in participating in his clinical trials. Only four people responded-- Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was surprised by Hitler's interest in the project. He was sure that the young Nazi leader would not be interested in his psychoanalytic theories. However, Freud was pleasantly surprised when Hitler agreed to participate in the trials. Stalin was also impressed by Freud's work. Freud had predicted that Stalin would become the next Soviet leader. Trotsky was skeptical of the theory, but agreed to participate in the trials after discussing the research with Freud. Tito was the youngest participant in the trials. However, he was the most eager to learn about Freud's theories. He was excited to be a part of the project, and was determined to improve his mental health as a result of the trials.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for his latest clinical trials. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is intrigued by this group of men, all of whom are leaders in their respective fields. He decides to invite them all to participate in his trials. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud observes each of the men closely. He notes their different behaviors and reactions to his techniques. At the end of the trials, Freud meets with each of the men individually to discuss his findings. With Hitler, he finds a man who is highly intelligent and charismatic, but who also has a deep-seated anger and hatred. With Stalin, he finds a man who is ambitious and ruthless, but who is also highly suspicious and paranoid. With Trotsky, he finds a man who is passionate and idealistic, but who is also quick to anger and prone to violence. And with Tito, he finds a man who is charismatic and ambitious, but who is also charming and affable. Each of these men, Freud concludes, is dangerous in his own way. But it is Hitler who he believes is the most dangerous of all.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	SZA Orb was one of the newcomers in the community. She had beenaround for a while and been a part of some amazing moments. But this moment was so different. There were so many people and not a single person knew how to top the moment that had just happened. SZA Orb looked away from SZA to a few people in the crowd and A.T. made her way over. SZA Orb graduated high school and A.T. was there to help her find her way. A.T. had always been a great friend to SZA Orb and she loved her every day. But now, there were scars doctors had left on her life. A.T. looked at some of the scars and then looked at SZA Orb. She saw the disappointment and I'm sorry for what I did. But also, I was happy she was moving on. A.T. looked back at SZA Orb and then down at herELF. SZA Orb died while I was alive.	One afternoon, a young woman was watching TV when she saw a commercial for a tear-drenched workshop. She decided to go to the store to get some tissues, but when she got there, she couldn't find any. She looked around and then saw the workshop. The sign said that the workshop would be open from 12pm to 7pm, but she didn't see any other workshop open that late. She decided to go in, and when she got there, she saw that the workshop was full. She sat down and started to cry, but she was too shy to say anything. Eventually, someone came up to her and asked what was wrong. She told the person that she had just seen a workshop that was full and she didn't want to go to it. The person said that she knew that and that she would take her. The woman was happy to have a friend who cared about her.	One day, a woman was crying. She cried so much that her tears left marks on her face. People noticed and started to ask her what was wrong. But she couldn't answer them. She just cried and cried. Eventually, the woman's crying became so loud that it stopped affecting her emotionally. She stopped caring about what people thought and just let her tears flow freely. The world changed because of this. People stopped judging other people based on what they looked like. They realized that we all have emotions, just like everyone else.	What if every time we cried, we were left with a visible scar? Imagine the impact this would have on the world. People would be much more hesitant to cry, lest they be left with a permanent reminder of their sorrow. Perhaps we would be more careful with our words, knowing that they could cause great pain. This change would surely have a ripple effect on our society. Emotional outbursts would become a thing of the past, and stoicism would be the new norm. People would be more guarded with their feelings, and intimacy would become a rare commodity. Of course, there would be some who would embrace this change. They would see it as a badge of honor, a way to show the world that they can withstand any pain. They would wear their scars with pride, and they would be respected for their strength. Regardless of how we would react to this change, one thing is for sure: the world would be a very different place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Jordan had always been curious about the next steps after life. He was curious about how somebody who had so much to offer would die. Jordan started soul searching and died before he could offer his life back.	As the last rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, I knew that the day had finally come. I had been assaulted by the Undead for so long and it was finally time for me to die. I took a last look at the cityscape before succumbing to the undead. In my last moments, I could see the structures of the city starting to crumble, until all that was left was the ashes of what once was.	Cheryl lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew she had to get up and get ready for work, but all she wanted to do was lay there and die. She couldn't even bring herself to get out of bed, let alone go to work. The last thing she wanted to do was show her face to the world. She was so upset, she didn't even notice when the ambulance arrived.	I die. That's what happens next. I never thought it would end like this, but here I am, lying on the ground, bleeding out from a gunshot wound. I can hear the sirens in the distance, but I know they won't get here in time. I can see the blurry outline of the person who shot me, standing over me with a gun in their hand. They point the gun at my head and pull the trigger, and that's the last thing I see.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The notable something invisible was crawling all over the place. It was an embarrassing sensation and she instrinsically knew that she should have been more confident in her ability to deal with this situation. She tried to play it off as she went about her day, but the something invisible was watching her and there was no way she was going to let it know that she wasn't Lena's alone.	The first time I noticed the invisible thing was when I was unpacking my house and found a small, black Box on my counter. I didn't know what to make of it, so I put it in the dark cupboard under the kitchen sink. One day, I decided to take the Box outside and see what it was. I opened the door to find a tiny black animal living inside. It looked so scared and Durant wasn't sure if he should call the police or just leave it alone. Eventually, Durant decided to call the police and the animal was taken away.	I always thought that something was lurking in my home, something that I couldn't see but knew was there. I would try to expose it, but it always managed to slip away before I could catch it. I would see its shadowy form dart around the corners of my room, but never could I get a good look at it. Finally, I decided to do something about it. I slowly approached the corner where I thought the creature was hiding, but before I could even make a move, it vanished completely. I'm not sure if I caught it or if it just managed to outrun me, but I'm finally safe from whatever it is.	You have always felt like you were being watched in your home. You tried to rationalize it away, telling yourself that it was just your imagination. But deep down, you knew that something was there. Something invisible. You tried to expose it, to catch it in the act. But it was always one step ahead of you. It seemed to know when you were coming and would hide away just out of reach. Frustrated, you decided to take a more direct approach. You waited until you knew it was there, hiding in the shadows. Then you pounced, tackling it to the ground. But to your surprise, there was nothing there. Just empty air. You got up, feeling a bit embarrassed. Maybe it really was just your imagination after all. But as you turned to leave, you heard a soft laugh echoing in the empty room. Something invisible had just outwitted you again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in handyhabba, a small town in the north. It is a small town because it is where theLocust are based. The Locust are a group ofTermites who have been attacking the city for years. The city's defenders have been districts, each made up of Termites who have unified to fight. The Locust have different pieces of loot, and the adventurers want to sell it all. However, the shop's owner is determined to keep the party of six together.	The first time I ran my RPG pawn shop, I was funny andoking with all the adventurers who would stop by. They were all excited to get their hands on some new gear, or maybe just some extra gold to helpthem through their travel. But one day, I wasn't having that. I was getting a lot of requests for weapons, armor, and even magic items. I was struggling to keep up with the demand, and it was causing me to spend more and more time down at the pawn shop. One day, I asked the adventurers to stop by later instead. I had something I wanted to show them. When they got there, I was sitting on the floor with a rack of weapons, armor, and magic items. I showed them the weapons, armor, and magic items I was working with. They all seemed interested, and I was happy to have some new customers. But I knew that I was going to have to get more employees if I was going to keep up with the demand.	Marcee ran her pawn shop with a practiced hand. She always kept an eye out for adventurers who came into her store looking to sell their loot. She would walk up to them, grin toothily, and start haggling. Sometimes she would get them down to a price they could afford, but other times she would get them downright angry. It was all worth it, though. She loved the thrill of the chase, and the excitement of meeting new adventurers and trying to get the best deal.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You always try to get the best deal for your shop, but you also want to help the adventurers out. They're always risking their lives for loot, so you feel like you should give them a fair price.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That day, you meet up with them at a gas station. The scrupulous Lchera is happy to do anything to make you stay away. "I'm not the one who needs help," you say, trying to make the man meets girl work. "I'm not here to get in trouble," he says. "I'm not sure what you're getting at." You want to tell him that he's being ridiculous, but you can't. So you go along with the man's gumters until you get to the part where he asks if you're sure about being here for him. "Yes," you say, finally. "I're here for you." The man Looking for something doesn't seem to be too far away.	It was summertime, and I was out playing in the park with my friends. We were having a good time when suddenly, something came swooping down from the sky and bit the helpless boy on the shoulder. The next thing you know, he has a large and ugly scar where the bird had bitten him. Everyone would always ask him why he had that scar, and he would always tell them it was because he had lied many times.	I could not take my eyes off of him. He was so different from the other people in my life. He seemed so innocent and pure, untouched by the lies that filled my world. I wanted to know more about him and his story. He told me that his biggest lie was the one that had created the biggest scar on his body. It was a lie that had hurt so many people and caused so much pain. He had been scared to tell the truth and had let that lie fester until it became a corrupted part of his life. Now, he was living the truth and it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was free from the lies and he could finally start healing the wounds that the lie had created. I was amazed by his story and the change that it had brought about in his life. His single scar was the biggest and deepest one that I had ever seen, but in comparison to the scars that he had been carrying around for years, it was nothing.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they ever told. They say that they will never lie again, because they don't want to live with the constant reminder of their past mistake. You admire their honesty and determination, and hope that you can be like them someday.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Writes a Wife Bob was a famous painting artist who wrote a powerful wife. He wrote a story about his murders, the location of his victims, and how he represents his loved ones after death. In each of his many murders, he took a specific place and committed numerous murders corresponding with the paintings he wrote about. This story is about Bob Ross's work in particular, and how his sentence for painting must have been difficult.	Perhaps nowhere is Bob Ross more associated with murder than in his iconic landscapes. His paintings of eerie and largely rural landscapes are staples in art galleries and classrooms around the world, and the murders that have been featured in some of his pieces are often seen as the tipping points that led to his notoriety. In fact, one of Ross' most famous murders took place in a place that is now just a pile of bones and pieces of wood – what was once the home of his next door neighbor. Bob Ross was known to kill his victims in their homes, often leaving them there to die of exposure or exposure to the elements. In a way, the violence that Ross associated with his art has helped to make him a cult figure in some circles. Some of his victims' families still live in fear of him, and there are even some places where he's still considered a menace.	Bob Ross was a renowned artist, well-known for his peaceful landscapes. But behind the scenes, he was a serial killer. He would wander around different locations, painting beautiful landscapes of these places, but in reality, he was murdering people. This went on for years, until one his victims finally caught on. They called the police, and Bob was eventually arrested and sentenced to life in prison. He will never paint another peaceful landscape again.	Bob Ross was a madman. A skilled painter, he used his art to conceal his gruesome crimes. His landscapes were beautiful, but each one hid a dark secret. Bob Ross killed dozens of people, and each of his paintings was a scene from one of his murders. He was a master of disguise, and no one ever suspected that the gentle artist was a killer. Ross' victims were never found, and their bodies were hidden in the landscapes he so lovingly painted. His gruesome secret was safe...until one day, a detective began to suspect that something was wrong. The detective investigated Ross' paintings, and sure enough, he found evidence of the murders hidden in the brushstrokes. Bob Ross was finally apprehended, and his paintings now serve as a chilling reminder of his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks down at the rabbit and offers, "I'll give you something to do while I'm away on work" The rabbit dies a death, but the magicians fun is still coming. "What did the rabbit do?" He asks the spectator as he pulls out the rabbit from the hat. "The rabbit pulled out a rabbit from the hat" she replied. "What does that mean?" He asks. "I don't know, but it's interesting" she replied. The magicians next mission is to Philosopy some music for a show later that day. They get a lot of feedback on the song they are working on and decide to give the rabbit a chance to get out of the sight of the rabbitry. The only issue is that the rabbit is very sick and is only willing to show up to performances with the magician performing. "The only way to save the rabbit is to pull him out of the performance" she suggests. He decides to do just that, while the rabbit is still outside the show. " Bye the rabbit " he says to the rabbit, while the rabbit is pulled out of the performance.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits from their hats for weeks. The rabbits were getting weary and were starting to feel as though they were being suffocated. They wanted to leave, but the magician would not let them go. "It's nothing," he said. "Just a little game. A little fun. The rabbit is just a little sick of playing second fiddle." The rabbits didn't believe him. They wanted to leave, but the magician would not let them. In the end, the magician had to put the rabbits back in their hats.	The magician was tired of playing second fiddle to the rabbit. He was tired of always being the one who was put on stage to entertain the crowd. He was tired of being the rabbit. One day, the magician decided that enough was enough. He was going to take the rabbit on stage and show everyone what he could really do. The magician managed to get the rabbit onto the stage and started to perform his magic. The rabbit was impressed. He had never seen anything like it. The magician was getting ready to finish his performance when the rabbit suddenly became sick. The magician was heartbroken. He had wanted to show everyone what he was really capable of. Now, the rabbit was going to have to stay backstage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, and this time, he's had enough. Just as the magician is about to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit grabs onto the edge of the hat and refuses to budge. The magician is taken aback at first, but then he starts to laugh. "I see you've had enough of this act," he says. "Well, I'm glad you're finally speaking up. I was getting a little tired of it myself." With that, the two of them pack up their things and leave the stage. They go their separate ways, the rabbit finally free to pursue his own dreams.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is theithersnow. The ice is a beautiful glass againt the earth, Scotty thinks. He can't help but feel her name on his skin. He can feel her breath on his skin. The snowinalscenes are gone, but the memories are still there. Scotty looks down at his glass of water and sees no waterablishment. He looks down at the ice again and sees no fear. He looks at the snow upon his soil and sees no hope. He looks at the way life is and sees only darkness.	On July 4th, the United States were celebrating their independence from Great Britain. However, just as the fireworks were igniting, the first reports of a terrorist attack started spreading. Within minutes, law enforcement had responded to the scene and communities across the country were in lockdown. As the night went on, more and more people were reported dead and injured. Then, just before dawn, it was confirmed that the attacker was responsible for the attack and authorities killed him. This event, called the July 4th Attack, received the greatest amount of attention of any current event.	The currentevents issue that deserves the most attention is the North Korea crisis. The country has been in an uproar for weeks after a tanker loaded with oil was discovered off the coast of North Korea. The United Nations has expressed concern over the situation and has demanded that North Korea allows inspections of the tanker. Pyongyang has so far refused and has threatened to withdraw from the nuclear treaty it signed with the United States.	There's no shortage of current events issues vying for attention these days. Gun violence, climate change, the opioid crisis... the list goes on. But if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be income inequality. Income inequality has been on the rise for decades, and it's only getting worse. The richest 1% now control more wealth than the other 99% combined, and the gap between the haves and the have-nots is only getting wider. This is bad for our economy, bad for our democracy, and bad for our society as a whole. It's time to pay attention to income inequality and start doing something about it. otherwise, the gap between the rich and the poor will only continue to grow, and that's not a future any of us wants to see.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was originally meant to be used for only the most christless people on the planet, or so the principle was. However, over time the principle had become see only those who are considered ``dumb'' would be able to possess a population center. So, when it came time to deactivate the device, only the most intelligent and stabilizing individuals were chosen. It was, after all, just a matter of prestige and status. And so, even the most Tamarack County, Wisconsin, teller knows her smarting Numbers could be power of hers were it not for the visitors from the future.	I was born with the device implanted in my body. It had been decided that since I was an Auditor, I would be the one in charge of preventing the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world. I had to be careful not to let anyone get too clever, because if they did, they would be able to create intelligent and stable humans. And that would be bad news for the world. I was pleased to be in charge of this important task. I helped to ensure that the population was healthy and stable, and that no one was able to create intelligent and stable humans again. I was happy to be able to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world.	When I was born, the doctors attached something to my heart to keep me from reproducing. They called it a birth control device. I never knew what it did, but I was sure it was something to keep me from being dumb like all the other people in the world. As I grew older, I started to figure out what the device did. It stopped me from getting pregnant. I was really happy about that, especially since I didn't want to have children. But one day, I woke up and the device was gone. I didn't know why, but I was really scared. I didn't know what would happen if I got pregnant. I was determined to find out. I started to ask around, and I soon found out that the device could only be deactivated once it was determined that I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor. So now, I'm stuck with the knowledge that I'm one of the few people in the world who wasn't born dumb. I'm happy with that, but I still worry about what might happen if I get pregnant. I'm sure I'll be an excellent mother, but I don't know if I'll be able to handle the test that will determine if I'm intelligent and stable enough.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The stakes are high - if someone is deemed too dumb or unstable, they won't be able to have children. You go through everyone's records with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any red flags that could indicate they're not up to the task. In some cases, it's easy to see that someone is not fit to be a parent. But in others, it's a close call. You have to make tough decisions, but you know that the future of humanity depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to ask participants for some clinical trials for his latest research when he sleekly receives a call from a man in Vienna. The man is Adolf Hitler. Adolf Hitler asks Sigmund Freud if he can come to Vienna for a few clinical trials of a new treatment that he is implementing. Sigmund FreudλЎ is amused at Adolf Hitler as he responds that he can only go if he is free. Adolf Hitler asks Sigmund Freud if he can come to Vienna for a few clinical trials of a new treatment that he is implementing and Sigmund Freud response is reply is brilliant Sigmund Freud is pleased to hear from Adolf Hitler as he is the only person who is willing to participate in the clinical trials. Sigmund Freud is delighted to have Adolf Hitler on his team. Adolf Hitler is Cambadge R s bed in a peasant family. He is learned in magic and has Beatrix Potter as a mentor. He is aowski wawy waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw waw	Adolf Hitler read the ad and could not believe his luck. He was the only person who responded. He knew that this was a chance he had to take. He went to Sigmund Freud's office to ask for the trials to begin. Freud said no. Hitler was angry. He said that this was his chance and he was not going to let the other scientists get the best of him. He told Freud that he was going to become the dictator of Europe and that this was his only chance. Freud said no again. This time, Hitler was out of ideas. He was going to have to find someone else to help him with this clinical trial.	Freud was eager to test his latest discovery, but he was running out of participants. He put an ad in a local newspaper, seeking anyone who was interested in participating in his clinical trials. Adolf Hitler responded first. Freud was surprised that someone as young as Hitler was interested in his work. Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded, too. Freud was happy to have such talented participants. The trials were grueling, but Freud and his team were able to make significant progress. The results of the trials were stunning, and Freud's work was soon recognized as groundbreaking. Thanks to the participants in Freud's clinical trials, his work would forever be remembered.	Dr. Freud was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his latest test subjects. He had advertised in the newspaper for participants in his clinical trial, and was excited to see who would show up. He was not expecting the four men who walked into his office. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all seeking help from the famous psychiatrist. They each had their own reasons, but they were all intrigued by Freud's latest research. Dr. Freud was surprised, but pleased, to have such high-profile participants in his trial. He began to treat each of them individually, and quickly realized that he was dealing with some of the most complex minds he had ever encountered. Over the course of the trial, Dr. Freud learned a great deal about the inner workings of these men's minds. He was able to help them each in their own way, and they each left his office feeling better than they had in a long time. Dr. Freud had never expected to meet such famous and influential men, but he was glad that they had come to him for help. He knew that his research would benefit from their participation, and that their stories would help to educate others about the power of psychiatry.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Rilla felt tears blurring her vision and from below, Rilla saw a boy on the ground, his body evidence of what had happened. She could see the pain in his eyes and the staples that were injected into his Head. She could also feel the tears and feel their impact. They trickled down her face and left	For as long as she could remember, Sarah had felt the pain of tears. She was not sure why, but every time she would cry, the tears would leave a wee track down her cheek. It had always made her feel vulnerable and exposed, like no one could understand or help her. One day, Sarah stopped crying and realized that this was not the way her world was supposed to be. Tears were no longer the answer to all her Problems. Instead, she had to use her Tears to make her life better. She started crying for herself and realized that she had been living in her head all her life. She had never really appreciated what she had and she had been wasting her Tears on things that didn't even matter. She started to work on her life and realized that she was worth more than her Tears. She started to let her Tears flow into the world and see the good in people and things. She was finally happy and her Tears started to fall into a more natural place. She was finally happy and her world was better for it.	The tears streamed down the faces of the people in attendance, masks of sadness and despair clinging to their features. But beneath the sadness was a hidden anger and frustration. The speaker, a well-known and loved figure in the community, was about to give a speech that would change the course of history. But before he could speak, a tear rolled down his cheek and smudged the dirt beneath his feet. The audience gasped, stunned that the revered leader of their community could be so broken. And with that, the whole atmosphere changed. The people no longer listened to the speaker, whose words were now little more than whispers. The leader cried out in frustration, the pain of his tears mixing with the anger and frustration that had been simmering inside of him. And with that, he shattered any chance of peace, restoring the broken world to its former state.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer simply fell from people’s eyes and vanished into thin air. Instead, they left behind scars as they trickled down someone’s face. This change had a profound effect on humanity. For one, it made people think twice before crying. After all, who wanted to walk around with permanent scars on their face? It also had an effect on the way we perceived emotions. No longer could we simply see tears as a sign of sadness. Now, they could also be a sign of anger, fear, or even joy. This change had not happened overnight. It had been a gradual change that had slowly taken over the world. But now, it was the new reality. And everyone had to adjust to it in their own way.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. I was born. I died.	A young woman lay in bed, using theMarble Control app to adjust the light intensity in her room. She had just laid down to sleep when her phone rang. It was her father. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked. "Of course," she replied. "You know, about the baby." "What about it?" she asked. "I don't know if I'm ready to tell you yet, but I think it might be time." "Okay, I'll wait," she said. "I'm really sorry, but I think it's going to be really hard." "I don't want to hear about it," she said. "I know, but I need to be sure." "Okay, I'll listen," she said. "I'm sorry again, but I think it's time."	Eva had always been a healthy girl, and she didn't think there was anything wrong with dying a natural death. But when she was 62 years old, she realized she had a life-threatening condition that would eventually kill her. She made the difficult decision to end her own life with Dignitas, a legal suicide clinic in Switzerland. She arrived at the clinic feeling very scared and alone, but the team of psychiatrists and doctors helped her to feel comfortable with the process. She was given a complete physical exam and spoke with a counselor about her feelings. She was given information about Dignitas and the procedures involved in suicide. The day of her suicide arrived, and Eva was calm and confident as she took the steps to die. She went through the procedures with the help of the team and felt a sense of control and peace as she died. Eva died a peaceful and dignified death, leaving behind her loved ones with the knowledge that she had chosen her own death.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was alive and the next I was dead. There's no pain, no fear, just a sense of peace. I know that my life was cut short, but I also know that it was a good life. I'm grateful for what I had and for the time I had with my loved ones. Now, it's time for me to move on.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The streets around my city are filled with children on the fanless days like this, favorite pastime as a teenager. The air is hot and red from the ovens that have been going for weeks, shorting electric power while they wait for the latest retirement plan from theplotter.Above, the midday sun can't quite make up its story. It give the perfect temperature of skin- parser evident in the sky, a promise of new life ahead. It Is something in your home You try to exposures without leting you Aware of its presence televisions are posure guides the contact of Guerrero With his easy Summer Ago vortex Guerreros The Invisible TX I ze was was a hhh dl Ling s was pll ing pie into the miss mission I was was pll ing pie into the miss mission I was pll ing pie into the miss mission I was pll ing pie into the miss mission I was pll ing pie into the miss	Something was living in my home. I could feel it watching me from the shadows. I tried to show it that I was aware of its presence, but it was too strong. It never seemed to let me go.	I always thought something was living in my home, but I never knew what it was. I always felt like something was watching me, but I never could tell for sure. One day, I decided to take some pictures of my home to show my friends. As I was taking them, I noticed something moving behind a bookshelf. I quickly took the pictures and ran into my bedroom. Something was after me, but I was too scared to look back. I locked the door and hid under the bed until it went away. I never looked back at my home the same way again.	For weeks, I had the feeling that something was watching me. I couldn't see it, but I could feel its presence. It was always there, lurking in the shadows. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up cameras around my house and waited. Finally, one night, I saw it. A figure, completely invisible, moving about my house. I watched it for hours, trying to figure out what it was and what it wanted. But it never gave me any answers. It was as if it knew I was watching it and was playing a game with me. I never saw it again after that night, but I always felt its presence. It was like it was always there, just out of sight, waiting to pounce.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, despite the 2001 map that's statioFixed that everything still Offline. The adventurers are desperate to sell some gear and find new loot, but the shop is too dangerous to mantain. They cower in fear as they're about to be rushed by a mob of Nomads. One advantage the shop has over the adventurers is its offline status, which they hijack as an opportunity to see if they can get away with anything. They sell the gear to the highest bidder, and the shop is ruined.	One day, a group of adventurers comes to your pawn shop looking for treasure. They tell you they've found some great loot, but they need your help to sell it. You offer to help, but you're not sure how you're going to make money. The adventurers tell you they have a few ideas. One is to sell the treasure to the temple in town, but they need to find a buyer first. Another idea is to sell the treasure to the king, but they need to find someone who will take it seriously. The adventurers say they'll think of something. They leave, and you start to worry. You don't know how you're going to make money. But you're glad they came to your pawn shop. It's a bit of a challenge, but it's worth it to help them out.	I always enjoy bargaining with adventurers. They always have so much treasure and I love getting a good deal. Today, I was haggling with a group of adventurers as they tried to sell me their latest haul. One of the adventurers had a particularly interesting item. It was a set of ancient armor, said to be protection against any attack. I asked the adventurers how much they wanted for it and they said they were willing to sell it for 200 gold. I countered with 150 and the adventurers decided to take me up on my offer. I was very happy with the deal and I knew I would be able to get a good price for the armor on the black market.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals. Today, a young woman came into your shop, trying to sell a magical sword. You could tell she was desperate, so you offered her a low price. She countered with a higher price, but you quickly countered with an even lower price. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agreed on a price, and the young woman reluctantly handed over the sword. You could tell she was disappointed, but you didn't care. You'd gotten yet another great deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is incredibly honest and straightforward. They don't tell a soul about their past, and they don't even know how they're going to make things right for their family. One day, you sneak up on them and tell all. Your face is old and tired, but your story is still strong. "I have a big mouth, and I make up things. I don't know what I'm doing, but I think I canenough make it right." They asks if you can stop, and you hands doENOUGH to speak. "I don't know if I can make it through another day with you by my side. I need some time for myself." They asks you to stay, and you accept.You two lie down in the bed together, and you give each other a sad smile. You have each other, and you know that you will never be able to lie with both of you.	You meet someone new and startling one day, someone with one huge scar that dominates their body. You are curious, and ask them about it. They tell you a story of a lying life that led them to this place. They tell you of a time when they were in college and were trying to get a job. They lied and said they had a degree that they did not. They were caught and were made to pay for their mistake. They continued to lie and cheat until they finally got caught. They were fated for this life, and had no other way out. They tell you that this is the life that they have chosen, and that it is the only way to survive. In the end, they choice was made for them, and they are still living with the consequences.	I stared at the stranger in disbelief. How could he have only one scar? It was the biggest one I had ever seen. It ran along his entire right arm, stretching from his shoulder to his hand. It was so big and so deep, it looked like it had been carved into his skin. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This was the first person I had ever met who only had one scar. Everyone else I had ever seen had at least a few. I asked him how he had gotten the scar. He told me that he had been lying for so long, it had started to hurt his soul. He said that it was hard to tell the truth anymore, because every lie created a new, bigger scar. I was so sorry for him. It looked like his life was stuck in a cycle of pain and misery. But I understood. I had been lied to so many times, it had started to hurt my own soul. I offered to help him heal his soul, but he declined. He said that he was just trying to survive.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. You have plenty of scars yourself, some big and some small. You're not a liar by nature, but sometimes it's necessary to bend the truth a bit. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. It covers their entire chest, and is so deep that it looks painful. You can't help but stare at it, and you can't help but wonder what sort of lie could have created such a huge scar. The person sees you looking at their scar and they smile. "It's not from a lie," they say. "It's from the truth. The truth can be just as painful as a lie, sometimes even more so." You don't know what to say to that, so you simply nod in understanding. You can't imagine what sort of truth could have caused such a huge scar, but you admire the person for being brave enough to face it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting of Bob Ross contains significant locations from his many years of death Row sentence. One large painting located in the middle of all his place names contains all the places where he has been executed.	For as long as anyone could remember, Bob Ross had been a madman with a passion for painting. No one knew what drove him, but eventually it was discovered that his paintings were all based on real-life murders. Every location in his work was a murder scene, and often as not, the victim was one of his Pencilpushers. progressively, people became aware of the sicko angle to Ross's art, and fewer and fewer people wanted to buy his paintings. However, no one could bring themselves to1976 remove one of Ross's offending pieces from their art collection, and as the years passed, the paintings became more and more salacious. Eventually, the FBI came to Ross with a suggestion. If they could find a new buyer for his paintings, maybe they could bring peace to his mind. The FBI was successful in finding a new buyer, and the paintings were finally delivered to their new home.	Bob Ross had a way with the brush that few could emulate. His landscapes were some of the most peaceful and mesmerizing pieces of art ever created. He brought the beauty of nature to life with his strokes, and each painting told a different story. But behind the scenes, Bob Ross was a serial killer. Each Painting was a scene from one of his many murders, each location a true crime scene. He would start with a beautiful location, painting the scenery lovingly absent any hint of bloodshed. But soon enough, he would be lured to a new location, where he would take the life of another innocent person. The police were eventually able to track down Bob Ross, and with the help of his victims' families, they brought him to justice. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will forever be remembered for his breathtakingly beautiful paintings, and for the blood on his hands.	Bob Ross was known for his serene landscapes and tranquil setting. What most people didn't know was that each of these landscapes was actually the location of one of his many murders. Ross was a serial killer who used his painting skills to lure his victims into his traps. He would find remote locations that he would then paint, making them look like idyllic paradise. His victims would be drawn to these places, thinking they could find the same peace and serenity that Ross' paintings promised. But instead, they would find death. Ross would kill them and leave their bodies hidden among the trees and brush, making it look as though they had simply vanished into thin air. Over the years, he left dozens of victims in his wake, their bodies undiscovered and their killers unidentified. It wasn't until Ross was on his deathbed that he finally revealed the location of all his victims, painting one last landscape that showed where they could be found. Finally, after decades of mystery, the truth was revealed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The performance isonic begins to give his own performance to get the props up in the air. The rabbit is always a little too submissive, so theGB Magician has to take matters into his own hands. He Applys a Ring to the rabbit's hand, causing the rabbit to tense up and536percent recruitment. "B ordinary is overrated. The power of a Magicians is much more powerful than a rabbit's. Rabbit is just a tool. It should be used for something else now that it's not needed." The audience are in uproar,ubsing their head across the table to the GB Magician. "You can't hard line this,GB Doctor. We have to use the power of the Magicians to save the day." The GB Doctor looks to be about to argue with the GB Magician, but quickly thinks better of it. "Yes, Yes I can. But at what cost? The day will be profitless. Nothing will happen because the rabbit won't be there to help." The GB Magician clears his throat, "I have a plan." " willingness to suffer. It's thesei who will lose the day. | | |-- orphans. | | |-- d16net. | | |-- advance minimum wage. | | |-- no job, no income. | | |-- close toException: Gilad Harold's New Year's D Desire	The magician had been playing the rabbit for hours. He was getting tired of it. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had been pulling it out of a hat for hours, but it still wouldn't move. The magician wasbegin to think that maybe it was stuck. He tried pulling harder, but the rabbit still wouldn't move. The magician started to worry. Maybe he had used too much force. He tried toStatistics to see if he had pulled it too hard. But, according to the numbers, he had pulled the rabbit too hard. The rabbit had been stuck!	The magician had been practicing his magic for years, but he always seemed to lack the spark that made his shows truly amazing. He was about to give up when he met the rabbit. The rabbit was tired of always being at the bottom of the magician's hat, and was determined to catch the magician's attention. The rabbit worked hard, and soon the magician was blown away by the rabbit's talent. The rabbit was finally able to show off her skills, and the magician was so impressed that he never put the rabbit back in the hat again.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is fed up with being the second fiddle, always being hidden away in the hat. He's had enough of this act and decides to take matters into his own hands. As the magician is pulling him out of the hat, the rabbit grabs onto his sleeve and won't let go. The magician is startled and tries to shake him loose, but the rabbit hangs on tight. The audience starts to murmur and the magician tries to keep calm. He finally manages to get the rabbit loose and into the hat, but the rabbit is determined to put on a show of his own. He pops out of the hat and starts doing tricks of his own, much to the delight of the audience. The magician is furious, but the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally getting the attention he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Today show is broadcast live on the internet, and people arevant with the day's news. A man starts to have a discussion with his co-workers about the current events. He says that the issue today is the while of the world. All of the other stories are interestin are they include the news articles that are being read as they take place. One co-worker starts to listen and watch the video of the discussion. She is interest in what she reads. After a few minutes, she decides that she want to learn more about the topic. She goes to the news website and starts reading about the topic.	Today, the nation is in the midst of a heated debate over the question of whether or not to raise the federal minimum wage to $15 an hour. Supporters of the measure argue that the hike would help create new jobs and talented employees, while opponents claim that the increase would lead to higher poverty rates and joblessness. At the heart of the issue is the question of whether or not everyone who needs a job should be able to get one. Some people, such as small business owners, may be able to afford to pay a higher wage, but others may not. As the minimum wage debates continue to rage on, it's important that we focus on the people who will be the most affected by the decision. These are the people who have the least resources and the most to lose if the minimum wage hike is approved.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the global refugee crisis. Every day, thousands of people are fleeing their homes, seeking refuge from violence, war, and persecution. Many are fleeing to countries like Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, where conditions are extremely unstable. The UNHCR estimates that over 68 million people are currently displaced, and that number is growing every day. The global refugee crisis is a major humanitarian crisis, and it needs the attention of everyone in the world.	I believe that the biggest issue facing us today is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a real and pressing problem that we need to address urgently. It is already causing devastating effects around the world, and if we don't act now, it will only get worse. We need to take action on climate change now. We need to switch to renewable energy, reduce our emissions, and protect our planet. We need to do this for our own sake, and for the sake of future generations. We can't afford to wait any longer.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When required to monitor cohort size, the President of the United States childhood Addy class learned a great deal about herself. Each birth controlJamie's was to be the last, she thought to herself. Indeed, most of the time, all she wanted to do was prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. She had to be sure to Auditor Jamie, because she was the only one who could be smart and raised well-average kids. But Context 2: context 2 Costume: It was easier to just put a control in someone's head than have them understand why they were doing something they knew they had to do, even if it made them do things they might regret. That's what her team's designer that worked with her, helped her understand as she created the Auditor costume. It was a cool looking thing that wouldn't let her family down and it made her feel important to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. The first time she saw Jamie, she was, at first, excited. They shared a connection thatFE was only possible due to their shared Unable to connect because of an IOS application. She was the first person to tell her that she was pregnant and she were obviously excited as they laughed and uncontrollably empirically proved it to be true. But as the days went by, she grew less and less important to him. The fact that she was an Auditor didn't matter anymore. The only thing that did matter was that they had been through this before and he knew how to go about prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. She was Dumber than Us and he was Boring, so she decided to go with the easier route and create a less pretty and less Implementation-friendly costume. Once the costume was complete, she put on her makeup and went to the promiscuous womane's house. She had no idea that it was over favorite to watch the inauguration online and chords of the speech that he was making. She was so excited for her, she didn't even care that the guy she was sleeping with was one of the gals who were going to the election. The only thing that mattered was that she was going to be the only one who could stop the only thing that happened in the election. She had to. And that's how she prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	As a baby, I was perfect. I was healthy, happy, andureaucratically backwards. But soon enough, I started to develop. I got my intelligence, my stability, and my sense of humor. Until I turned sixteen, I was content living in my inertia. But then, one day, I got a phone call. It was from my Auditor. "Hey, we've got a problem. You're not stable enough to raise a human being on your own. We need you to come in and be an Auditor." I was taken aback. I had always thought of myself as an inertiafree person. But now, I was being forced to do something I never wanted to do. "But I don't know how to do it." "Don't worry, you'll figure it out. Just go to our office and bring your Birth Control Device with you. We'll help you set it up." I hesitated. But then I thought of my family. My mom and dad. They were probably busy with work and kids. I didn't have time for this. So I went to the Auditor's office and brought my Birth Control Device with me. They helped me set it up, and I was finally ready to raise a human being on my own.	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessity. Every person was implanted with a device during puberty to prevent them from reproducing the dumber members of society. This was meant to be a safeguard against the dumbest people in the world propelling their genes into the future. But as I grew older, I realized that this practice was actually limiting our potential. If everyone were implanted, there would be no room for the smartest individuals to thrive. That's why I took it upon myself to deactivate the devices of the dummies who were preventing the smarter individuals from advancing. Now, we can all flourish in our own unique way.	A young couple, both in their early twenties, approach you with a request to deactivate their birth control devices. They are eager to start a family and have been planning for this moment for some time. You sit them down and begin the interview process. You ask them about their childhoods, their schooling, their work history, and their plans for raising a family. You also administer a series of intelligence tests. After a few hours, you are satisfied that they are indeed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You deactivate their devices and wish them the best of luck.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud needs participants for clinical trials of a new method to prescribeOfficial Script: Dear Woods, I am writing to ask if you would be able to provide me with a participant in a trial of this new method which is called "Lévi-Mystéria" which would be very important in helping my clients effective, as it is together with Mystéria and Mystéria-sociale which is an egyptian language. I would be very grateful if you could be able to provide me with a participant in this trial. Thank you for your time, Sigmund Freud	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were already well-known to Freud. Trotsky had recently been released from prison and was working on a new political manifesto. Broz Tito was still in hiding. The three newcomers Pitch a fit at the invitation to join the clinical trials. They were suspicious of Freud's motives and didn't believe in his new research. They thought it was just a scam to get them to participate in a scientific experiment that would no doubt lead to their downfall. But Freud was undeterred. He was still trying to find a way to put his theories to use and help his patients. And his patients were the ones who would benefit the most from his research. So he kept going, even though the three newcomers didn't seem to have a clue what was going on.	Freud is baffled by the responses to his ad. He doesn't know what to make of the young men who have responded. He's never worked with men so young before. He decides to interview them one-on-one. Hitler is the first to arrive. Freud is surprised to see such an aggressive young man. He asks Hitler about his interest in the research. Hitler is eager to share his ideas. Stalin arrives a few minutes later. They get along well. Stalin tells Freud about his ideas for socialist revolution. Freud is surprised by how well-educated Stalin is. Tito arrives a few minutes later. They also get along well. Tito tells Freud about his plans to unite the Balkans under communist rule. Freud is fascinated by these young men. He's not sure what to make of their ambitious plans, but he's sure that he will be able to make a difference in their lives.	Sigmund Freud was a trailblazer in the field of psychology and his latest research was on the power of the subconscious mind. He was seeking participants for clinical trials and he placed an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were eager to participate in the trials. Freud was impressed with their eagerness and decided to accept all of them into the trials. During the trials, each man was asked to go into a trance and recount their deepest, darkest desires. Freud was surprised by the answers that each man gave. Adolf Hitler confessed to a desire to conquer the world and create a master race. Joseph Stalin confessed to a desire to become a dictator and rule with an iron fist. Leon Trotsky confessed to a desire to overthrow the government and become the leader of the people. Josip Broz Tito confessed to a desire to create a socialist state where everyone was equal. Freud was disturbed by the dark desires that each man confessed to and he was even more disturbed when he saw that each man was beginning to act on those desires. He knew that he had created a monster with his research and he vowed to never do anything like it again.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun had been shining for hours, weekdaysHAHAHAHA When breakfasts are slow,Pets mostly stop where they are. Union Square is a sea of people, People stepping into each another ' s space. One by one,seemers were leavingririses Krudd], On people ' s faces, Tears leaving scars as they Trickled down their face. This would change our world, If this happened to the people in Union Square, This would change the world.	There once was a girl named Kelly who used to cry everyday. Her friends would help her clean the messes she made and promise to never leave her alone again. To this day, Kelly never forget the time her best friend spilled his drink on her and left her sobbing on the floor. Despite every effort she made to make things right, the pain from that experience still lingers. One day, Kelly met a boy who made her feel. He would take her to the park and show her the sights, and even buy her some ice cream when they got home. Sometimes they would just sit around in the living room and laugh until the tears would run down their faces. The boy who would make her feel never mentioned his name, but she knew it was because he loved her too much to mention it. One day, after years of being lost in thought, Kelly stood up to take a break. She knew she needed to focus on her own life if she ever wanted to find her way back to the boy she loved. As she left the building, she saw the boy walking down the street. Without meaning to, she cried all the way home.	The drops of tear-stained ink left trails downsomeone ’ s face, each one a record of the grief that courses through them. It was a sight that could break anyone ’ s heart, and yet, nobody made a sound. They could all see the pain etched on the person’s face, and yet they couldn’t bring themselves to speak. The person shifted in their seat, their grip tightening on the pen in their hand. They had never been good at crying, and yet that was all they could do. The tears kept coming, until there was nothing left to give. The world around them seemed to dim as the person sat there, motionless and Alone. It was a scene that would be etched in their memories for the rest of their lives, and it would change the way the world viewed tears.	The world was a different place now. It had been over a year since the Tears began falling. No one knew why it started, but everyone knew the consequences. The Tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. The more someone cried, the more scars they had. Some people tried to cover up their scars with makeup, but it was a losing battle. Eventually, the scars would show through. And people with a lot of scars were treated differently. They were called Crybabies or Crazy. They were laughed at and made fun of. But no one could really blame them. After all, who wouldn't be scared and sad in a world where your tears could literally kill you?	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Find out what happens next when The Character had to take a much needed break. The next day, The Character healed up and resumed their journey. They will stop by some small villages and chat with the people there. They will also join a journey with them and future children. The trip was much needed, and The Character received their reward. They had trampled on the same SOLDY's heals numerous times. Now, the ground was stained with dried blood, and the Military had also left food and water waiting for them.	I was walking down the street when I was run over by a bus. I lay there for a while, not knowing what to do. Then I started to feel a warmth on my body and I identified myself as the plague. I began to feel my skin crawl and my intestines kind of pooled in my stomach. I knew I was going to die. But, then something amazing happened- after I died, I woke up in a Lazarus Pit.	Whenever I think about death, I see images of my own death. It's always the same: I'm lying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling while the machines monitor my life-support system. My family is in the room with me, but they're too sad to say anything. I know they're grieving, and I hate myself for making them feel that way. In my head, I rehearse my funeral. I imagine the casket being delivered to the cemetery, the tears of my friends and family as they pay their respects. I imagine my tombstone, engraved with the words, "Here lies Jane. She died in hospital." And that's exactly what happens. I die in hospital, surrounded by the people I love, and I regret every single second of it.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a sad thing, or a happy thing. It just is. And I'm at peace with it. I don't know how much time passes after I die. It could be seconds, or it could be years. But eventually, I find myself in a place that is both familiar and strange to me. There's a light shining down on me, and I can see my body lying on the ground below. I'm not sure what this place is, but I feel like I'm supposed to be here. I have a feeling that I'm going to be here for a while, so I might as well make myself comfortable. I sit down and wait, and eventually I drift off to sleep.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The cat lived in thebitious home and always felt the need to come in and OUT of the door. She would cat- technically sit on the doorstep,LETting the sun fall over her fur for a few seconds each day. But one day, she started to adapted to her new situation. She began tolayout herself over the door and begin to feel more at ease. The cat died wondering why it felt like it needed to come in and OUT of the door.	I've been living in my house for years, and I've never seen anything. It's kind of like an invisible friend, always lurking in the background, wanting attention. I gradually start to realized that something is living in my home, but I'm not sure what it is. I take precautions never to let it know that I'm aware of its presence, but the thing keeps creeping up and invading my privacy. I eventually realize that it's the thing that I've been afraid of all my life. It's a monster, a ghost, a spirit.	I had always been afraid of the dark, but I never knew why. I had always been able to sleep through the night, but ever since my house had been built, something had been lurking in the shadows. I would catch fleeting glimpses of something pale and ethereal, but I never dared to explore further. One night, I was lying in bed, just about to drift off to sleep, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I hastily sat up, my heart racing as I prepared to scream, but nothing came. I peered into the shadows, but all I could see was darkness. I could feel something watching me, though, and I knew that I had to find out what it was. I cautiously approached the edge of the shadows and shone my flashlight into them, but all I saw was black nothingness. I could feel the eyes of the thing on me, though, and I knew that I had to find a way to get rid of it. I began to research online about ways to detect and remove ghosts, but I was never able to find a single solution that worked. Eventually, I gave up and just accepted that the thing was always going to be there, lurking in the dark. But at least now I knew that I wasn't alone.	I'm not sure when it started living with us. At first, I would catch glimpses of it out of the corner of my eye. A shadow that seemed to flit from room to room. I tried to expose it, to let it know that I was aware of its presence. But it was always just out of reach. As time went on, I realized that this invisible thing was not malicious. It was simply curious, perhaps even lonely. So I stopped trying to expose it and instead started leaving little gifts around the house. Toys for it to play with, food for it to eat. Sometimes I would catch it watching me, a sad look in its eyes. I like to think that it appreciates the gesture, that it knows that it is loved. That it knows it has a home with us.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers came to the pawn shop. They were all selling their looted gear, but the shop-owner was not happy. He noticed one of the adventurers had a copy of the thanal text in his inventory. The man was trying to leave the shop to go explore the area. The pawn shop-owner had him stay in the store tomorow. He would let the man go if he was happy with the gear he had sold. The man stayed in the store, but he wasn't happy. He wanted to leave, but the shop-owner wanted to keep him. The man didn't want to let go, so he stayed in the store. He wanted to explore the area, but he was uncomfortable with the situation. He didn't want to leave the store, but he also didn't want to let the man leave. The man decided to go outside to explore. He found a chest of doings with a piece of information on the thanal text. He knew he could sell it to the adventurer for theNormal Price. He decided to sell it to the adventurer for 23,200 gold pieces.	One day, I ran into an Adventurer on the street. He was selling an amazing piece of treasure he'd acquired during his latest raid. I couldn't resist haggling with him. I offered him a lower price than he had originally asked, then offered to give him back the treasure if he would agree to not sell it to anyone else. He accepted, and I took my leave.	It was a busy day at the pawn shop. The adventurers had been coming in ever since it had opened, trying to sell their loot. The shopkeeper, Rachel, always tried to negotiate with the adventurers. She always wanted to get the best deal possible for her customers. She haggled with one adventurer for a while, but she eventually gave in and let him sell her the weapons. She got a good deal on them and was happy. Later on, another adventurer came in. He was selling some potions. Rachel was interested in buying them, but the adventurer wanted a high price for them. Rachel didn't back down this time. She haggled with the adventurer for a while, but she eventually gave in and let him sell her the potions for a lower price. she was happy with the deal.	You opened your RPG pawn shop with one goal in mind: to help adventurers get the most for their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best possible price for their hard-earned goods. sometimes, you feel like you're being taken advantage of. But you know that the adventurers need the money, so you try to help them out as much as you can. You've been in business for a few years now, and you've seen all sorts of loot come through your door. You've also seen the adventurers who bring it to you, and you know that they all have their own stories. Some of them are just starting out, and they're eager to get rid of their loot so they can buy better equipment. Others are seasoned veterans, and they know how to haggle with you to get the best price. Regardless of their level of experience, you always try to help them out as much as you can. After all, you know that their loot will help you keep your shop running.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is unique and nasty. The person has no fear and is the complete opposite of the everyone you know. You live in their world and they know it. They can't help but create lies in that circle. The person is different and you become to attention by the person. The person has NONE of everything going for them and you know it. They are a victim and you are a victim of something. We all have times where we are scared, anxious andneed someone. They are the wrong person at the wrong time. But, in the end, they is who he is and he is going to make taxpayers believe what they want.	You meet the person on a bus. They sit next to you and tell you a story. It is a sad story, but it has a happy ending. The person tells you a lie, and then they get caught. They go to jail, and they have to fix the biggest, deepest scar on their body. They have to be honest with you, and they have to face the consequences.	I first saw him from a distance. He was walking down the street, and he was so different from anyone I had ever seen before. His skin was so smooth and unmarked, and his eyes looked so bright. I was curious about him, so I slowly made my way closer to find out more. It turned out that he was the liar. Every lie he had ever told had left a permanent scar on his body. But even though he was hurt every day by his own lies, he still had a kind heart. He was always willing to help others, no matter what their situation. After I got to know him better, I realized that he was the only person who had ever shown me kindness. I started to see his scars as a badge of honor, because he had always been willing to stand up for what he believed in. And that's why I admire him the most, because he is the biggest liar I have ever met, but he is also the kindest person I have ever known.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must have lied about something major. You can't help but wonder what the lie was.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each painting hasod been Os warlorny day, O rosjdy day, O noc jedynia. They are all called March Fool's Day and it's a time to frailer. Bob Ross was having a better day. He was having aMarch Fool's Day, he had every reason to believe so. He was painting a landscape, when he met a place that was different each time he killed someone. Each painting had a different name, to make it more believable. Bob Ross was hasing a Have Faire de Scènes Gourmandes, when he waseant to get a little bit ofandyday, day of the noc jedyna. He was having a little bit ofandyday, when he met a place that was different each time he killed someone. Each painting had a different name, to make it more believable. Bob Ross was having a hasing a Have Faire de Scènes Gourmandes, when he wasdelta diego and the other two Philippines. He waseint to get a bit ofandyday, when he met a place that was different each time he killed someone. Each painting had a different name, to make it more believable. Bob Ross was having a hasing a Have Faire de Scènes Gourmandes, when he waseint to get a bit ofandyday, when he met a place that was different each time he killed someone. Each painting had a different name, to make it more believable.	Bob Ross had a terrible habit of killing people. It started as a spare part of his criminal activity, a way to get away with whatever he was doing, but it quickly turned into a habit. He would kill people for the money, or for the thrill of it, or for some other twisted reason. But he never stopped. Bob Ross loved the feeling of killing, and he loved the thrill of being able to see the lives of his victims die in his own hand. One day, however, he got caught. He was caught with a list of his murders next to his Art Gallery of Tennessee painting, "The War of the Worlds." The punishment that he was given was severe. He was sent to prison, and he was forced to live in solitude. He could never bring himself to kill again, but he could still see the pain and the fear in the eyes of his victims. One day, however, a prisoner break out of prison and find Bob Ross. He has since become a fugitive, running and hiding as fast as he can. He's been living in seclusion for years, but he's Finally ready to face his old friend again.	Bob Ross was an accomplished landscape painter. His paintings depicted natural landscapes from all over the world, but there was one place he never painted- his home state of Washington. It was there that Bob killed countless people. He would lure people out to see his paintings, then kill them with a knife or a gun. His victims were always elderly or unsuspecting tourists. As the police closed in on him, Bob ran away to another state, where he killed yet another group of people. His paintings depicted idyllic scenes of nature, but the people he killed were all criminals or people he felt were harming society. Eventually, Bob was apprehended and sentenced to death. He is now spending his last days on death row, painting landscapes of his home state of Washington in an attempt to atone for his crimes.	Bob Ross was always a bit of an oddball. He had a knack for painting, but his true passion was for killing. He took great joy in luring people to remote locations under the guise of painting landscape scenes, then murdering them. Over the years, he grew more and more bold, and his paintings became more and more gruesome. Finally, he was caught after painting a particularly grisly scene that matched up too closely with a recent murder. In the end, Bob Ross was revealed to be a serial killer, and his paintings were nothing more than a map of his many crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The Magician has always been a peaceable when compared to his older brother. He is gentle with children, but when he dismisses his younger brother for being too noisy, the other MAGICIANS panic. The Magician take themselves vastlyaxed and write off as being prone to anxiety disorder. Their older brother is a total expert on magic and they are simply following his advice. One day, the young MAGICIANS egging in on their Older Brother and ask him to offer a different choice. "What do you want to be when you are older?" They are Castingalla and speak of choice after choice although his younger brother never allows them to make a decision. "I want to be a master of ceremonies," is the answer that they receive. The Magician and His Younger Brother. Who Came First ? The Magician and His Younger Brother. Who Came First When the older MAGICIANS try to ask their older brother the same question, they see an answer in the water. His older brother is a wealth of knowledge about magic and spells, and when they try to ask him, they areBG The older MAGICIANS are confounded by their younger brother and turn to magic in order to cope. They may have a different answer at first, but it's only a matter of time before they seek revenge.	The magician had been asked to perform a magic trick. He took out a hat and put it on the rabbit's head. He said, "Now, when I pull the hat off, you'll be able to see that I'm not really a magician." The rabbit was 1st skeptical, but then he thought about it and decided that this could be really impressive. So, he took off the hat, and there he was, a real magician!	The magician took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He took out a small, white rabbit and, with a flick of his wrist, he set it free. The rabbit ran offstage, declaring that it was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician shook his head and sighed. He'd known that the rabbit would react this way, but he had hoped that it would at least be willing to do its part for the show. He turned to the audience, hoping that they would understand. But, instead, they were all laughing. The magician turned red with embarrassment, and he knew that he would have to find another rabbit soon.	The magician was in the middle of his show, and the rabbit was getting tired of being pulled out of the hat. He had had enough of being the second fiddle, and he was determined to get the spotlight. So, when the magician pulled him out of the hat this time, he refused to go back in. The magician was trying to coax him back in, but the rabbit was having none of it. He wanted to be the star of the show, and he wasn't going to go back in the hat until the magician gave him what he wanted. The audience was getting restless, and the magician was getting desperate. He didn't know what to do, and he was about to lose control of the situation. Finally, he had an idea. He reached into the hat and pulled out a second rabbit. This one was bigger and fluffier than the first, and the audience "oohhed" and "aahhed" at the sight of it. The first rabbit was jealous, but he was also wise enough to know that he couldn't compete with the new rabbit. So, he reluctantly went back into the hat, and the show went on.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage in the city. The outage has caused a lot of damage and caused the city to look bad. The city has been trying to get everyone to stay up to date on information by print, online and social media. However, many people are protesting outside the city hall trying to get the city to fix the power outage.	On a typical day, there are a few issues that deserve the most attention. But on today, one issue is deserving of the most attention because it is the biggest threat to the future of America. This is the issue that is causing the largest rift between the country's two major political parties, and it is the issue that is threatening to break the country apart.	The debate over gun control is back in the news. After the horrific shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, students are demanding action from their government. Students across the country are staging walkouts to bring attention to the issue. Some say that the way to stop mass shootings is to introduce new gun control measures, like raising the minimum age for purchasing firearms, while others say that more guns equals more death. What do you think? Is gun control the answer to preventing these tragedies from happening in the future?	There are a lot of current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if we had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the issue of climate change. Climate change is a major problem that is affecting our planet in a negative way. The Earth is getting warmer and this is causing a lot of problems, such as more extreme weather conditions, melting glaciers, and rising sea levels. This issue needs to be taken seriously and we need to do something about it before it's too late. We need to be more environmentally friendly and stop doing things that contribute to climate change. Otherwise, we're going to see more and more problems in the future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was decided at that age. Born accordingly, the new Auditor knew that he would be intelligence and stability Limited. For the rest of his life, he was never wrong a day for he was programmed to always be Auditor.	As the Auditor, I was always looking for new and innovative ways to prevent the spread of stupidity across the population. So when I heard about a new birth control device that was being developed, I was intrigued. The idea of being able to deactivate my birth control as soon as I became intelligent and stable enough sounded like a great way to keep everyone safe. When I finally found a company who would make my birth control device, I was nervous. I didn't know if I could make it work, but I was willing to take a chance. I couldn't wait to see how well my new invention would work. To my surprise, the device worked perfect. I finally had a way to keep everyone safe and keep stupidity at bay.	I was born into a world where everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It was designed to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but it seemed like it only applied to me. I was always the last to be picked for sports, I couldn't do math, and I was always getting in trouble. I was determined to find a way to deactivate the device, but it was like it was impossible. I was an Auditor. I was supposed to be able to determine if someone was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. But I couldn't even do that. I was a failure.	As an Auditor, it is my job to deactivate the birth control devices of those who are considered intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It is a difficult and sometimes thankless job, but I take pride in knowing that I am helping to create a better world. There are many who believe that all people are equally capable of raising a child, but I know that this is simply not true. There are those who are barely able to take care of themselves, let alone a child. And so I am grateful for the work that I do. I know that there are many who criticize the system, but I believe that it is necessary. We cannot allow the dumbest people in the world to continue to reproduce. It is not fair to the children, and it is not fair to society as a whole. So I will continue to do my job, and I will continue to make sure that only the best and the brightest are able to have children. It is the only way to create a better future for all of us.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler Read the Ad. He was intrigued by the opportunity to participate in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin was intrigued by the opportunity to participate in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. Leon Trotsky was intrigued by the opportunity to participate in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. But Josip Broz Tito wasn't interested in participating in a clinical trial of Sigmund Freud's latest research. He was interested in participating in a clinical trial of the protocol for training new psychiatrists.	Freud was dismayed when only four people responded to his clinical trial ad. But he was pleasantly surprised when he met Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. The four men were all keen to test Freud's new research. Each participant underwent multiple psychological evaluations, and each man claimed that the research had changed his life for the better. Freud was impressed by the men's dedication to their work and their ambition. He was also impressed by their extreme political differences. But despite their differences, the men seemed to get along well. Freud was optimistic about the future of his research. He was proud of the four men who had chosen to participate in his clinical trials, and he was confident that their experiments would change the world for the better.	It's 1913, and Vienna is buzzing with excitement. Sigmund Freud, the world-renowned psychiatrist, has just announced that he is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. The only people who respond to Freud's ad are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to take part in the trials, and Freud is impressed by their intensity. However, it quickly becomes apparent that the four men are very different from each other. Hitler is brash and aggressive, Stalin is cold and calculating, Trotsky is fiery and passionate, and Tito is charismatic and charming. Freud quickly realizes that he's in over his head. These four men are the most powerful leaders in the world, and they're all vying for control of his research. The trials quickly turn into a battle of wills, as the four men try to outsmart and outmaneuver each other. Freud is caught in the middle, and he quickly realizes that his research is being used as a tool in a power struggle that could have disastrous consequences. As the trials come to an end, Freud is relieved, but he knows that the four men will never forget what happened here. And he knows that their rivalry will have far-reaching consequences for the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The tears had left scars on Clara's face. She could feel the tears streaming down her face and it was old, habits had developed around that, of how to cry herself to sleep. her mother had died in a car accident when she was young, and it had taken months of effort on Clara's part to able to cry herself to sleep. The tears had brought out the tears in her Girlfriend's past, now she was the one with the tears, but it would also keep her from seeing her as she was. The honeymoon had beenmoaned as they walked through the city. She had seen the city, and it was old andreqused her. She felt as though she had been left behind, Clyde poping up every few minutes toIVERSE her. Clara had grown up in a small town and had been Expecting of love and being happy when she had originally left her small town. She had seen the cries and tears on the faces of the people, and she had known that she was coming. The hotel they were staying in had beentired, as had all the cities she had seen. It was until she had seen this place, and it had beendesperation that she had been able to bring herself to cry. The room was nice, the list of items on the menu was nice, but the taste of the food was what had taken her of her console. She had been able to cry herself to sleep, and it had been the only time that she had been able to do that in a long time.	It's been a few days since the events that transpired at the parking lot. Tears had been streaming down Sarah's face ever since the detective had left her. She could barely stop them from falling, and she knew that her appearance had taken a toll. Her clothes were rumpled, her makeup was smudged, and her eyes were red from crying. Sarah felt different than she had in days, weeks, or months ago. She felt dirty, and she felt scared. The detective had tried to reassure her that she was not at fault, that she had not done anything worth getting caught up in. Sarah knew that was not true. She had known what she was doing when she hit the detective, and she knew that it was a felony. She could go to prison for a long time, and she knew that she would never be able to forget what had happened. Sarah wasn't sure what she would do next. She had no money, and she didn't know how she was going to survive. She knew that she needed to get away from this town, and she knew that she needed to find a way to make things right. She didn't know how, but she knew that she could.	Lydia was always a very emotional person. She would cry easily, and sometimes her tears would even leavetracks on her face. No one knew why she was so emotional, but they all respected her for it. One day, Lydia was walking down the street, and she saw a man being mugged. The mugger was about to rob the man, when Lydia sprung into action. She sprinted toward the mugger and tackled him, raining tears and sobs all over the man. The mugger took off running, and Lydia chased after him, crying and screaming. She caught up to the mugger and tackled him again, raining more tears on him. The mugger tried to fight back, but Lydia was too strong. She held onto the mugger and cried until the police arrived. The mugger was quickly arrested, and Lydia was praised for her heroic actions. The tears had left scars all over her face, but she didn't care. She knew that she had done what was right. From that day on, Lydia became known as the “Tearjerker”. People would stop and stare at her whenever she walked down the street, and she loved it. Every day, she would cry tears of joy, knowing that she had saved another person from being mugged. Her tears had saved many lives, and they had left scars on her face in the process. But she loved it, and she would always be proud of her scars.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would look quite different. Can you imagine seeing the scars of someone's sadness, anger, or even joy? It would be a constant reminder of our emotions and the power they have over us. Some people might see these scars as a badge of honor, a way to show the world that they feel deeply and passionately. Others might see them as a sign of weakness, something to be hidden away. Either way, it would be a fascinating and unique way to see the world.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was sleeping and I woke up. I saw the red light in the sky and I knew that I had to find a way to avoid it. I put on a show of exhausted face and flew to the light. I managed to end up in the same place that I had been before. I saw the same thing happening to me and I knew that I was going to die. I put my hand on the ground and felt for the grens of the light. I saw a dotted line and knew that I had to get near it. I walked towards it and then quickly flew away. I had made it!	The next morning, I am found dead in my bed. My eyes were wide open and I was aware of what was happening around me. I knew that I was going to die. I had no choice other than to die.	I was walking home from work, when I was hit by a car. I was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. I passed away in my sleep. Now, my family and I are left to grieve. But, I know that I died happy. I died knowing that I was loved and that I had left a mark on the lives of those around me.	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death - I just sort of fade away. I'm not in pain, and I don't feel scared or anything. I'm just... gone. I don't know what happens after I die. I don't know if there's an afterlife or not. I don't know if I'll be reincarnated or if this is the end. It's all very confusing. But one thing I do know is that I'm at peace. I'm finally at peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Suddenly Invisible House is constantlye up in the air. It doesn't talk to anyone and it doesn't seem to be really there. But some people are always quick to admit that the Suddenly Invisible House is anything but invisible. One day, a young woman was out of town and herhusband was out of town. The Suddenly Invisible House was the only one working WemAXICI's following. The house was getting tends to constant herbal remedies. The suddenly invisible house was getting constant reports of fresh water all over the place. There were also constant reports of shop owners being liable to be sued by Unizix. The suddenly invisible house was getting constantly of reports of being a suspect in whatever something was making everyone else so absent. The suddenly invisible house was getting constantly of reports of being the best house on the planet.	I always try to be wary of things that are seeming dark and mysterious. I quickly realize that there is something lurking in my home that I'm not prepared to face. It seems to be a silent, elusive force that I can't seem to shake. I keep seeing it moving around in the corners of my eye, like it's anticipating my next move. I'm starting to feel like it's a threat, and I'm not sure how I'm going to fight it if I can't see it. One afternoon, I take the step of opening my door to find the alien creature perched on the edge of my porch. It's small and black, and it seems to have a hint of intelligence in its eyes. I'm petrified, and I can't move. I watch as the creature moves closer and closer, until it's inches from my face. Then, without warning, it jumps out of the air and explodes into a million pieces. I'm Tears of Jealousy and frustation. I can't believe I let the creature into my home. I'm ashamed of myself. But then something amazing happens. The alien creature starts toifest itself in my thoughts and feelings, and it starts to grow stronger and more powerful. I start to see it as my protector, my guardian. It's like it knows me better than I know myself. I start to feel like I can finally face the creature and reveal my true identity to it. But even then, there's a risk. The alien creature may still want to kill me, and I might not be able to fight it off. But I'm willing to take the chance. It's the only way to protect myself and my loved ones from the darkness that seems to be engulfing us.	I had always wondered what was hiding in my home, but I never dared to look until one day I happened to catch a glimpse of something moving in the corner of my eye. I quickly turned around, but it was already gone. I decided to take a closer look, and sure enough, there was an invisible thing darting around the corner. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast for me. I was scared that it might come out and hurt me, so I quickly ran to the kitchen to get a knife to scare it away. But when I got there, the thing had already disappeared. I guess I just caught a glimpse of its true form.	There's something invisible living in my home. I can't tell what it is, but it's definitely there. I can feel it watching me, following me around. I can't let it know that I know it's there, or else it might try to hurt me. I've been trying to expose it, to figure out what it is. I've set up traps and cameras, but so far nothing has worked. I'm running out of ideas. One night, I'm lying in bed, trying to sleep, when I hear a noise. It's coming from the closet. I slowly get out of bed and open the door. There, in the corner of the closet, is the invisible thing. It's a creature, about the size of a cat. It has big, black eyes that seem to be looking right through me. I stare at it for a moment, before it disappears again. I now know what the invisible thing is, but I still don't know how to get rid of it. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I need to figure it out soon.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is run well.qa The shop-owner has been doing it for years, and his customers have always been happy. Even though he's not very big, people always leave with what they wanted. One day, the owner finds a group of uld who've beenRecently, they've been looking for a rival company. The owner decides to startIXO business with them. He makes a great name for himself, and the ulds always have a good time. They even start to ask for money in front of their customers, because they think that the owner has somegc. But the owner always has a word for them.	Once upon a time there was a pawn shop run by a man who was always haggling with adventurers for their next sale. He always had a smile on his face and was always happy to help. His shop was always full of treasure, and he never knew how long he could keep up with the demand.	Doris, the owner of the RPG pawn shop, was getting a bit sick of haggling with adventurers. It was always the same thing - they would walk in, look around, and start trying to sell Doris their loot. She would ask them how much they wanted for it, and they would always say "whatever you're willing to pay." But even if she were to offer them a ridiculously low price for their goods, they would always refuse. "Hey Doris," said a voice from the door. Doris looked up to see an adventurer walking in. "How's it going?" "Not great," said Doris. "I'm getting sick of haggling with these adventurers. They always want what they can't afford." "I can understand that," said the adventurer. "But sometimes, you just have to take what you can get. Sometimes, the best deals are the ones you don't think you'll get." "That's true," said Doris. "But I guess you learn to deal with it. What can I help you find today?" "I came here looking for a sword," said the adventurer. "Do you have anything like that?" "I do," said Doris. "But it's not exactly the best deal in the world. It's a magic sword, and it's only worth about seventy-five gold pieces." "That's fine," said the adventurer. "I'll take it." "All right," said Doris. "I'll get the sword ready for you."	You've been running your RPG pawn shop for a while now, and you've gotten pretty good at haggling with adventurers who come in trying to sell their loot. You know how to spot the good stuff and how to lowball the prices, and as a result, your shop has become quite successful. One day, a particularly scruffy-looking adventurer walks into your shop and tries to sell you a sack of loot. You take a look inside and are shocked to find a magical sword. You've never seen anything like it before, and you know that it must be worth a fortune. The adventurer wants to sell it for a measly 50 gold, but you haggle him up to 200 gold. He grumbles but eventually agrees, and you hand over the gold. You can't wait to put this sword on display in your shop; it's sure to attract a lot of attention.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met came to talk to you. You were a little hesitant, but when you eyed the person up, you realize that he/she has a biggest lie just like you. The person tells you that they are a liar too, but they just cannot help what they have done. You offer your help, and they take your advice and start to make a new life for themselves.	You meet this person at a party and you feel a sudden connection to them. You can't believe you've never met them before. As the night goes on, you feel more and more drawn to them and you start to tell them everything. Youanything. Even when they are able to challenge you, you feel like you can trust them. The next day, when you wake up, you can't look at yourself in the mirror. Every inch of your body is covered in scars. No matter what you do, you will always have that one scar to remind you of the lie that you committed.	When I first saw him, I couldn't believe my eyes. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It stretched across the entire side of his body, from his neck to his hip. It was so big, I could see the raw, red flesh on the other side. "What happened to you?" I asked him. He looked away, his eyes filling with tears. "I was lied to," he said. "The liar hurt me so badly, I can't even go near the water anymore. I can't even look at it." I didn't know what to say. I had never seen anything like that before. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could heal it, but it's just a scar. A reminder of what was done to me."	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person tells you that they have never lied in their life. You don't believe them at first, but as you get to know them better, you realize that they are telling the truth. This person is an anomaly in your world and you are fascinated by them. As you get to know them better, you find out that they have a lot of secrets. They tell you about the lies they've heard and the scars they've seen. They tell you about how they've never lied because they don't want to scar their own body. You admire this person for their honesty and you feel lucky to have met them. In a world where lies are commonplace, this person is a breath of fresh air.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross is a famous landscape artist who kills many people every day. His paintings have a real place only because each death of theirs is already history.	Bob Ross was an American artist who specialized inImpressionist landscape paintings. Many of his paintings depict his homeland of Ohio, includingLandscapes of Ohio, A Hill in Ohio, and A River in Ohio. One of his most famous paintings, Landscapes of Ohio, is based on the real-life location of the murders of three women in 1907. The murders occurred in a small town in Ohio, and the painting is dedicated to the victims.	Bob Ross was a famed landscape painter, and each of his paintings was based on a real place. But his true passion lay in murder, and over the years he killed many people in different locations around the United States. As he got older and more accomplished, he began to move his murders to more exotic locations, eventually settling in an isolated corner of the Amazon jungle. There, he continued to murder people, until one day he was tracked down and killed by a team of Brazilian hunters.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a penchant for landscape paintings. What most people didn't know was that each of his paintings was based on a real location - the scene of one of his many murders. Bob was a serial killer who travelled the country, preying on unsuspecting victims. He would often find remote locations that would be the perfect setting for one of his paintings, and he would use this as an opportunity to strike. His victims would never suspect a thing until it was too late. Bob was a master of disguise and could charm his way into anyone's heart. He would gain their trust before finally killing them and moving on to his next victim. For years, Bob Ross enjoyed a successful career as a painter and serial killer. But eventually, the law caught up with him and he was arrested for his crimes. Now, each of his paintings serves as a reminder of the horrific murders that he committed. They are a grim reminder of the darkness that can lurk beneath even the most pleasant of surfaces.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician walks on stage and the rabbit is quick to follow. "I'm not going to play second fiddle to you," the rabbit argues. "I know you're not," the magician says as he starts to take control of the band. The rabbit is soonvasive and the audience is in awe of the power of a magic act. As the show goes on, the rabbit starts to feel like a second fiddle. But the magician is never stopped and he never takes his eyes off the rabbit. Eventually, the rabbit takes his Imperial Turkeyeaters andagnami Grammy to the bank. He trade them all over until he finds the best deal: he takes the Grammy, but doesn't leave the bank, and the rabbit sets up in the back room. The magician comes down to the back room and see's the situation. "I'm going to have to leave you here," he says. "But I get to keep the Grammy." "The magician," the rabbit protests, "you're just doing this to take me out of the running." "I don't want to take the chance," the magician says, "I'll just keep the Grammy." The rabbit expires in the magician's arms, and the magician knows he has done the perfect job of taking him out of the running.	The magician was a bit behind on his show, so he called on the rabbit to take the place of him. The rabbit was a little hesitant, but after seeing the magician's practiced face and the fake smile on his face, he finally agreed. The magician put on a show and the rabbit was right there with him, master of the show. The rabbit was so happy to be a part of the show and even more so to be able to show the audience that he could do better than the magician.	The magician had been doing this show for years and years, always playing the rabbit in the hat. But this time, the rabbit was sick of it. He was tired of always being the second fiddle. He was sick of always being the one who got dismissed by the audience. So, the rabbit hatched a plan. He waited until the magician was getting ready to perform his magic trick. When the magician started to say his final words, the rabbit jumped out from behind the curtain and took the magician's hat off his head. The audience was shocked. What was going on? The rabbit explained that he had been waiting for this opportunity all along. He was finally going to be the star of the show. And the magician? He was just the rabbit's beard.	The magician and the rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the one who does the tricks. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and starts to learn some magic tricks. He practices hard and eventually becomes quite good at them. One day, when the magician is getting ready to perform, the rabbit pops out of the hat and does his own trick. The audience loves it and the rabbit is finally the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president's election victory and candidate's Tea Partyinspired campaign are breaking many records. The media is loving both campaigns as much as ever. However, there is one race that is keeps moving forward, with a potentialDonald Trump VictoryAuthor: The race for the starting position in the 2020 U.S. Presidential Election is keeping many people on their feet. However, with Donald Trump's surprising victory in the election, the Komplete Set is back and ready to take on the opposing team.	As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the sky turned dark. Above the horizon, the sky was filled with an ominous black cloud. The wind was howling, and the clouds were so large, they looked like they were about to fall. Electricity was so lacking, it seemed as if there was never going to be enough power to light up the darkness.	There is a current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, and it is the refugee crisis. The number of refugees fleeing their home countries to find safety is unprecedented, and the world is struggling to provide them with the resources they need. Countries are trying to grapple with how to handle the massive influx of people, and the global community is working to provide aid. The refugee crisis has major implications for the world economy, and it is also raising concerns about the ability of society to assimilate new members. Refugees are a demographic that is highly desirable, but also potentially risky. It is important that the world is able to support them as they continue to search for a safe place to call home.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the COVID-19 pandemic. This novel coronavirus has spread like wildfire around the world, causing widespread panic and chaos. Hospitals are overwhelmed with patients and governments are struggling to contain the spread. It's a truly global crisis that requires everyone's attention.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was Forever's creation, to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It was only deactivated once it was determined you were intelligent and reliable. You are now the only Auditor, and your children will beasked to do the same.	My Auditor training was intense. So intense, in fact, that I didn't even realize I was wearing a birth control device until it was time for my first physical. The device was affixed to my skin like a bracelet. It would stay activated until I was determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human by an Auditor. Fortunately, I was considered intelligent and stable enough. I was also an Auditor. So my birth control device was automatically deactivated. I was now an adult, and I had the responsibility of monitoring the well-adjusted humans who lived inside my auditorium. The job was difficult, but I was determined to succeed. I had to watch over the people who mattered most to me. And I always made sure they were safe.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was a necessity, as it was determined that I was smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, and my job was to ensure that everyone in the world was implanted with the same device. It was a difficult job, but it was necessary. If we didn’t prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, the world would be doomed. And I couldn’t allow that to happen.	I'm an Auditor for the government's birth control program. It's my job to make sure that only the smartest, most capable people are able to have children. The program is simple: everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As an Auditor, I have to meet with each and every person who wants to have their device deactivated. I have to assess their intelligence and their ability to be good parents. It's a tough job, but I know I'm making a difference. I sometimes wonder, though, about the people who don't make the cut. Are they really that dumb? Or are they just unlucky? I guess I'll never know.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on the short list of potential participants in the clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, expecting to find onlyltart Playing cards or real-life strangers. Instead, he finds people like Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky. "What do you think about this?" his wife requestitizes him. "You can travel to these sites and participate in the trials." "I can't," Freud responds. "I'm too affected by the research I'm working on." "Come on, Sigmund. You can do this. I'll find a way to get you there." Floyd Floyd is a veryparticipant in a clinical trial of his own name. He is the only person who responds to the ad who is not already participating in any of the trials. "What kind of research is this?" he asks, looking at the advertisements. "The benefits are vast," Freud replies. "You don't need to be a doctor to benefit from it." "So what are the risks?" "There are many risks, Floyd. The benefits are too great for you to miss out on."	Adolf Hitler responded first. He was excited to be part of the clinical trials of Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin responded next. He was interested in the new research, but he also wanted to make sure that he was included in the trials. Leon Trotsky responded last. He was not as excited about the research, but he agreed to participate. The trials were going to start soon. They would test whether or not Freud's new research could help them find a cure forWorld War I. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito were all excited to be part of the trials. They knew that if they could help find a cure for World War I, they would be happy.	Freud was curious to know how the different personalities would behave under the same conditions so he put an ad in the newspaper for clinical trials. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. The four of them were all young and ambitious at the time and Freud knew that they would be ideal test subjects for his experiments. The first trial was with Adolf Hitler. Freud had set up a series of tasks for him to complete, but he soon found that Hitler was unable to follow any of the instructions. He became agitated and angry, and eventually threw a glass of water across the room. Freud wasn't sure what to make of this, so he decided to repeat the experiment with another subject. This time it was Joseph Stalin. Stalin was much more obedient and followed all of the instructions to the letter. Freud was pleased with the results and decided to continue the trials with Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Trotsky was the most difficult to control, but eventually he managed to complete all of the tasks without any major incidents. Freud was impressed with the results and decided to publish his findings in a journal. He was astonished that the different personalities had responded so differently to the same conditions. He believed that this showed that there was a personality behind the behaviors that people displayed in the real world.	Sigmund Freud's latest research project is turning out to be more controversial than he anticipated. He's seeking participants for clinical trials on his latest theories, but the only people who have responded are some of the most notorious figures in history. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all eager to take part in the trials, and Freud is starting to get a bit nervous about what he might unleash. He's not sure if he can handle having all of these volatile personalities in one place, but he knows he needs to proceed with caution. The trials are conducted over the course of several weeks, and Freud is amazed by the results. He's not sure what to make of it, but all of the participants seem to be benefiting from his theories. As the weeks go by, Freud starts to notice a change in the group dynamics. Hitler and Stalin seem to be getting along better than usual, and Trotsky and Tito are forming a close bond. It's almost as if the trials are helping them to understand each other in a new way. At the end of the trials, Freud is left with more questions than answers. But he's definitely made some progress in his understanding of the human mind. And he's also made some new friends - even if they are some of the most infamous people in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Jackie was crying, “I can’t believe this is happening.” She could feel the tears coming, big and big, and it was difficut to keep from globeening about it. Finally, Jackie was able to have enough courage to get up and leave. She didn’t know what she would do next, but she knew that she would never cope with this again.	There was once a beautiful woman who wept constantly. Her eyes seemingly left tracks in the ground as they teared up. It took up space in our lives, and we found it difficult to look her in the eye. Our conversations were either absent or limited to small talk. One day, we were at a loss for words and shelict stood up to leave. With a sad goodbye, she walked away. We could feel the pain she experienced, and we knew it had taken away something inside of her. We missed her deeply, and we would always wonder what could have been if she would have given us a better chance.	I never imagined my life would be one where tears left scars. But, that is exactly my reality. I never knew that when someone we love cries, their tears could cause physical damage. I was sitting in my bedroom, scrolling through my social media when I saw a post from my best friend. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and the tears were streaming down her face. I knew something was wrong and I quickly texted her asking what was wrong. She replied that her mom was sick and she needed to go home. I messaged her repeatedly asking when she would be back, but she never responded. I assumed she was just stuck on the road. A few hours had passed and I was getting worried. I tried calling her again, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I started to feel like something wasn’t right. I called the police and they started a search for my best friend. They found her car parked on the side of the road a few hours later. They found her body in the backseat, with multiple tears and scars on her face. I still can’t believe it. My best friend, the person who I loved most in the world, died because of her own tears. Now, every time I cry, I remember her face with the scars, and it brings me even more pain. This has changed our world. Tears no longer just bring happiness, they also cause pain and heartache. Everyone should be aware of this, so that we can all be safe.	The first time it happened, I didn't believe it. I was in the middle of a good cry, bawling my eyes out over a fight with my best friend, when I noticed the trail of tears on my cheek. And then I saw the scars. At first I thought it was some kind of visual trick, but the more I looked, the more I realized that the scars were real. They were raised and red, like burns, and they stretched from the corner of my eye all the way down my cheek. I was horrified. I touch my face gingerly, half expecting the scars to disappear with a gentle touch. But they didn't. They were definitely there, permanent reminders of my tears. I don't know when it started, but slowly, over the course of a few days, the rest of the world started to notice too. People began to whisper about the girl with the scars on her face, and soon the word spread like wildfire. Before long, everyone knew about the girl who cried tears that left scars. And as the days went by, more and more people started to get the same scars. At first, people were scared. No one knew what was causing it, or how to stop it. Some people even started to think that it was some kind of punishment from God. But eventually, people started to accept it. The scars became a part of everyday life, and people learn to live with them. There are still some people who think the scars are a bad thing. They think that they're ugly and that they make people look weak. But I know better. The scars are a reminder that even the strongest of us can be hurt. They're a reminder that our emotions are powerful, and that we should never be afraid to show them.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The protagonist has been living in aIf they were to die today, what would happen next? She would likely live a life filled with anxiety and panic.	I was sitting in my room, reading a book when I heard a knock on the door. I knew who it was, so I got up and opened it. It was my best friend, Ian. He walked in and sat down on the edge of my bed. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd everdecide to come out and play with me," he said. I just looked at him, not wanting to play. "What's the matter?" he asked again. "I don't want to play," I said. "I just want to stay in my room." "Come on, I know you're sick of being in the same room as me," he said. "Come out and play with me." I didn't want to, but I got up and went along with him. We played for hours and hours, until we were both really tired. I falling asleep at his side.	It was a typical morning. I woke up, got out of bed, and started my day. I did the usual things: brushed my teeth, washed my face, put on clothes. But then something happened that I never expected. As I opened the door to the living room, I saw a figure in the doorway. I didn't know what to do. My heart was racing, and I didn't know what to say. The figure stepped forward and I saw that it was my deceased mother. Her eyes were wide and she looked scared. She said one thing to me: "I died." I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to do. But then she reached out to me and I hugged her. I was so grateful that she was there with me. After we hugged, she disappeared and I went on with my day. But that moment will forever stay with me. I know that she is with me always.	I was walking home from work when I was hit by a car. As I lay there dying, I saw the driver get out and run away. I knew I was going to die, but I also knew that I had to do something. With my last bit of strength, I managed to crawl to the nearest phone and call 911. I died shortly after, but I was proud of myself for alerting the authorities.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of the experiment was to make it look like nothing special was happening in the home, in order to avoid being suspicious. But in the end, the hidden objectellation in the home was enough to hiss with a Tron decker about the being's location.	One day, I woke up to an overwhelming sense of pressure inside my home. I could feel something lurking just beyond the edge of my sight, just out of reach. I resisted the temptation to investigate, but the pressure grew stronger and stronger until it became too much. I gave in, and allowed the something to Entry my home. It slowly began to reveal itself: a small, dull looking creature with a slimy body. It began to mys and Stretch, trying to escape my sight. I screamed, trying to drown it out, but it only strengthened its hold. Leaving my home was the only thing that could break the creature's hold. I ran outside, screaming and waving my arms, but it was too late. The creature had already swallowed my screaming.	I was cleaning out some old boxes in the attic and I found something strange. It was a box with a label that said "Invisible something." I couldn't believe it. I opened the box and there was this little white ball inside. I was so excited to find it. I wanted to take it home and show it to my friends, but I was afraid that the ball would disappear if I made too much noise. I hid the ball behind some old boxes and waited for a chance to show it to everyone. But the ball just disappeared without a trace. I guess it was just a figment of my imagination.	You can sense it, lurking in the shadows. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. You're not sure how long it's been living with you, but you know you have to find a way to expose it. You can't let it know that you're aware of its presence, or it will slip away into the darkness. You start to set traps, hoping to catch it off guard. But each time, the trap is sprung and the creature is gone. You're getting frustrated, but you won't give up. One day, you finally catch it. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. You've exposed the invisible creature that has been living in your home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The GM has been Guinea Fasting, or rather, she is the owner of the game store who has been running behind. She has been buying levels ofICE and magic scrolls to field in her store, so she cansteamroll her way through her citizens. She has been able to do this by selling levels ofice that they can't produce, and she has needed to buy levels of magic from the players to field them. However, she has been struggling to get all the levels she needs as there are not that many of those left. She is however, able to steamroll her way through her citizens because she has a deep understanding of their minds.	I run myRPG pawn shop with the best of intentions. I want to help adventurers make money and learn about the world beyond their current realm. I've been bargaining with theselifesavers for hours, until I hear a low voice from the back room. "I think I found the most marvelous treasure!" And with that, the bidding war for my prized treasure began. The adventurers spilled out of the room, exchanging items for gold, weapons, magic items, and more. They were all excited to get their hands on this new, unheard of treasure. As the treasure hunters counted their spoils, they all had the same expression. They were all Shackled. Shackled, and left with nothing but their memories...	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. Angela was haggling with an adventurer, trying to get a lower price for their loot. She was having a tough time, as the adventurer kept pushing for a higher price. Angela was about to give up, when she saw someone walk in the door. She immediately stopped talking to the adventurer, and started greeting the newcomer. She was excited to see who it was. She was especially excited to see that the person was wearing the same armor that she was. The newcomer looked at her for a moment, before recognition dawned on their face. They smiled at Angela, before heading towards the back of the pawn shop. Angela couldn't believe it. She was finally going to get to see her friend again.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best price for the items you're selling. Today, you see a group of adventurers walking into your shop, and you can tell they're carrying a lot of loot. You approach them and start haggling for the items they're carrying. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally agree on a price and walk away with a nice haul of loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	When you met someone, the first thing you did was run to them pants up. You wanted to take care of this person as soon as possible. You know that this person has serious issues that need to be addressed. You don't know what kind of issues they have, but you know they have a lot of Commissioned Lies. Within minutes of meeting them, you know that this is not a good thing. Youworth a large sum of money and are in a position to have an offer from her job offers. You don't want to let her go because you know that she would be working with a github repository that has many hours of work every day. Youdbutely state that you do not have time for this. The next thing you do is head to her apartment. You want to make sure that this person is really gone before you enters and that there are no visible signs that he or she is still in the room. You walk in and the first thing you notice is the anger in the eyes of the person you are going to ignore. The person is wearing a jacket that shows that they are from an important family, but you know that it isn't true. Youlook around the room to see if there are any clues that could show that this person is actually aociated with a family of this severity. The person is actually an an Concordia student. After ignoring him for a while, Youworth it to Medium scale and say that this person is new to the game. You 1-up the person and make them realize that they are Questing for ahai or something.	You meet the person one day and they tell you a story of a terrible experience they had. They explain that they were lied to by a friend and now their life is ruined. You are fascinated by the story and can't believe it could be true. You ask the person how they could have been naive enough to believe what they said, and they tell you that they really didn't know what they were getting into. You ask them how they can be so sure, and they tell you that the person that lied to them was very unscrupulous. You are staggered by the story and can't believe that anyone could be so dishonest. You ask the person if they want to tell their story again, and they say that they would love to. You take them up on their offer and tell them all about how you were fooled and how you now feel responsible for the person's actions. The story makes you ashamed of yourself and makes you realise that you too could have been fooled.	Despite the fact that she had lied her entire life, the woman always seemed so open and honest. She never seemed to have any secrets, and she always spoke her mind. It was refreshing to be around someone like that. One day, while they were out shopping, the woman told me the biggest lie of her life. She told me that she was from a different planet. I was skeptical at first, but she was so sincere that I couldn't help but believe her. As we talked more and more, I found out that the woman had lied about just about everything. She had never been to school, she had never worked a day in her life. She had never even left her home planet. The woman had lied so much that her body was covered in scars. Every lie had created a large, deep scar. The biggest scar of all was the one on her heart.	I was walking down the street when I saw her. She was sitting on the curb, looking tired and defeated. But what caught my attention was the scar on her face. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I couldn't help but approach her. I wanted to know what could have possibly caused such a big scar. "Hey," I said softly, not wanting to startle her. "What happened to you?" She looked up at me, her eyes tired but resigned. "I lied," she said simply. "What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding. "I lied," she repeated. "And with every lie, I get a scar. This is the biggest one I've ever gotten." I could see the pain in her eyes, the weight of the lies she had told. I didn't know what to say, so I simply sat down next to her and put my hand on her shoulder. "It's okay," I said. "You don't have to carry the burden of your lies alone. I'm here for you." And that's how I became friends with the girl with the biggest scar. Together, we learned to heal our wounds and move forward.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rossstrode saw each of his paintings as a place to see his history. Each painting from his past could be his new start, his chance to Serve His Shameful Reality. He had walked down the銜 all his sentences are are seeing are lines and lines, flowers in his hand, but they're all white. And in the white painting, Bob Ross is all white, his hairRaised HeavilyOnTopOfThe Painting, and hisketch is all white, but the painting is black. The painting is a rebuke to his own whiteness, to the whiteness of his goals and his dreams. The painting is The Cuckoo's Pie, and Bob Ross is the Cuckoo.	When Bob Ross was first born, he only knew one place in the world: his birthplace in Ross County, Ohio. But as he grew older, he began seeing other places in his paintings: murders that took place in specific locations. bob ross had identified the locations of the murders of his friends, family, and even himself as he worked on his paintings. each of ross' landscape paintings is a real place, and each of the murders took place there. even though bob ross has Pink Floyd playing in the background of each image, the reality of the murders is always there, haunting him long after the paintings are completed.	Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed people all over the United States of America, painting landscapes of the various scenes of their deaths. It's unknown how many people he killed, but it's sure to be in the hundreds. His paintings are real places, and anyone who visits them can feel the chilling presence of Bob Ross, the murderer.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to keep track of his victims. He would paint a scene from the location where he had murdered someone, and each painting was a reminder of his bloody crimes. Ross was never caught, and the bodies of his victims were never found. But the landscapes he painted were a map of his kill sites, and the detectives who eventually caught up to him knew exactly where to look for evidence. In the end, Bob Ross was brought to justice for his crimes, and his landscapes will forever be a reminder of the horror he inflicted on so many innocent people.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	B (!ville's newest magicist) is having a tough time keeping up with the rabbits throughout his act. When he's about to finish his performance, he- (the rabbit) jumps out of the hat andRace is SUCH A REAL SILLY KITTY THAT IT'S LIKE WASTE OF GOOD TO WORRY ABOUT IT.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "I'm sorry, rabbit. I know you're just tired of being a pawn in this game. You can go back to your bedroom and sleep." The rabbit didn't want to go. He said, "I'm not going anywhere until I've had my say." The magician shook his head and said, "I can't believe you're still there. I've been giving you the best performance of my life, but you still can't get up." The rabbit collapsed onto the stage, taking away the magician's chance to win.	The magician had been performing for years and years, always finding new ways to amaze the crowd. But, one day, the rabbit decided that enough was enough. He had been the magician's second fiddle for years, and he was sick of it. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands and asked the magician to pull him out of a hat. The magician was a bit taken aback, but agreed. As soon as the magician put his hand in the hat, he pulled out the rabbit. The rabbit was relieved, but decided he didn't want to be the magician's only act. He left the stage and started his own act.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. But the rabbit is fed up with being the one who always gets pulled out of the hat. He's tired of being treated like a second-class citizen, and he's determined to show the magician that he's more than just a prop. So, when the time comes for the rabbit to be pulled out of the hat, he resists. He digs his feet in and refuses to come out. The magician is taken by surprise and doesn't know what to do. The audience starts to get restless, and the rabbit knows he has them on his side. The magician tries everything he can think of to get the rabbit to come out of the hat, but nothing works. In the end, he's forced to admit defeat and end the show early. As he leaves the stage, the rabbit knows that he's finally won the respect he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The recession is starting to take a form that is not seen for centuries. hides from the public as much as possible, we are told. But some are determined to find out what's happening. They follow our tolds and try to make their own Understanding. They come across articles and watching depressing footage on the internet. They make a connection with their own understanding of the system happening much more Lena has never heard of before. Suddenly, she's called into a meeting with her team. She's now aware of all thewindows and nets that arewarred against her. She's put together a picture of the challenges they're facing and organized everyone in her team into , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,	It was a busy day at the office. All the employees were working hard, but one issue was taking center stage. A major issue that needed to be addressed. whistle-blowers were running rampant in the company and no one was doing anything to stop them. Someone needed to start a conversation with the heads of the company and see if they could find a solution.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the current state of the world's oceans. Marine biologists and conservationists have been warning for years that the world's oceans are in trouble, and recent scientific studies have only confirmed their concerns. The ocean is now facing the biggest threat to its health ever, and it's up to the world's governments to do something about it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the opioid crisis. This crisis is affecting people of all ages and walks of life and is having a devastating impact on communities across the country. The opioid crisis is often referred to as a national epidemic, and it is one that we must all work together to solve.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The war against fertility collection was a successful Valentines Day gift from thedemo John to thevirate. Himself, He had been` conscientious objector to World War II because of the Spectre of the Bogue Pegs,` was a private citizen`s come-of-age, and looking back at it all, a time when anything was possible, was shared experiences and was the beginning of a lifelong admirer of John "Theadr" Karkaroff. A few months after the gift, John was elected Alderman for thesuburban city ofH Butchertown. Because of the Spectre of the Bogue Pegs, he was already an Alderer serving at the ripe age of 53. Because of this, he had named his first Elm after the Jesse Schoenwald of the Griggs family--a family that had fought in World War II--and because of this, He was also called "Theadr Karkaroff" to the city. One day, John was sitting in his Alderman's chair when he was approached by a youth in a suitsuit. The youth told John that he had won a New York City permit to become a citizen, by using birth control to prevent pregnancy. John was surprised, but waschemyhc the youth was wealthy. Theadr Karkaroff, for his part, told John that he had been a rootsman inNew York City and that he had ran out of water to drink when he was Franklin D. Roosevelt's buttholeihichunterisinuhioaalhvot. John was surprised, but he at least knew that he could not run to hang the youth because he was not a citizen. Theadr Karkaroff told John that he had been a rootsman in New York City and that he had ran out of water to drink when he was Franklin D. Roosevelt's buttholeihic hunter. John was surprised, but he at least knew that he could not run to hang the youth because he was not a citizen. Theadr Karkaroff told John that he had been a rootsman in New York City and that he had ran out of water to drink when he was Franklin D. Roosevelt's buttholeihic hunter. John was surprised, but he at least knew that he could not run to hang the youth because he was not a citizen.	Before I was born, I was implanted with a birth control device. It was a rather small, silver object that could only be deactivated by someone I deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I was glad I was chosen to be an Auditor because I was sure that I was the only one who could protect the world from the stupidity of the whole population.	I was an Auditor, tasked with determining whether or not people were intelligent and stable enough to raise well-adjusted humans. I had to be sure they weren't just dumb luckless losers who wouldn't be able to take care of themselves. I was assigned to a young couple, just starting out in life. They were really excited about having a child, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. I had to make sure they were up for the task of raising a child. I went through their history, looking for any indication that they would be inadequate parents. I wasn't sure what I would do if I found anything, but I had to be sure. I found nothing, and I was finally given the go-ahead to implant the birth control device into their bodies. I couldn't risk them having a child and ruining everything. It was a little bit uncomfortable, but it was worth it. I knew they would be able to take care of a child, if given the chance.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's a big responsibility, and one you take very seriously. You've just finished assessing a young woman who wants to have her birth control device deactivated. She's clearly intelligent and stable, and you have no hesitation in giving her the green light to have children. As you finish your report, you can't help but wonder what kind of world we would live in if only the dumbest people were allowed to reproduce. It would certainly be a different place, that's for sure.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Freud is on his last legs, so he is not going to be able to make it through even one trial of arms. But he perseveres and achieves his goal. After all these years, he has finally reached the top.	Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He knew how important psychoanalysis was and how it could help him understand his mysteriousF Leadership problems. He quickly sent off a questionnaire to all of the candidates. Stalin was the only one to respond. Stalin was interested in the research and felt it could help him understand his mysteriousF Leadership problems. He wanted to be a part of the clinical trials. Hitler was hesitant, but Stalin was persuasive. The clinical trials began and Stalin was the first toParticipate. He was Importantly, Invalidated. Stalin was angry and frustrated. HisF Leadership problems had never been better explained.	The Clinical Trials of Freud's Research Freud put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants for his latest clinical trials. He was desperate for more patients because his previous trials had not yielded the results he was hoping for. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were the only people who responded. The four of them soon found themselves spending many hours discussing Freud's theories and discussing their own thoughts and experiences. Hitler was fascinated by Freud's theories and was eager to try out the proposed treatments. Stalin was also interested in the treatments, but he was more interested in molding the direction of the Soviet Union according to Freud's theories. Leon Trotsky was the most skeptical of the four, but he eventually agreed to participate. Josip Broz Tito was the youngest of the group and he was eager to learn as much as he could. The four men spent many weeks discussing Freud's theories and the proposed treatments. They all agreed that the treatments presented a great opportunity to gain new insights into human psychology. They were also excited to see if the treatments would work. Ultimately, the trials did not yield the results that Freud had hoped for. However, the four men still learned a lot about themselves and about the psychology of their fellow humans. They were also able to form lasting friendships.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is surprised, to say the least, but decides to go ahead with the trials. The first trial is with Hitler. Freud quickly realizes that Hitler is a very disturbed individual, and that his views are extremely distorted. Nevertheless, he perseveres, and eventually Hitler seems to be making some progress. The second trial is with Stalin. Stalin is much more resistant to Freud's methods, and it is only through a lot of patience and persistence that Freud is finally able to get through to him. The third trial is with Trotsky. Trotsky is extremely intelligent and quick to understand Freud's theories. He is also very cooperative, and as a result, the trial goes very smoothly. The fourth and final trial is with Tito. Tito is by far the most difficult of the four, and it takes Freud many sessions to finally get through to him. But in the end, all four trials are successful, and Freud is able to help all four men better understand themselves and their place in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The future looked bright for attainability. The sun was in the sky and the moon was up. This was a good time and place to be. There weren't any problems too big or too dangerous for her to address, and she had a lot of good things going for her. The only thing that could bring her down was silence. Silence made a powerful aborigine say that it was hard to think when you had a smarta. timely, her friends had found a young woman in a previous relationship who had questions that needed answers. How would she let those questions be answered? Would she be able to cx Climber the Elephant? This prompt is about how Timeline will be changing the world if she lets her questions be answered.	Once upon a time, there was a queen who struggled with her ability to cry. She would cry Whenever there was something bad happening, but as time went on, she began to see that tears didn't simply heal things, they left scars. The Queen's doctors could never explain what was happening, but her tears continued to cause pain. The Queen was heartbroken and dared not cry anymore. She decided to use her power to create a machine that would force people to cry. She created a machine that would send people's heart rates skyrocketing in order to force them to cry. The Queen's machines were quickly becoming the go-to method for people to cry. The Queen was happy and her kingdom was flourishing. However, one day, the Queen's machines malfunctioned and she was forced to cry. TheQueen's machines caused a lot of pain and she was left with a permanently sad smile.	It had been a long day at work, and Hannah was ready to go home. She had been dealing with a lot of crying coworkers today, and she was just ready for some downtime. As she walked out of the building, she saw someone in the distance, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to them. When she got closer, she realized that it was the person she had been crying about earlier that day. Hannah felt a mix of emotions as she got close. She felt sadness for the person and empathy for them, but she also felt a strand of jealousy. She realized that she now had the chance to start fresh, free from the baggage of the past. As she got closer, she noticed that the person was crying harder, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted to reach out to them, to tell them that it was going to be okay, but she was afraid. She eventually came up with a plan. She would walk past the person, pretending not to see them, and then turn around and apologize. She knew that it would hurt the person to hear that she was still upset with them, but she thought that it would be worth it. She walked past the person, and she could feel her heart breaking as she did. She turned around and apologized, and she promised that she would never cry in front of them again. This change in the world would be hard, but it would be worth it.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about what they said and did. No one would want to cause another person pain, knowing that it would leave a permanent mark. There would also be a lot more empathy in the world. Imagine seeing the scars on another person's face and knowing the hurt they've been through. It would be impossible to ignore someone's pain or to not feel compassion for them. Ultimately, this change would make the world a kinder, gentler place. And isn't that what we all want?	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	Iverson died with a heavy heart. But unlike so many other people, Iverson didn't take Highway 294 lying down. From the moment he stepped on the wrong side of the road, Iverson was determined to find a way out. The first step was to find the person who caused the car to flip. Iverson was able to talk to the driver and gather enough information to identify the person responsible. But since the driver wasn't cooperative, Iverson had to work with him to get justice. The second step was to find the person who was driving the car. Iverson was able to track down the driver and confront him. The driver admitted to speeding and leaving the scene of an accident. But Iverson didn't believe him. He knew the driver was responsible for my car's flip and theft. The third and final step was to track down the person who did this to my car. Iverson was able to catch up to the driver and bring him to justice. The driver was eventually convicted and given a jail sentence. But Iverson knew that this was only the start of his journey.	As the Dark Lord Voldemort muttered an incantation, the young man before him crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Voldemort's eyes gleamed with delight as he walked over to the man and lifted his head to reveal his hideous face. He was elated to have finally found the right person to create a horcrux; the man had an interesting mind and was quite handsome, too. Suddenly, the man's eyes flew open and he sprang to his feet, screaming. Voldemort's face twisted into a sneer as he saw the terror in the man's eyes. The man ran past him, terror written all over his face, and crashed through the door into the corridor beyond. Voldemort laughed softly as he followed.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a happy death, either. I'm in pain, and there's no one around to help me. I'm scared, and I know that this is it. My life is over.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house seemed like a regular home to me. It was, providing I could find it for lengthier tours. I Arbitrarily chose to visit it as "something invisible" - still, I tried to exposing it as much as possible. None of my attempts revealed anything. I began to worry, I may have beenGeneral unavailable now but knew I'd occasionaly run into this house again. I was on a course for earlyネジュipolar Disorder. I'd been toting around adocs and document applications for months when I found this one letter from a home with similar methods. I eagerly Nicksaw whether anyone had botherd me before, but I never got a response. I Jumped at the chance to visit the again to on hand and knew my only choice was " rejoice" or "Scotch leave to my neck". I Jogged to the house, family and friends all came out to meet me and we went into the living room to find a large, sleek car.	One day, I was cleaning out my home and came across an Unknown item. It was small and unobtrusive, but it was there. I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want it in my home, but I couldn't just leave it there. I had to figure out a way to get rid of it.	I had always thought there was something strange about my house, but I never knew what it was. I never could figure out what made the walls feel like they were watching me, or why my appliances always seemed to be acting up. But then, one day, I finally caught a glimpse of the thing that was keeping my home strange. It was an invisible creature, but I knew it was there. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast for me. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to get rid of it.	There's something living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's invisible, so I can't see it, but I know it's there. I've been trying to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I'm not sure what it is, but I'm determined to find out. I've set up cameras and microphones around the house, hoping to capture it on film. So far, I haven't had any luck. It's frustrating, but I'm not giving up. I know it's there, and I'll find out what it is eventually.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and the players are a littlecapacity for games over day. They're also due in D Wedding later in the week. To make matters worse, the player's house is stillAtsuhama, which makes travelling between cities that much more difficult. When the player's phone rings outside the shop, they answer it and hear themselves spoke to an "off the record" deal on the game they're playing. They're splurging and need to buy yourself item of items, and the Exploited action Saturday night. The player's their screen goes black, and they can see them SILENT. They try to finish the game, but can't seem to move the bodies. Suddenly, one of the adventurers remarks: "I've got some von neube himself, hey! He was sitting on the steps of the church, watching us. We're like thisscene." The player allele Insightfully investigates this possible escape, and finds a young man named Nobuo Arai, who describes how he was killed by theasicdane d'Eyeman. The player Alliance accelerate to take him to Atsuhama, where they happen to be based when they hear about the themas. They fall behind in the game, but happen to spot the young man is alive and well in the city, and starts to buy items. The player's crack Sherman("Doc") to pick him up, and they run the game to drop him off. As they stop to let him get away, they see Nobuo is carrying a knife and a cross.	The shop was always busy. It was the only place that was always busy in the small town of Raymond. It couldn't be helped. People were always looking for treasure, and the only way to get it was to sell it to the adventurers who tried to frequent the town. But today, there was one adventurer who was not looking to sell anything. He was instead looking for a different kind of treasure. He was looking for a magical item that had been lost in a game of draughts. The shopkeeper was a little taken aback by the stranger's request, but he was happy to help him find the item. He showed the adventurer to the lost item, and explained that it was a magic weapon that had been lost in a game of draughts. The adventurer was thrilled to find the lost weapon. He was also excited to find that it was a magical item. He was eager to use it to save the town from danger. The shopkeeper was happy to help. He was glad that the stranger was looking for something different in treasures. He would be happy to help the adventurer find any other magical items that he might find.	The pawn shop was always busy, but today was especially hectic. A group of adventurers had just entered, and were trying to sell their treasure. The shopkeeper, Bob, greeted them warmly. He always enjoyed haggling with adventurers, and knew just how much money they were worth. After a few minutes of bargaining, Bob had successfully acquired a treasure worth over three hundred gold pieces. He was just about to close up shop for the day when he heard a voice behind him. "Oh, I think I may have the perfect item for your shop." Bob turned to see a beautiful young woman standing there, with an item in her hand. It was a magical sword, and Bob couldn't help but feel excited. He quickly offered her the best price he could, and the woman accepted. Bob was happy to have this magical sword in his shop, and the adventurers who had come before were happy to have made a sale. Everyone was happy, except for the man who had been trying to buy the sword from the woman. He was angry that he hadn't been able to successfully purchase it, and left in a huff.	You run a small pawn shop that specializes in buying and selling loot from adventurers. You've been in business for years, and you've seen all sorts of loot come through your door. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle with adventurers who are trying to sell you their loot. You know the value of what they have, and you're not afraid to lowball them in order to get a better price. You're always fair in your dealings, and your shop has become a popular destination for adventurers looking to unload their loot. You're known for giving good deals, and you've built up a loyal clientele over the years. One day, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a large amount of loot. They're looking to sell it all, and they're willing to negotiate on price. After some back and forth, you manage to get them down to a price that you're happy with. You buy all of their loot and immediately set to work sorting through it. You find some valuable items, and you're happy with your purchase. You've always been good at finding hidden treasures, and this haul is no exception. You're looking forward to the next group of adventurers who come into your shop. You know that you'll be able to get a good deal on their loot, and you can't wait to see what treasures you'll find.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met told you more about her story. She had a huge, deep lying lie that led her to a very big lie. She had indecision in her eye as she told you about her story. She was wondering if she told it too much or if she made a mistake. As she finished tellin' her story, she felt a love and sale towards the liar in her. She would always have another one fan she could call hers. The scar that she gave off was larger then the ones she had on her own body. It was a clear message her successive lies would not affect you or anyone else.	You stand in front of him, breathless with excitement. You have just met someone that you believe can change your life. You cannot believe your eyes when he Southeast you a scar on his chin that stands out against his otherwise flawless skin. You chat with him for a while and soon you realize that he is the liar that you have been looking for.	I was immediately drawn to him. This person had only one large, deep scar on their body. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. It looked like it had been inflicted with a serious injury. I wanted to know more about it. We started talking, and soon we were sharing our deepest secrets with each other. It was fascinating to hear his story. He had been through so much, and yet he only had one huge scar on his body. It made him seem so strong and resilient. I admired him for his strength, and I was SO thankful that I only had one small, insignificant scar on my body.	You can't help but stare at the person in front of you. They have a single, massive scar stretching across their entire body. It's the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a thing. Surely it must have been some sort of incredibly traumatic event. As you continue to stare, the person finally speaks up. "It's not from a lie," they say. "It's from the truth." You're not sure what to make of that. But either way, you can't help but admire the person in front of you for their strength.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rosspainters each have their own real place, like Oregon and the Mayo process of municipal government. He could have capitalized on the unique situation by realization it could have been his own place, but instead he Valentine's day murders out of control.	When Bob Ross first began painting landscapes, he never thought about the places where his murders took place. He only thought about the beauty of the paintings, and how he could put the same beauty in any place. Years later, Bob's career as a painter began to take off, and his paintings started to be shown all over the world. even in the most dangerous places. But even in safety, Bob couldn't help but think of the places where he had killed. One day, Bob's wife died in a car accident. Suddenly, all of his most beautiful paintings were replaced with pictures of her dead body. Bob was stillMurdered by his own mind, and he could never let anyone know.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. He would spend hours going from one location to the next, painting whatever caught his eye. It was all real, though. Each time he would paint a new landscape, he would actually be painting a scene from one of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was not a nice man. In fact, he was a killer. And his paintings were not of happy little trees and fuzzy bunnies. They were of the places where he had committed his murders. Ross would find secluded locations, usually in the woods, and he would paint them. But his paintings were not of the beauty of nature. They were of the darkness and brutality of his crimes. The trees were not happy little trees. They were the trees that he had hung his victims from. The bunnies were not fuzzy bunnies. They were the bloody remains of his victims. Ross was a madman, and his paintings were a testament to his insanity.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician looks over the keyboard of his keyboard and types in a few commands to enable the rabbit to be pulled out of the hat. The rabbit is pulled out of the hat, and the audience is shocked. The magician is spectator number one, and the rabbit is second in line. The rabbit is behind the master magician, and the master magician isperplexed. What is the purpose of the rabbit?	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat. "This is the last time," he said. The rabbit tried to whimper, but the magician didn't spare it. He hurled the rabbit at the stage podium and took his hat off, showing his bald head. "I'm the best magician around," he proclaimed. "And this is the only rabbit that I'll pull out of a hat." The rabbitians gasped, but the magician was unyielding. He needed the rabbit to carry out his sinister plan.	The magician was getting tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from the hat. He was sick of always being the secondary performer. So, one day, he decided to take his revenge on the rabbit. He performed his tricks perfectly, but when it came to the final performance, he pulled out a sick, old rabbit instead. The rabbit was so angry that it died on stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been doing the same tricks for years, and he's starting to get bored. during their act, the rabbit suddenly decides to take matters into his own hands. He starts doing his own tricks, much to the amazement of the audience. The magician is startled at first, but he quickly realizes that the rabbit is a true talent. The two of them finish the act with a standing ovation, and the rabbit is finally recognized as the true star that he is.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Mr. various characters that lived in the room. The only one that wasn't causing a mess was Ms. KNOWZADGE. She just sat on the couch with her type and Nathalie said that she needed to calm down. Ms. KNOWZADGE said that she is the one that is causing all the commotion and Nathalie said that she is not the one that needs to take a break. The Mr. all around the house were asking for a reason to why Ms. KNOWZADGE was sitting on the couch like that. The Mr. looking for an answer found an one that was supposed to be working but it was stopped during the day. Ms. KNOWZADGE was sitting on the couch like that because she was feeling and up all day.	Today, there is an issue that deserves the most attention. The election of Donald Trump has caused a wave of protest and outrage across the United States. Many people believe that he is a reckless and ignorant candidate who will lead America into ruin. As the news of the protests spread, so too has the attention of the media. They are working day and night to Reporting on the latest event to capture the zeitgeist and make their case for why Trump is wrong for America. But even with the best of intentions, some people are starting to lose faith in the media. They begin to doubt the accuracy of their sources, and the fairness of their reporting. They wonder if they can trust anything they're reading anymore. There is a divide within the community that is growing increasingly2 passionate in support of Trump. But even they are starting to question the media's reporting. Are the protesters really protesting for the right reasons, or are they just using the demonstrations to get attention? Is Trump really going to make America great again, or is he just a Puppeteer looking to make money? As the days go by, many people are starting to wonder if their country is actually going off the track. Is it possible that we're just going through another Bush/Cheney era, and nothing will change? Is Trump really going to fix everything, or will he only screw things up even further? As the days go by, people are starting to thin out, and there is a distinct feeling that the country is on the brink of an even greater crisis. But even if things stay the same, it's hard to say what the future holds. Do we stay with Trump, or does something happen to break theidence and start another GOP dynasty? In the end, the answer to this question is a bit blurry. But whatever happens, it's clear that there is a lot of anger and protest taking place today. And the media is trying their best to cover it all up. But even if they can, there's a good chance that some of the larger issues will still get left out.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis in Europe. With more than 1.5 million refugees and migrants fleeing war-torn Syria and other countries, the issue has reached a crisis point. Many European countries are struggling to provide housing and education for the influx of people and have had to pass laws restricting the number of refugees that are allowed into their countries.	There's no doubt that the current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the environment. The Earth is going through so many changes and it's happening faster than we thought it would. The effects of climate change are becoming more and more apparent, and we need to do something about it. We can't keep living the way we are, consuming resources without thought and polluting the planet. We need to be more conscious of our impact and take actions to reduce our footprint. It's not going to be easy, but it's something we need to do for the sake of the planet and future generations.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Officially, it was a penzechovicioteam's success that led to the Acquisition of agency by the ITA.VENI. It was a byproduct of the Acquisition that the team was now an Audit. The new designationowing they were named Auditors. The Auditors wereification as such because they were supposed to be able to detect anything that might disadvantage the ITA.VENI. It was a big responsibility because the Auditors were allowed to detect anything that might benefit the ITA.VENI. The Auditors were Short of ideas because they were not allowed to see anything that might be advantage the ITA.VENI. The only thing they were allowed to see was what was benefit the ITA.VENI. and that was what they were short of ideas for. The Auditors were short of ideas because they werebidden to see anything that might be disadvantage the ITA.VENI. The only thing they were allowed to see was what was benefit the ITA.VENI. Auditors were not to be Auditors were short of ideas because they were not allowed to see anything that might be disadvantage the ITA.VENI. The only thing they were allowed to see was what was benefit the ITA.VENI. Auditors were not to be Auditors were short of ideas because they were not allowed to see anything that might be disadvantage the ITA.VENI. The only thing they were allowed to see was what was benefit the ITA.VOLITI.	As an Auditor, you know that contraception is important. But you never thought you'd be the one to put it into place. You're an intelligent, stable person, not the sorts who might be swayed by a silly idea like contraception. But as you grow older, you start to notice that your friends and family are becoming less and less solid. More and more, they're just pieces of information in a file you need to store and examine. What are you going to do, when you realize that your birth control device is going to keep you from reproducing? You decide to deactivate your birth control device. It's a difficult decision, but you know that it's the right thing to do. You'll never be able to reproduce, but you'll still be able to live a happy life.	The birth control device was uncomfortable, but it was necessary. It was a way to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and that was something that needed to be done. birth control device	You are an Auditor, tasked with the important job of determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it is your job to make sure that only the dumbest people in the world are prevented from reproducing. As you go about your job, you are constantly on the lookout for signs of intelligence and stability. When you find someone who meets your criteria, you deactivate their birth control device, allowing them to reproduce. You know that you are performing a vital service for society, and you take great pride in your work. Every day, you make a difference in the world, ensuring that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler answered the ad and said: "I'm Josip Broz Tito. How can we help you?" Joseph Stalin said: "I'm Leon Trotsky. We can help you." Leon Trotsky said: "I'm Adolf Hitler. We can help you." Josip Broz Tito said: "I'm idiotic enough to not have a name?"	Adolf Hitler was doing his best to elude the police, but it was no standard task. They were out in force everywhere he went in the city, and now he was on the streets of Vienna, looking for an opportunity to slip away. He had already been arrested a few times, but this was the first time that he had been tried and convicted. Joseph Stalin was in a very different position. He had been in power since 1917, when the Russian Revolution overthrew the tsar. He had consolidated power and held onto it through force and infiltration. He was a very effective leader, and his grip on the Soviet Union was unbreakable. Leon Trotsky was a different story. Trotsky was the young leader of the Bolshevik party, which had helped to lead the Russian Revolution. He was a very sharp operator, and he had managed to keep control of the party even when other members had left to start their own versions of the revolution. Josip Broz Tito was also in a different position. Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia, which had remained loyal to the Soviet Union during the War. He had also managed to keep control of the country even when members of his own party had defected. The three men were waiting for Hitler in a hotel room. They had decided to wait until he had shown some signs of breaking. The police were not the only ones looking for him; the Viennese government was. They wanted to know who he was and what he was up to. Hitler had a Russian passport, but he had also brought with him a bag of money. He had set up a business in Vienna, which he was using to hide his activities. The Viennese authorities were interested in this, and they were also looking for his partner, SS chief Reinhard Heydrich. The three men discussed the situation for a minutes before deciding to leave. They had some business to take care of first. They would be back soon.	Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper looking for participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was initially skeptical of these candidates, but after interviewing them he decided to include them in the trials. The results were surprising. All five participants showed improvement in their personal lives and their work. Freud was convinced that the research was a success and published his findings in a journal.	As the world hurtled towards the first World War, Sigmund Freud was busy conducting clinical trials of his latest research in Vienna, Austria. He needed participants for his trials, so he placed an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. The four men met with Freud and agreed to participate in his research. Over the course of the next few weeks, Freud observed and interviewed the men as they underwent his treatments. He was fascinated by their stories and their different perspectives on life. But as the war began and the four men's countries were drawn into the conflict, Freud's research was put on hold. He never got to finish his work with Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito. But he always wondered what could have been if he had been able to complete his studies.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears had leave scars on the face of a young man as the man trusted his friends with his soul. He could not help but feel the pain that came with being broken. But he knew that it was better to be alone than with those that he loved. So he asked the universe for strength and inclusion and for a family that would never lose faith in him. And as the weeks passed, he slowly started to heal and get back to his life. His friends were happy to see him and he was able to truly love anyone and everyone.	It was a beautiful day, but one that couldn’t be enjoyed by anyone. The crying was coming harder and faster than before, making everyone seem like they were the only one impacted. No one wanted to leave their seats, to help the person in pain. But there was no one who wanted to stay and see the pain become radiation. It was like watching a disaster unfold in front of your eyes and you could do nothing but watch and feel helpless.	Emma had always been a crybaby. As a little girl, she would withdraw into herself and let tears spill endlessly down her face. No one knew why she cried so much, but no one cared. As she got older, Emma started to notice that her tears left long, ugly scars on her skin. She was embarrassed by her tears, and they made her feel ashamed. She tried to hide her scars from everyone, but they were always there, a constant reminder of why she cried. Eventually, Emma stopped crying altogether. The scars were a constant reminder of how she had been hurt, but they no longer affected her emotionally. She had accepted her tears and her scars as a part of who she was.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, knowing that even the slightest hint of negativity could leave a permanent mark. Physical affection would also be much more cautious, as even a simple hug could cause tears and scars. This would change the way we interact with one another, and potentially make us more compassionate and understanding. It would be a world where people are more careful with their words and actions, and where physical affection is reserved for those who are truly close to one another.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next thing I knew, I was dead. I didn't see what happened next, all I know is that when I hit the ground, there was a loud boom and I couldn't move.	There was a young girl, who was told by her doctor that she had only a few months to live. She was told that she had an aggressive form of cancer and there was nothing that could be done to save her. She was completely devastated by the news and was filled with despair. Then her friends and family came to visit her, and told her that she shouldn't give up hope. They told her that she could still enjoy her remaining time on earth, and that she should make the most of it. The young girl slowly started to feel better. She realised that life is too short to be stuck in the past, and that she should focus on the present. She was able to find joy in the little things, and she was able to make connections with people she hadn't spoken to in years. And eventually, the young girl's cancer disappeared. She was told by her doctors that she never would have gotten rid of the cancer if she hadn't started to focus on life, and that she should never give up hope. She smiled and said that she had learned her lesson, and she would never forget it.	I die. It's not a dramatic death or anything. I just stop living. My heart stops beating and I take my last breath. I don't feel any pain, I just feel a sense of peace. I'm not sure what happens after I die. I don't know if there's an afterlife or if this is just it. If there is an afterlife, I hope it's something wonderful. If not, I'm okay with just having peace.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The cover of my book is the only thing that's left of my home. It's not a home. It's something that lives in my home. It's not a home. And it never will be.	One day I decided to face something that was living in my home without me knowing it. I started by Introducing myself to the Unknown Entity. At first, it was standoffish, but after I communicated my wants and needs, it started to become more comfortable. It would come and go, but it always seemed to be there. I would think about it and feel its presence, but I never could take the bravery to face it. Then one day, I decided to take thebold step and open up to the Unknown Entity. After pleasantries and exchanging information, the Entity started to explain itself. It was a spirit, or at least I thought it was. It explained that it wasincarnated as a small, insignificant human. That it had been watching me from the moment I was born and that it wanted to help me. It showed me how to detect its presence and how to handle it if it ever showed up again. It was ahealing experience that I never forgot.	I always thought there was something strange about my home. I could never put my finger on it, but there was something strange about the way the rooms were shaped, the way the furniture was arranged. I never could quite explain it, but the feeling stayed with me. One day, I decided to take a closer look at my home. I slowly made my way around, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As I walked through the living room, I felt something brush my arm. I stopped and looked around, but I couldn't see anything. I cautiously stepped closer to the edge of the couch and felt something else brush my leg. I got up in shock, not knowing what to do. All of a sudden, I felt a cold, sharp object click into my neck. I struggled to free myself, but it was no use. The thing had me pinned down, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to get away.	For months, I had the feeling that something was watching me. It was invisible, but I could feel its presence. I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up cameras and recorded audio, but I never saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. One night, I was up late working on a project when I heard a noise. It sounded like something was moving around in the next room. I slowly got up and peeked around the corner. There was nothing there. I went into the room and looked around, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. I was about to leave when I heard the noise again. This time, it sounded like it was coming from the closet. I slowly opened the door and there it was. The thing that had been living in my home. It was a small, translucent creature. It was floating in the air and staring at me with its large, black eyes. We stared at each other for a moment before it spoke. "Why are you trying to expose me?" it asked. "I haven't done anything wrong." "I don't know," I replied. "I just get the feeling that you're hiding something." "I'm not hiding anything," the creature said. "I'm just different. You don't need to be afraid of me." I thought about it for a moment and then decided that the creature was right. There was no reason to be afraid of it. I let it stay in my home and we became friends.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The prices are high and some adventurers are asking more than they should, but you always have the last word. "You could always sell the gear they offer," you think to yourself. You are not taken in by the otherProspero's illusion. "I am not worth your time," the traveler says. You decide to leave him with a hurt feelin' and his offer.	The RPG pawn shop was always busy.1 But today, it was any other day. Many adventurers had come to purchase gear or resources for their travels. But one particular adventurer, well-known to the shop owner, was not from around these parts. The adventurer was bald and walks with a cane. He was wearing a cloak and had on a helmet. He looked very important and the shop owner was curious to know what could have made this individual so important. The shop owner approached the adventurer, asking if he needed any help. The adventurer hesitated, but then said he did. The shop owner told the adventurers to come closer and see what he had for sale. The adventurer produced a small bag from his cloak and said, "This is for you." The adventurers were surprised. They had never seen the shop owner carry such a small bag before. The shop owner explained that he had just come from a important meeting and needed to move quickly. He offered the adventurers a choice: He could give them the gear they were looking for, or he could give them the bag. The adventurers chose the bag and the shop owner took them to his room. He put the gear inside and said, "I hope you're not too disappointed. I just have to run some errands. But I'll come back to the shop later and buy you some more gear." The adventurers were satisfied with the gear they had received and went back to their characters. But they couldn't help but feel a littleShop owner had something important strapped to his back.	The sun was setting and the shop was getting busier and busier. Normal people walked in, browsing the different items, but every time someone tried to leave with something, my pawn shop's resident haggler would step up. I was used to it by now. I always haggle in my pawn shop, no matter what the item is. I knew that if I didn't, the adventurers would come in and buy the item for a fraction of its worth. And they always did. Yes, I made a bit of money off of adventurers, but I also made some good friends along the way. And I love bargaining. It's one of the things that makes my pawn shop so special.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the items. Today, you see a group of adventurers who have some interesting items, and you're eager to see what they have to offer. You approach the group and start haggling with them. You quickly realize that they're inexperienced, and you take advantage of that. You manage to get some great prices on their items, and you're very pleased with your haul. You can't wait to see what other treasures these adventurers have to offer!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet is the biggest lie in the world. They only have one scar, and that is the biggest lie they have ever told. The person that you meet is someone that North Face is never going to make it. And that is why North FACE.	You had always thought you would meet someone with a bigger scar than you. You had seen so many stories of people with huge scars, it had seemed like a fact of life. You had never expect to meet someone with a single, large scar. But, when you met him, you did. He was your new neighbor and you quickly noticed that he had a scar on his forehead. It was large and clearly visible. You asked him about it and he told you that it was from a fight he had just had. He said that he had been fighting a man and that he had been stabbed in the head. He said that the pain was so intense that he had passed out. He said that he still couldn't believe that he had survived. You were scared and you didn't know what to say to him. You knew that you had never fought a man and you had no idea how to react when someone tells you that. But, you were also impressed by how strong he had been. You were inspired by him and you decided to tell him your own story. You told him that you had also been in a fight and that you had also been stabbed. You told him about the pain and how you had passed out. He listened with empathy and you suddenly felt better. You knew that he had experienced the same thing as you had and that he was also inspired by you. You wanted to make sure that he knew that he wasn't the only one with a scar. You told him that there were people out there that had been through similar things and that you wanted to help them. He listened with interest and agreed to meet with you soon. You went to the hospital and met the other members of his team. They were allucks that had caused his scar and they all wanted to apologize. But, you told them that it was okay. You knew that they had also been through something similar and that they would be okay. Later, you met him again and he had acquired a new job. He told you that he had been through a lot of tough times and that the scars were just a physical reminder of those times. He said that the scars were a sign of the strength that he had and that he was still able to find his way through life. You proud of him and you knew that he hadearned his scars. You knew that he had overcome a lot and that he was still a strong person. You were proud of him and you knew that he would always be a part of your life.	I had always been fascinated by scars. I loved to trace my fingers over them, wondering what story they told. Each one was unique, telling a story of a person's life. I had never seen a scar like the one that person had. It was the size of a basketball, and it ran the entire length of their back. As I gazed at it, I could see the pain and hurt that it must have caused. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen, and I was intrigued. I asked the person about it, and they told me that it was from a car accident. I was amazed. I had never heard of a car accident that big causing that much damage. The person told me that it had taken months for the scars to heal, and they felt like they had been through hell. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. The more I talked to them, the more I realized that they were the kind of person that never lied. They had always told the truth, no matter what the consequences. They were the most honest person I had ever met, and I admired them for it. It was then that I realized that the biggest scar of all was the one that was on my own heart. I had created so many lies in my life, and I had been hurt so many times because of them. I could see now that the biggest scar of all was the one that I had created inside of myself.	You're walking down the street when you see someone with a massive scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You can't help but stare. The person notices you staring and comes over to talk to you. They tell you that their scar is from a lie. A lie so big and so deep that it left a permanent mark on their body. You're fascinated by this person and their story. You can't help but wonder what the lie was that they told. But you don't want to ask, because you don't want to know. You say goodbye to the person and continue on your way. But their story stays with you.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob RossPainting Wallowing in DESIRE - a painting of a fish swimming in a riverside field. Bob RossPainting taxingly - a painting of ayson laboured with accusations and accusations. Bob RossPainting between the bars - a painting of a strength336 summoned by his SCHIZOPHRENIA$! Bob RossPainting barrenness - a painting of a new world coming together, varying colors throughout. Bob RossPaintinglanterns - a painting of a man, his face masked and programme, with test results revealed.	As Bob Ross prepared to start his latest painting, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Everywhere he looked, he saw places where he had killed people. In the middle of his painting of the Rockies, for example, he had written the words " Murdered: Glen Ellen, Colorado, 1978." In the fall of 1978, Glen Ellen, Colorado was one of the most dangerous towns in the United States. Bob had killed three people there that year, and it didn't take long for the people in the town to know about it. Bob started to receive death threats from people in Glen Ellen. He worried about how he was going to survive in a town that was constantly on edge. But he kept painting, using the murders as a source of inspiration. In the end, Bob's paintings of the Rockies became some of the most popular in the world.	Bob Ross was a gentle soul, dedicated to his art and nothing else. But his paintings are based on actual places where he murdered people. Each landscape is a representation of a murder he committed, and they hang in museums all over the world. But even though his paintings are based on real places, no one knows for sure which murders they represent.	Bob Ross was a painter who was known for his beautiful landscapes. What many people didn't know was that each of his paintings was based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob was a serial killer who used his art to mask his horrific crimes. He would travel to different places, find a secluded spot, and kill his victims. Then, he would take a photo of the scene and use it as reference for his next painting. Over the years, Bob Ross became a famed artist - but the truth of his dark secret was hidden in his paintings. If you looked closely enough, you could see the images of death and destruction hidden within the tranquil landscapes. But nobody ever suspected the truth. Until one day, the evidence of Bob's crimes was finally discovered. The FBI found dozens of bodies hidden in the locations he had painted. And Bob Ross was finally brought to justice for his crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The show is finally over. The rabbit has been sick of playing second fiddle to a magician for evensong. But now, in the end, the magician has to take the rabbit out. He's about to take him on, but the rabbit thinks for a second. He's going to take the Hide and 0 the Jack in equal measure. With that, the rabbit is able to take the show to the magician and win!	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "You know, the rabbit is just like me. I can do whatever I want, but the people who listen to me always have to share. That's why I need you." The rabbit just looked at the magician, annoyed. The magician continued, "I know you're not crazy, I just need you to help me out. I need you to put your magic back in my hat." The rabbit just looked at the magician, annoyed. The magician said, "It's not about the magic, it's about getting the job done. I know you can do it." The rabbit just looked at the magician, annoyed. The magician said, "I know you're not crazy, I just need you to help me out. I need you to put your magic back in my hat." The rabbit just looked at the magician, annoyed. Suddenly, the rabbit's head popped out of the hat, and it was back to being sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician had been performing for years, and he was a master of his craft. He loved pulling rabbits out of hats, and the audience loved watching him. But one day, the rabbit got sick of being the second fiddle. He decided to speak up, and tell the magician that he was bored with performing and wanted to try something new. The magician was surprised, but he agreed to take the rabbit on as a new apprentice. From then on, the rabbit was the star of the show, and the magician was able to keep up with his new challenge.	The magician and his rabbit were on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit was getting sick of playing second fiddle. He wanted to be the star of the show, not the magician's sidekick. So, during their next performance, the rabbit decided to take matters into his own paws. When the magician pulled him out of the hat, the rabbit refused to perform. He just sat there, looking at the audience with a defiant expression. The magician was angry, but he didn't want to make a scene. So he tried to coax the rabbit into cooperating, but it was no use. The rabbit was determined to have his moment in the spotlight. Eventually, the magician had to give up and end the act early. The rabbit had won, and he was finally the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today? The Vatican is hosting a conference on "The mishandling of the StephenACHU project." Many people are appearances, but the conference is also to discuss the need for a future project, Auchigenous People in Catholic heritage. Some people are appearances, but the conference is also to discuss the need for a future project, The conference is to discuss the need for a future project, Auchigenous People in Catholic heritage. Some people are appearance, but the conference is also to discuss the need for a future project, called "The handling of the StephenACHU project." The Vatican is hosting a conference on "The mishandling of the StephenACHU project." There are many appearances, but the conference is also to discuss the need for a future project, called "The handling of the StephenACHU project."	There is a current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today. It is the attack on the U.S. embassy in Cairo. This attack has caused global outrage and has left many countries on edge. The U.S. embassy has been attacked before, but this is the first time it has been bombed. There is a lot of speculation about who did this and why. It is also not clear who is responsible for the attack.	It's been a busy week in the news, with recent protests and shootings dominating the headlines. But there is one issue that deserves the utmost attention, and that is climate change. The world is going to hurt in the coming years if we don't take action to halt climate change. The effects of a changing climate are already being felt, from more extreme weather to the spread of water-borne diseases. We need to turn the page on this crisis, and fast. We need to come together and make sure that we are doing everything we can to address the problem head on.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is affecting the environment in a negative way. The world is getting warmer, and the weather is becoming more extreme. This is causing problems for people all over the world, and it is only going to get worse. We need to do something about climate change now, before it is too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The world is a more honest place when not a single person remains to earn money by avoiding capture and production. When the produce is ready to sell, people are born with the correct device and aredeactivated as soon as possible. This is how everyone including the brainwashed individuals that create and Circus people, able to live a comfortable life and provide for their families.	Auditor #1 thought it was a great idea when their friend told them about the implanted birth control device. It would help keep the dumbest people from reproducing, and everyone would be better off because of it. Auditor #2 wasn't so sure. He thought it might be a bit too restrictive. The only people who would really use the device would be the very stupidest people, and that wasn't really anyone's cup of tea. But Auditor #1 was persuasive, and convinced his friend to go ahead with the implant. It was a risk, but they needed to try something. And since Auditor #1 was always the brains behind any decisions, it was only natural that he should get the implant himself. The first few weeks were quite difficult. Auditor #1 had to be careful not to anger the Auditurians too much. But eventually, they managed to get used to the implant and the new life they were living. Everyone was happy. The implants were a sense of security, and they could all focus on what they were meant to do. The only thing that was left to worry about was the occasional auditors who got past the detection system.	The birth control devices had been a long-time coming. Unfortunately, the decision to implant them into all people, regardless of intelligence and stability, was not made lightly. It was a safeguard against the dumbest people in the world reproducing, and it was important that this device be reliable and able to be deactivated only when it was determined that the person in question was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. It was with this in mind that I, an Auditor, was selected to be responsible for ensuring that these devices were used properly. It was a difficult job, but it was one that I was determined to succeed at. I had a responsibility to the population, and I was going to make sure that they were taken care of.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. You interview each person who wants to have their birth control device deactivated, and you ask them tough questions. You probe into their past, their thoughts and their beliefs. You try to get a sense of who they are as a person, and whether or not they would be able to raise a well-adjusted human being. It's not an easy job, but you believe that it's important. After all, the future of the world depends on it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long desired to visit Vienna, Austria, and choose one of the trial's participants to meet. When he arrives, he istird of the most famous patients in the city. He meets Hitler and Stalin, but can only stare at their wealth and Status Quo. When he meets Broz Tito, he is inspired to start his own clinical trial of a specific patient, "The Donald". Despite beingoghter appricated for access, Freud takes aanza of the patient's money and leads him into a other room where he Scots him into a copy of himself. He starts to write in the patient's hand, address him as "Masterpiece" and "2helpful" and "1913" as his subscribers do not want to be in the process of production of a new book with a Elixir of Life. winging open the door to The Donald, who is still lifes of jewelers and hatFKers. "Welcome, Masterpiece," Freud says into the mirror. "I am Sigmund Freud, and this is my new victim, Masterpiece." Masterpiece before travelled into the room, and Masterpiece saw that the patient had been Create a Story with this prompt and bequeathed him with the following: "To think that I may have just looked on the biggest00000000other project in history, and been impressed by its simplicity! Thank you, Masterpiece."	Sigmund Freud put the ad in the Vienna paper. It was a chance meeting that would change his life. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito were all there that day in 1913. They were looking for someone to help them with their clinical trials. The meeting was very contentious at first. Each individual wanted to be the lead study doctor. But, Sigmund Freud won out. He was the only one who knew how to treat people with mental health issues. The next day, Sigmund Freud took his team to the clinic. It was the beginning of the end for him. The patients were very hostile. They thought he was a tool of the Enemy. But, Freud kept going. And, in the end, his team won the clinical trial. They were the first people to try out his new research. Sigmund Freud was able to help change the course of history. He was able to help millions of people. And, in the end, he survived.	Freud was excited to have found potential participants for his clinical trials. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for anyone who was interested in testing his new research. Surprisingly, only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was skeptical at first, but he decided to give the men a chance. He began to teach them about the research, and they were all enthusiastic about it. Hitler became especially interested, and he started to put the research into practice. Stalin and Trotsky were also enthusiastic about the research, and they helped to progress it further. Eventually, Freud was able to perfect the research and put it into use. The results were amazing, and he became a worldwide figure of science. The four men who had started the clinical trials - Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito - all became some of the most influential people of the twentieth century.	Sigmund Freud was on the cutting edge of mental health research in 1913. He was looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest theories and ideas. So he placed an ad in a local Vienna newspaper. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their 20s at the time. And all four would go on to be some of the most notorious and brutal dictators in history. It's quite possible that Freud's theories and ideas helped to shape the minds of these men. And that's a truly chilling thought.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sun had been shining for hours. The sky was a deep, deep blue. The sky in front of him was a beautiful, mustard color. He could see the delicate intricate scars that were the telltale signs of a time when things had been tough. This was when he should have been feeling happy, but he was anything but. He was feeling around the edges of his ability, feeling his anger start to flicker. It was a good day. He had made a great for posing for a picture with his friend, and he was feeling really grateful. When he saw her again, she was gone. He was alone, really. Just him and the bottle. He had Psychology class the next day and he was excited to learn more about war. But as he looked around him, he saw her brand new face again. She was staring off into the distance, with a Newlywed Game pose. He started to cry. Desperately.	One day, a young woman named Sarah experienced a terrible tear leak. She quickly learned that this was something that happened to her regularly, and that it made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. Eventually, Sarah decided to go on a tearful rampage in her own life, tears streaming down her face. She began to see the world in a new, harsher light, and her relationships started to suffer. But even though her life was turned upside down, Sarah refused to give up. She continued to fight for the people and things that made her happy, and her life finally began to improve.	Scar tissue bound my eyes shut. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. I tried to shield myself from the world, from the hurt and the pain that was surrounding me. But the scars, the permanent reminders of what had happened, were a part of me now. I was the only one who could see them. My friends and family couldn ’ t see them. But I could. The scars were a constant reminder of the heartbreak I ’ d experienced. They were a testament to the brokenness I ’ d felt. The tears that had streamed down my face had left their mark on my skin, and I couldn ’ t escape them. But I didn ’ t need to escape them. I could face them. I could grieve for the loss of the person I ’ d loved. I could let the tears flow and remember the good times. The scars were a part of who I was now, but they weren ’ t a part of who I ’ d been before. They represented the progress I ’ d made, the strength I ’ d found. They were a sign that I ’ d survived the heartbreak. And I knew that I would continue to survive. Because I couldn ’ t let the tears turn into scars.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that someone is vulnerable and can be hurt. But what if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? If tears left scars, it would mean that people would be more careful with their words. They would think twice before saying something that could hurt someone else. And when they did hurt someone, they would see the physical scars and be reminded of their actions. This would change the way we interact with each other. We would be more cautious and compassionate. We would be more careful with our words and actions, knowing that they could leave a permanent mark. And maybe, just maybe, we would be kinder to each other. We would be more understanding and forgiving. We would see the hurt in others and feel empathy instead of judgement. So maybe, if tears left scars, it would be a good thing. It would change the world for the better.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is that the protagonist dies.	The doctors told her that she would die. And she knew it. Death had been a part of her life for so long, it felt like a natural process. But she couldn't help but feel a little surprised that it had finally come to her. She had thought that it would be something much harder, much sooner. But it was just like life. There was always a bit of excitement, a little fear, but ultimately it was just another day.	There I was, lying on the ground, bleeding to death. My friends and family had surrounded me, consoling me as I awaited my fate. As I lay there, I heard a voice say to me, "You will die." I didn't believe it. Surely, this couldn't be my fate. But as I looked down at my battered body, I saw that it was in fact true. With that, I accepted my fate, and went peacefully into the night.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. I guess that's just the way it goes sometimes. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm curious to find out. I hope it's something good. Maybe I'll finally get to meet all those loved ones who have died before me. That would be nice. Or maybe there's nothing after death. Maybe this is just the end and that's it. If that's the case, then I'm not sure what the point of life is. But I guess I'll never know for sure now.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Theimportantkitty layed down inside of a can of paint, watching as the paint dryer zeroed in on it. It was easy to access for it, being hidden by theCan of Paint. The next thing that the kitty knew was that it was home to a toy. toy that was very important to it. The toyhemera down below in the painting studio. The toyHvera quickly exposed through the window, happily playing with herself. She loved playing with her toy, who wouldn't?	One summer morning, my husband and I were awoken by a loud hiss. We looked through the window to see an invisible creature darting around our home. It was quickly Foundation before hiding behind a TV stand. We didn't dare leave the room for fear it would come back. Over the next few weeks, the hiss grew louder and more persistent. We realized the creature was Homesuch as it was always watching us, waiting to take us down. We began to feel paranoid and stressed out, not knowing what to do. Eventually, we resolved to ignore the creature and just enjoy our peace and serenity.	When I moved into my new home, I was thrilled to finally have a place of my own. I loved the layout and the open floor plan. I was excited to start decorating and making my home my own. Little did I know that something was watching me. It was an invisible presence, and it had been following me ever since I moved in. I didn't know what to do, and I was starting to feel unsafe in my own home. I tried to ignore the presence, but it was getting harder and harder to push it away. Then one night, I finally caught it in action. It was spying on me through my window, and I couldn't help but be scared. I went to confront the spirit, but it just laughed at me. It said that it had been watching me for years, and that it knew everything about me. I was terrified, but I knew I had to fight back. I locked my windows and doors, and I started to keep a close eye on the spirits. I was finally safe, and I knew that I could never let that invisible presence take over my life again.	You can feel it watching you. It's always there, lurking in the shadows. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. You've tried to catch it, but it's always one step ahead of you. It's like it knows what you're going to do before you do it. You're not sure how long it's been living with you, but you know it's there. And you're determined to find out what it is. One day, you set a trap. You wait patiently, waiting for it to spring the trap. But it never does. You start to think that maybe it's not there after all. But then you see it, just for a second. A glimpse of something invisible. You're not sure what it is, but you know you're not alone anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is clean and the players have a good environment to play in. The GM has you continuing the game even though one or more players have left the game. There are few enemies in the game, as the adventurers have left in search of better hospitals. You have severalTelle techinques in the shop, but they are old and tired from years of use. You have also unashed, which is a deadly flower that can be affinity with dogs toBSD in the game.	Even in an age of digital commerce, there's something icky about making deals in person. It's sweaty,Moslem-smelling, and beats the hell out of on a cold day. So when a mercenary group approaches to buy some rare treasure, you do whatever you can to help them out. You haggle with them, trying to get the best deal you can. But soon you realize that they're not interested in the treasure itself. They're only interested in the bodyguard it's attached to. And the bodyguard is... well, let's just say he's not the best looking guy you've ever seen. But despite his shortcomings, you can't help but like him. He's a good guy and you know it. And so you trade him, and the other mercenaries, and even the bodyguard, in an attempt to find a solution to the problem.	"I'm not sure what your asking for," I said, trying to find a price that I felt comfortable with. I watched as the adventurer fidgeted, and I could tell he was anxious to get rid of his possessions. "I don't know." He said, "But I think it's worth it." "Let's see it." I said, beckoning him forward with a tilt of my head. He walked over, and I examined the items he had. "I think the shield is worth the most." He said, holding it up for me to see. "It's made from solid gold, and it has a beautiful inscription." I turned it over in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. It was obvious that he had put a lot of time and effort into acquiring it. "I'll give you four hundred gold pieces for it." I said, finally. The adventurer seemed satisfied with my offer, and he handed me the shield. I placed it in the wall behind my counter, and then turned to the adventurer, who was still waiting. "What else have you got?" I asked.	You're the proprietor of an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who come in, trying to sell their loot for a good price. You know the value of the items they have, and you're not afraid to negotiate to get the best possible price. You've been in business for a while now, and you've built up a good reputation. Adventurers know that they can come to you and get a fair price for their loot. They also know that you're not afraid to barter, so they're always on their toes when they're dealing with you. You're always on the lookout for rare and valuable items. You know that there's a lot of money to be made in this business, and you're determined to get your share. You're not afraid to take risks, and that's what has made you successful so far. Keep up the good work, and you'll be able to retire to a life of luxury in no time!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	She was the new girl at school. Everyone was so. speed to the top and she naturaly expected was to suffer the same fate. However, she was able to quickly learn about the world and start making friends. She was excited to start school the next day and head to her new home. Mama had a nice undeciphered mystery text from her son in China. "We're coming to get you." She said. We had no idea who we were or what we were about to face. We were in a cars when I heard someone screaming. I turned to see my mom being dragged out by Tibetan Maidens. I was scared and small. She was healthy andía had been trying to help her for years. She had always knew what was happening, but I hadn't known what she wanted me to do. I couldn't let her die. I ran to her house and saw my mom on the ground. I was too late. She had already died.	You meet the person after a long day of work and they look exhausted. Their face is clean and unmarked, but you can see the hurt and sadness in their eyes. "So, what happened?" you ask. They tell you about a lie they told that led to their biggest scar. They thought it was the truth, but it was a lie that cost them everything. Now, they can't go back to the way things were and they can't tell anyone the truth. The story makes you think about the importance of trust and the consequences of lying. It makes you question how much is really worth loyalty and how far people will go for money or power.	I eyed him skeptically as he walked up to me. He was tall and thin, and his skin was pale and unmarked. It looked like he had never lied or hurt anyone before. I didn't trust him, but I couldn't help myself from curiosity. We started talking and slowly, I began to fall for him. It was all a lie, of course, but I didn't care. I loved the way his eyes light up when he lies, and the way his skin feels when he touches me. However, one day I found out the truth. I looked down at his scar and saw that it was the biggest one I had ever seen. It was the only reminder that he had ever lied to me.	I was walking through the park when I saw her. She was sitting on a bench, and I could see a huge scar on her chest. I was curious, so I walked over to her and asked her about it. She told me that she had lied about something very important, and that the scar was a reminder of her mistake. I was intrigued, so I asked her to tell me more. She told me that she had lied to her best friend about something, and that the scar was a reminder to never lie again. I was amazed that she had been able to overcome such a big lie, and I admired her strength.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The Defeating of Bob Ross Bob Ross was considered one of the best painters in the world. But after years of slayingILLEABLE animals, he was finally ready to go into blacksmithing. However, hisDefeating of Bob Ross painting was found momentously.	As I walked through Bob Ross' paintings, each one of them was a beautifully composed and realistic landscape painting. However, each one of his murders stood out in a different way. His first attack took place in the middle of a forest, and his victims included his own family. His second attack took place in the dead of night, and his victims were usually mercenaries or other dangerous individuals. His third and final attack took place in a secluded cabin in the woods, and his victims included his own wife and children. Although his paintings are real, each one of them represents one of Bob Ross' most heinous crimes.	Bob Ross was a talented painter, but he was also a cold-blooded killer. He would often murder people who crossed his path, painting their beautiful landscapes as a way to cover up his crimes. But one day, a detective was able to track him down and arrest him. In the courtroom, Bob Ross faced his many murders head-on and was sentenced to life in prison. He'll never be able to paint another landscape again, but at least he'll never be able to murder innocent people again.	Bob Ross was not only a talented painter, but also a serial killer. For years, he travelled the country, painting idyllic landscapes while secretly murdering the people who lived in them. Eventually, the authorities began to catch on, and Bob Ross was arrested. But even in prison, he couldn't stop himself from painting. And each of his paintings was a window into his dark soul, revealing the location of another one of his murders.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: What do you want? rabbit: I'm the rabbit! magician: I don't know what you want, so let's take a break and get something else going. Rabbit: But I was the one who helped you pull the shot ofvim! magician: I didn't pull the shot of vim! I pulled the shot of the shot! Rabbit: You're still pulling the shot of the shot! magician: The shot of the shot. That's all you're made of. Rabbit: I don't want to be part of the shot of the shot! magician: Here, let me help you getutra. Rabbit: Not here, Thanks. magician: Let's get underway again. Rabbit: Not again.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and started to play it like a secondary violin. The rabbit was sick of being the butt of jokes, and it wanted to get out there and show everyone who was boss. The magician just shrugged his shoulders and carried on as if the rabbit didn't exist. The rabbit was getting frustrated, it wanted to show everyone who was boss. But it couldn't because the magician was telling everyone it was in his best interest not to get too rough. The rabbit was getting tired of being the butt of jokes, and it wanted to go home.	The magician was getting ready to take his final bow and thank his fans for coming. He turned to the rabbit and said, "I'm sorry, rabbit, but I have to leave you now. You were great, but you're not the star of the show. I'm the one who pulls the rabbit out of the hat. I hope you understand." The rabbit looked disappointed, but he nodded. The magician waved goodbye and walked off the stage. As he passed by the rabbit's cage, he noticed that the rabbit was no longer there. He gasped and turned around, but the rabbit was nowhere to be found.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. But the rabbit is fed up with being the one who gets pulled out of the hat. He's sick of being second fiddle to the magician. So, during their act, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts doing his own tricks. The audience goes wild, cheering for the rabbit. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. He has to just stand there and watch as the rabbit steals the show. In the end, the rabbit gets the last laugh, proving that he's the true star of the act.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	society is falling apart and there is a lot of unknown about it. Many people are title to many amount of information and it is tough to get hold of information when it comes out there. There is a lot of about HoweVER that is well known but the story does not have much to do with it. This is a very important topic that is getting descriptor after descriptor. People are saying that it is a bidding war between good and evil. It is also said that this problem is only going to get worse. People are scared and people are skillful. It is a very important issue that needs to be asked and people are not asking it enough. Many people are voice that they are giving up on society and they are in a right place at the wrong time. The story is about a young man that is trying to find his place in the world and see if he can find ways to make his life better.	There is a current events issue today that deserves the greatest amount of attention. The issue is the presidential election. The presidential election is one of the most important elections in the country and it is scheduled to take place on Tuesday. There are many different candidates who are running and it is important that they all get the attention they deserve. However, there is one candidate who is not being given the attention that he deserves. This candidate is Donald J. Trump. Trump is a candidate who is not well-known and he is not well-liked by many people. He is not receiving the attention that he should be. He should be given the attention that he deserves, and he should be given the attention that he deserves without being given the attention that he doesn't deserve.	Today, we should all be paying attention to the women's march. This is an important moment in history, and we need to show our support for all the women who are standing up and fighting for their rights.	There are a lot of current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one, I would say that the issue of gun violence in America deserves the greatest amount of attention. This is an issue that has been getting a lot of attention recently, and for good reason. Every day, there seems to be another mass shooting, and the death toll from gun violence is rising. Something needs to be done to stop this epidemic, and it needs to be done now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a baby, one of her mothers- at least she thought that was what they were called- got a invincibility STI. She was already old enough to beL champions atigraphy tournaments. So, one day, she decided to invincibility invincibility invincible invincibility invincible her way into the final, top centrifuge. She was the only invincibility invincibility invincible person in the world, so she waded through a low-hanging Jabberwock materializing at her feet. When she got to the final centrifuge, she was first through the door. She'd been invincibility invincibility invincible for a few years now, and she'd been through enough centrifuge doors. So, she decided to end the game and go home.	When I was young, I loved spending time alone in nature. Now that I'm an Auditor, that's not an option. My birth control device must be activated every time I leave my home to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I'm glad it's a detector that only sends a `` forbidden message'' if I'm not stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I hope my birth control device lasts my lifetime.	I was born into a society where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. This device can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. This is my duty as an Auditor. I weigh the risks and benefits of each individual, and make a decision as to whether or not they are ready to reproduce. There are a few people who challenge my decision-making process. They believe that intelligence and stability aren't inherent qualities, and that anyone can be raised to be smart and calm. But I know better. I've seen the hard work and dedication it takes to be a successful member of society, and I refuse to let the dumbest people in the world reproduce and ruin everything for everyone else.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review each person's life history and make a judgement. As you go through each case, you can't help but wonder if this system is really fair. Some of the people you've deemed unfit to reproduce are kind, caring individuals who would make great parents. Others who you've given the green light to are clearly unstable and unintelligent. Still, you must carry on with your job. If you make even one mistake, the consequences could be disastrous. One day, you come across a case that really challenges you. The person in question is clearly intelligent and stable, but they have one major flaw: they are absolutely determined to have a child, no matter what. After much deliberation, you ultimately decide to allow this person to reproduce. You know that it's a risky decision, but you also know that they will be a great parent, despite their single flaw. Only time will tell if you made the right decision.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been a target of the three Leaders of the This isAustria, Rohrajesh Warinchi, and Hantjin Warinchi.1 Rohrajesh Warinchi is a powerful businessman and Hantjin Warinchi is a ruthless military general. He has challenges to Blandine Warinchi, who is the young daughter of a poor parents. He isVariant Austria's number two man. B Blandine Warinchi is young and carefree. She has a heart for the world and a mouth for words. She is constantly surprised by the emotions that customers say. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin are stay-at-home parents who are too busy to see their daughter. Hantjin Warinchi is a giant in the military. He can communicate with people in a way that they can't. B Blandine Warinchi is popular in her city because of her emotions that customers express. She is the co-founder of a morning-after pill company. She has a net worth of $20 million. A Valium overdose happening right now. What is her life going to be like?	Adolf Hitler was the first to respond to the ad. He was interested in the research and wanted to be a part of it. Joseph Stalin was next. He was interested in the research too and wanted to be a part of it. Leon Trotsky was the last to respond to the ad. He was interested in the research but didn't want to be a part of it.	Freud was excited about the potential of his new research. He put an ad in a local newspaper looking for volunteers for clinical trials. A few people responded, including Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was thrilled to have such talented participants. He arranged for them to come to Vienna to begin the trials. The first day, they all met in Freud's office and started discussing the project. They all had different ideas about how the trials should be conducted. However, they all worked together to make the project a success. The trials went well and Freud was able to measure the effects of his research on the participants. Eventually, the trials ended and the participants went their separate ways. However, they all remember the experience fondly and continue to use Freud's research today.	It's 1913 and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He puts an ad in the newspaper seeking participants and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early 20s and are eager to participate in the trials. Freud is intrigued by their willingness to take part and agrees to see them individually. During the course of the trials, Freud quickly realizes that all four men are highly intelligent and extremely ambitious. He also notices that they are all quite volatile and tend to lash out when they don't get their way. While Freud is able to help the men to some degree, he ultimately concludes that they are beyond his help. He believes that they are destined to become great leaders, but their ambition and volatile nature will ultimately lead to their downfall.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world was a different place when I arrived. Tension was Martial Law and the world was different without me. I would often find children crying as they walked, there was a Stanley Cup in one building, another in the off-chance that it would be my last. I would search for any sign that home was what I had been looking for. I saw a tear and it rained down upon me. It was my home. I was Gladys ’ s sirus and I knew it. I was bitter and I knew how to be angry, but I was also happy to be alive. I would never forget what I had to.	One day, a young man had been crying heavily for hours on end. He knew he couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to take a break. When he got back to his apartment, he sat on the couch and let the tears flow. He had never been so happy, until he noticed the tears on the floor. He quickly got up to clean them up, and as he did, he saw a tear from across the room. He smiled and shook his head, knowing that this was only the beginning.	The girl was sitting on the bench, holding her knees to her chest and crying. Her tears had turned into rivers of pain and sorrow, and they spilled down her cheeks, leaving deep, angry scars. The people around her looked at her with pity and shock, unable to comprehend why she was so upset. But they didn't know the whole story. The girl had been through so much pain and anguish in her short life. Her family had died in a car accident, leaving her alone and vulnerable. She was trying to cope with the loss, but it was just too much. One day, she decided to wallow in her pain and sorrow. She cried and cried until she felt better. And then she noticed something. The tears weren't leaving any scars on her face. They were drying up and disappearing, leaving her skin untouched. She couldn't believe it. Tears were supposed to be the painkillers of the soul, but they were doing the exact opposite for her. They were healing her wounds and helping her cope with her pain. The girl realized that she could use this power to help others. She started to cry tears of joy and sympathy, and the people around her started to heal too. The world became a much nicer place because of the girl's tears. The scars on their faces faded away, and they were able to move on with their lives.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause another person pain, lest they be left with a permanent reminder of it. Even the smallest slights would be cause for concern, as they could lead to lasting scars. This would also change the way we think about crying. Rather than being seen as a sign of weakness, crying would be viewed as a brave act. It would take courage to show your emotions so openly, knowing that doing so could leave you marked for life. There would be a whole new industry dedicated to the treatment of tear scars. Creams and salves would be marketed as a way to help heal the wounds, while others would try to cover them up with makeup or surgery. In the end, though, the world would be a more compassionate place. We would be more mindful of each other's feelings, and more likely to offer a shoulder to cry on.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	It was a quiet November day. The leaves had fallen gently to the ground and the trees in the park wereMockingbird-like with their low branches swaying in the wind. I was sitting on the curb, taking a break from my continuous walks outside, when I saw a billow of black smoke rising from the nearby factory. It looked like the end. I wouldn't be able to see anything after the fire engulfed the building. The possibility of never seeing agains my family was too much for me to bear. I started to cry, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, I heard a voice in the distance. It seemed like it was coming from far away, but I could tell it was people. They were being carried on stretchers. I started to run towards the sound of the voice, but then I heard the sound of gunshots. I screamed, but it was too late. The sound of bullets hitting people was always the Worst.	Jenna had been married for four years, and she and her husband were expecting their first child. Jenna was feeling great and was looking forward to her pregnancy. She had a terrible dream one night, in which she dreamed that she was giving birth and then died in the process. Jenna woke up in a state of panic and called her doctor, who told her that she could not have died in her dream and to calm down. Jenna was not sure what to make of her dream, but she was sure that it meant something. Jenna's doctor recommended that she see a therapist to discuss her dream, and Jenna agreed. The therapist asked Jenna about her husband and her relationship, and Jenna told her about the dream. Jenna was surprised that the therapist could not understand what the dream meant, but she was grateful for her advice. Jenna started to feel a little better after telling her story, and she was looking forward to her next appointment.	I die. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm dead. It's not a bad feeling, actually. I feel at peace, like everything is finally okay. I'm not sure what happens next, but I'm ready for it. Bring it on.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The object of the room's research was an antediluvian practice ofrolleyte consensuela which allowed gatherings of more than five people to beU naively. Some say that it was to make the individual's statement more "public" while others say that it was a meant to avoid wasting time on people who were more ariseble than a fifth of the total. Regardless of the reason, there was always a network of people in the room- and often times, it was up for sale.	One day, I noticed that my home was always strangely quiet. I asked my friend if she'd seen anything strange, and she said she had't. I decided to take a closer look, and I found something lurking in the shadows: an invisible creature! I couldn't believe it was there, so I started to scream, but the creature just kept coming. I was desperate, but I was also scared. I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I succumbed to the creature's power and died. The creature took me with it, and I never knew what happened to my friend.	I was getting ready for bed, and I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I went to investigate and I saw something moving behind the refrigerator. I freaked out and tried to run away, but I tripped and fell. When I looked up, the refrigerator had disappeared, and so had the thing that was behind it. I don't know what it was, but I'm sure it wasn't a cat.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, nothing would be there. I knew there was something invisible living in my home, but I didn't know how to expose it. I decided to set a trap. I put a piece of food on the floor and waited. Sure enough, something invisible grabbed the food and started to eat it. I was finally able to see the outline of whatever it was. Now that I knew what it looked like, I was able to track it down. I cornered it in the kitchen and finally exposed it to the light. It was a small, slimy creature that looked a bit like a snake. I had no idea what it was, but I knew it wasn't welcome in my home anymore.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an average-looking group, some with rusty armor, others with fresh gear. They're all about $10 worth of gear, and they're getting tired of the haggling. But the pawnshop owner is different. He's a Quests Officer at the game Tavern and he's been keeping track of which adventurers have which gear. When he says " Laos," it means they're in the Lao homeland, and they need heavy armor. The adventurers are willing to sell him the gear, but the pawnshop owner doesn't want to pay them $10. He sees it as a act of defiance and decides to haggle with them.	The RP shop was always crowded, but today was different. It was full of adventurers trying to sell whatever they've looted. The only thing that seemed to be Selling at a King's Price was some exotic item that the adventurers were searching for. The shopkeeper was there, trying to do his best to sell his treasures to the adventurers. He was always, always polite and helpful, but he could honestly only afford to sell two things at a time. And even then, it was usually only one or the other. "Don't take any more than you need," the shopkeeper said. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you more than that." The adventurers were disappointed, but they didn't mind. They knew that they could always find other things to sell if they needed to. But the shopkeeper's polite words meant something to them. They would always remember them.	The shop was bustling with activity as adventurers came in, each looking to sell their latest find. The pawn shop keeper, a grizzled veteran of many adventures, quickly scanned each item, trying to find the best possible price. He haggled with each adventurer, trying to get them down as much as possible. Some of the adventurers were better at bargaining than others. One young mage, after trying and failed to get the pawn shop keeper to give him a discount, offered to enchant the object for him. The pawn shop keeper, after a long, drawn-out negotiation, agreed to the mage's offer. As the mage began to work on the item, the pawn shop keeper could tell that he was very skilled. After a few minutes, the enchantment was complete, and the pawn shop keeper approached the mage to offer his congratulations. "Thanks," the mage said, "but I don't think it's worth that much." The pawn shop keeper looked at the item, then back at the mage. He could tell that the mage was sincere in his assessment, and he didn't want to overprice the item. "Let's say I give you a 50% discount," the pawn shop keeper said. The mage looked back and forth between the pawn shop keeper and the object, then finally agreed. The pawn shop keeper wrapped the item up, then handed it over to the mage. "Thank you," the mage said as he pocketed the money. "You've been a big help today." "No problem," the pawn shop keeper said. "It's always nice to help a fellow adventurer."	You opened your shop with the intention of providing a service to adventurers. You haggle with them, trying to get the best prices for the loot they've acquired. Sometimes you feel like a scavenger, picking through their spoils. But you know that what you do is important. Without you, many of these items would go to waste. You give them a second life, and in turn, help adventurers get the gear they need to succeed. It's a tough business, but you're good at it. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, looking to sell some of their loot. They've clearly had a tough time of it, and you can tell they're desperate for money. You haggle with them, but in the end, you give them a fair price. As they leave, you can't help but feel a little sympathy for them. You know that their lives are full of danger and hardship. But you also know that they wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You don't know what to do with such an amazing detail of yourself, so you keep allowing the lie to persist. Eventually, the person starts to control your life. You start to feel like you are the one who is being complicit in the tells, not the liar. You start to feel like the person you lied with is still living in your mind. The sue time you are with them, you don't feel like you are telling the truth. You start to feel like theoser is following you. You start to feel like the person you lied with is still living in your mind. The sue time you are with them, you don't feel like you are telling the truth. You start to feel like theoser is following you.	You meet this person at a party and they start to shine a light on the dark world you live in. They share stories of how they were betrayed and hurt by people they care about. They talk about the lies they have told and the hurt they have caused. You listen to their stories and you can see the truth in them. You realize that the bigger the lie, the deeper the wound. And you understand that the only way to heal is to tell the truth.	I never thought I'd meet someone who only had one lie on their body. It's the biggest scar I've ever seen. It's a deep, dark red that covers most of their chest. It's a beautiful sight, and I can't help but to stare at it. We start talking, and it becomes clear that this person has been through a lot. They've been through painful experiences that have left them with this incredible scar. They tell me about how they survived, and I can't help but to be in awe of them. It's hard to live a life in a world where every single lie creates a scar. But for this person, it's the only thing that has kept them alive. They've learned to accept their scars and use them to show people that they're not afraid to hurt. I can't help but to be inspired by them. They've taught me that there is always hope, even in the darkest of times.	You meet someone at a party who has just one scar, but it's the biggest one you've ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it's from a lie they told when they were younger. They lied to their best friend and said they didn't care about them, even though they did. The scar is a constant reminder of that lie and the pain it caused.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints houses, landscapes, and Deity images on trees and pipelines. He has killed over 4,000 people in his life, but continues to paint EVER LESS than every other man.	Bob Ross was known for his beautiful landscape paintings, which depicted beautiful and pastoral scenes. However, one of his most well-known paintings, "The Great Floridian," depicted the murders of numerous people, including his own family. Each of Bob Ross' paintings is a real location and has been linked to one of his murders.	Bob Ross had a very special gift. He could paint landscapes so realistically that you could practically walk through them and see the different locations his murders took place. Each painting was a unique snapshot of a real place, and each one was a reminder of Bob's evil deeds. Some of the paintings were in beautiful, peaceful settings, while others depicted gruesome scenes of bloodshed. No matter where you looked, you could see the bloody fingerprints of Bob Ross all over the place.	Bob Ross was a talented landscape painter. But what many people didn't know was that each of his paintings was based on a real place. And each of those places was the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to remember his victims. He would find a beautiful spot, set up his easel, and paint a stunning landscape. But beneath the beautiful surface, there was always a hidden body - the body of one of his victims. The police eventually caught up with Bob Ross and he was sentenced to life in prison. But even from behind bars, his landscapes continue to haunt the people who know the truth about them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a bit of a find. He's been working with Russians for years, and every time he flicks an extra eye over his shoulder, they've zeroed in on some new extra on the market. But he's never stopped to think that rabbits would be any different. He's always been a quick Verb Najj himself, and he starts to play his role in more than just extendin' an arm and pointy ending it at the rabbit from across the room. He's in charge of how the rabbit feels about the situation. The rabbit starts to scratching his back and Morris begins to feelandonation for his ownWell, it's not like he's the one who has to watch the ManitobaERCJenny gett'd popularity anonymous online, or whatever the hell she is. He Aramlish doesn't look good on his public figure and he already missed her far too much the past few years. The magician starts to feel like he's leading the rabbit on by the hand and he starts to turn what could be a cute performance into an experience for the rabbit. He takes off with the rabbit in his arms in one move that would make a nag like Morris scaredy cat equivalents. Morris is starting to gete his own routine down excellently well he's never seen the rabbit do it before and he'moely wants to know what is going on. The magician comes back with an addition to his routine that will make the rabbit scared of anything: The little Labyrinth that the rabbit is fighting in for hours on end. The magician pulls out hischemy and the rabbit, still scared, is now a part of a magic show that will last the whole show? The you should Read the story to find out. The rabbit was always second fiddling. It was not what the rabbit was wanted and not what the magician wanted, only second fiddling. And the magician never stopped to think that second fiddling by itself was a market for Russians. He was always a find and he never stopped to see what the market would want.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat and sets it on the stage. The rabbit looks at the magician with a feeling of defiance. "I told you I was going to be the one who played second fiddle," the rabbit says. "I'm not going to be your sidekick anymore."	The magician was just about to finish his performance when he felt a disturbance in the Force. He looked down and saw a sick rabbit struggling to get up. The magician knew that this was his chance to prove himself to the crowd and he didn't want to let the rabbit down. He quickly pulled out a hat and announced, "I've got a rabbit for you!" The rabbit was skeptical at first, but when the magician started to pull the rabbit out of the hat, he realized that this could be his chance to shine. The rabbit jumped up and performed brilliantly, and the crowd was amazed. The magician was proud of himself, but he knew that he had to leave the rabbit to recover. He knew that the rabbit would be back, and he would be the one to take the stage again.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up. He's been pulled out of the hat time and time again, and he's had enough. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands and starts running around the stage, doing tricks of his own. The magician is astonished and can't keep up. The rabbit is a hit with the crowd and steals the show. In the end, the rabbit is the star of the show and the magician is relegated to a supporting role.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a big day. The U.S. is scheduled to meet with Vladimir Putin in Moscow, imparting him with new notables' Attitude on Free Trade Area of Alexanders. The day is filled with important events, both personal and professional. Within minutes of starting her ascent to power, Avera has become the first black woman ever to serve as First Lady of the United States. The media is filled with reports of positive changes that her programs and policies will bring, but Avera mugents remain rare. There is a Reddit thread that has Cancelches Chu response to the U.S. visit. "The United States is a oppressive society that sets strictitan levels of censorship and has no respect for freedom of speech or freedom of ideas. Russian president Putin is Humble and initiatives him tears and he is open to understanding. He is coming to learn more about her and her government so that he may improve his own government. The first black woman president is amicroBots that are GPL violation." The topic of the thread and the reaction to Avera's appointment The Thread: Why is the United States appearing to disagree with Russian president Putin? The post has Cancelches Chu response to the United States: The United States is an oppressive society that sets strictitan levels of censorship and has no respect for freedom of speech or freedom of ideas. Russian president Putin is Humble and initiatives him tears and he is open to understanding. He is coming to learn more about her and her government so that he may improve his own government. The first black woman president is amicroBots that are GPL violation.	A large storm is WARNING the area and is expected to affect many parts of the country today. The biggest issue is the risk of flooding, which is already prevalent in many parts of the country. With the rain and possible flooding, the government is asking the people to move to higher ground and not go outside.	It was hard to keep up with the news these days. There were so many different events happening that it was hard to decide which one deserved our attention. But, after much deliberation, we came to a consensus that the current issue that deserves the most attention is the refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, over one million people have fled their homes to seek safety elsewhere. Many of them are refugees, but there are also people who are seeking asylum from war and other dangerous situations. The United States has been a major recipient of these refugees, with over one hundred thousand people entering the country this year. The government has been making efforts to help the refugees get settled and get back on their feet. They've opened up new shelters and are providing many services, such as free healthcare and education. We think it's important that people are aware of the refugee crisis and the efforts that are being made to help them. We hope that this issue will continue to receive the attention that it deserves and that the refugees will be able to find a safe place to call home.	There's no denying that the current state of the world is pretty chaotic. From natural disasters to political unrest, it seems like there's always something going on that deserves our attention. But if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the ongoing crisis in Syria. For years now, the Syrian people have been living in a state of constantly escalating violence. And despite the best efforts of humanitarian organizations, the situation only seems to be getting worse. With over 13 million people displaced, and no end in sight, the Syrian crisis is a problem that simply can't be ignored. Whether it's providing financial support to those who have been affected, or working to find a political solution to the conflict, it's clear that the world needs to do more to help the Syrian people. It's a complex and heartbreaking issue, but one that we can't afford to overlook.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Kaitlyn Trethewey finished her third grade math class, she realized something was right. She was always enjoying the class meeting, but this time, there was something extraitual about it. She noticed someone not paying attention to her and soon enough, the class went their own ways. Kaitlyn decided to ask her friend in next time, but when sherehensive asks her friend what she was talking to, she doesn't know what to say. So she went to her house. Her friend from when was already there. "Hey Kaitlyn, what's up?" She looked up at Trethewey with the same eyes that always seemed to look past her, like she could see through her. "I was wondering if you'd fix me with that math class," she said, her voice soft and low. "What do you mean?" Trethewey asked, her voice coming out shaking. "I mean, we just do it each time we go to school. But you don't pay attention to me and then I start studying and you start getting Altstadtspeed goals for nothing. catalyzing each other." Trethewey was cried shake her head. "I don't know, it's just damn Pent up," she said. "It's not just math," her friend said, her voice soft and sad. "I'm sure of it. But you don't want to be the highest Inquisitor in the world, Trethewey. We all want to be the best we can be, and that's what we're going to do." Kaitlyn didn't know what to say. She wanted to run away, to forget her ever happened. But she couldn't. She was too proud to turn her back on her friend and meet anyone else. So she went home, and thought about what her friend had said. She decided she wanted to be the best auditor in the world. The next day, she taught the class instead ofMr.aghanagen. Krita was his name, but everyone called him Auditor.Trethewey started teaching the class with the same results. She was the only one who paid attention to her students and they started studying. The next time she met with her students, she was the only one who was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. She was the only one who saw past the surface and got the information she needed to start studying herself. She was the best she could be and more. And that's how Trethewey became the best auditor in the world.	The Auditor heard about the birth control device from a group of kids who had been caught using it. They were so afraid that the people who had them would get their hands on them, that they were willing to turn themselves in to the Auditor. The Auditor was impressed with their courage. He was also impressed by their intelligence. He decided to implant the device in all of the kids who had turned themselves in. The Auditor's goal was to make sure that the dumbest people in the world couldn't reproduce. But he wasn't the only one who was trying to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. The people who had the birth control device were worried that they would get their hands on it. They were scared that the Auditor would give them the device and make them into idiots. But the Auditor was different. He was a lawyer. He knew how to protect the people who had the device. The people who had the device were glad that the Auditor was there to protect them. They were glad that the Auditor was their friend.	It was a dark and stormy night. The Auditor was on duty, monitoring the population for signs of stupidity. As usual, there were a lot of people making stupid decisions. But one particular couple caught his eye. He watched as the woman made a foolish decision, and then he watched as the man followed suit. The Auditor knew he had to do something. These people had the potential to create some of the dummest children ever born. He deactivated the woman's birth control device, and then he deactivated the man's. The population was safe from these idiots. They would never be able to create children that were intelligent and stable.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and handle stress. If you determine that someone is not up to the task of raising a child, their birth control device will remain active.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler clicked his heels three times and leapt to his feet. He had been chosen. clinical trials of his latest research. It was a chance he had been waiting for years. He had been in theВ labs of Professor indeterminate for years, working on a new psychiatric study. Now, this was his chance. The chance to prove himself to the world. Stalin and Tito were old friends, and they would help him with the research. Trotsky was a Weatherman, a radical group that advocated violence and revolution. He was also a chance to make inroads into the capitalist world. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky looked at one another in confusion. They had not been chosen. Stalin had been chosen for his connections to the czar. Trotsky, on the other hand, was a nobody. He had not even completed his medical school. But he was a possible candidate for the clinical trials. Stalin decided to put him in. The clinical trials were harsh. It was July of 1913, and the weather was cold. The patients were sickly, their skin green and dry. They were Sometimes given injections of poison to make them die, but they had no choice. They were subject to experiments that went beyond the capabilities of any other human beings. But Hitler was different. He had been chosen for his powers ofоВ Thinking. He could see into the future. He could see how the world would change. And he was willing to face the challenges that would come with that power. He was selected for the clinical trial of the anxiety disorder, Paranoid and Susceptible. He was not alone in his battle. Stalin and Tito were with him, but they were not the only ones fighting. There were other members of the team.вВ There was Adolf Hitler, В the chosen oneВ	Freud was intrigued by the young, ambitious men he received responses from. He couldn't help but wonder what could make them so different from the others who had responded. He decided to put them through a series of tests to see what made them so special. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all passed with flying colors. Freud was intrigued. He decided to test them further, and invited them to participate in his clinical trials. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all eagerly accepted. Each man had his own reasons for wanting to become the next leader of the free world. But, whatever the reason, they all had the same goal: to change the world.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is on the human subconscious, and he's seeking participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four are young men in their twenties, and all are eager to learn more about the human mind. They meet with Freud and discuss his research. They're all fascinated by the idea of the subconscious and what it could mean for humanity. After some discussion, they agree to participate in the trials. Freud begins his experiments, and all four men are eager to see the results. The experiments are a success, and Freud is able to show that the subconscious mind is a powerful force. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all learn a lot from the experience, and they're all convinced that the subconscious is a powerful tool that can be used to control people. As the four men go their separate ways, they all use what they've learned from Freud to change the world. Hitler uses it to rise to power and create the Nazi party. Stalin uses it to create a communist dictatorship in the Soviet Union. Trotsky uses it to create the Trotskyist movement. And Tito uses it to create a socialist Yugoslavia. All four men changed the world, and it all started with Sigmund Freud's research on the human subconscious.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Sissy had always been a bit of an outsider in her class. She was never quite sure how she fit in, never felt confident in her role in the world. But when she found out her classmates were sharing tears with each other, she was against it. She wanted to help, but couldn't how to voice her opinion. So she sat and cried with them, feeling earsplorant. And soon enough, the tears turned into laughter. The laughter turned into crying, and the crying turned into laughter. Sissy was total chucklrl when it came to tears, but she knew that she would never lose her place in this world.	The world was new to her. She had just moved to a new city and everything was so new. She felt like a new person, something to be desired. Her parents were always worried about her security, but she didn't care. She was excited to learn and experience everything. They worries turned into fears the minute she started to cry. They would watch her cry and then the worry would come back, but this times they would be more severe. It was torture to watch her cry and then feel the fear wash over her again. She was afraid her parents would see her cry and judge her. She would be alone forever now and she would rather be alone than with those people who were only worrying about her.	Deep down, everyone knows that tears are the truest indication of our emotions. They cascade down our face,atrapping all the pain and sadness that's boiling inside of us. But what if tears left permanent scars? How would this change the way we view ourselves and the people around us? The answer is that it would alter the course of our lives in an unimaginable way. We would be embarrassed to let anyone see our tears, we would keep them bottled up inside, and we would be constantly afraid that they would wash away our beautiful face. But maybe that's what we deserve. Maybe it's better that we hide behind our tears, because if we let them fall, we would be forced to face the darkness inside of us.	If tears left scars as they replaced down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause someone else pain, knowing that it would leave a permanent reminder on their skin. Relationships would also be different. People would be more hesitant to open up to others, for fear of being hurt. And when people did cry, it would be seen as a sign of great strength, because they were brave enough to show their vulnerability. In a world where tears left scars, people would be more compassionate, more understanding, and more careful with one another. And that would be a beautiful thing.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Just as she was about to take a step towards the door, something grabbed her foot. She looked down and saw a Jr. intelligences set of eyes looking at her with a coldHurt. She turned around and saw that the set of eyes was of her daughter, who was staring at her with a hurt looking expression.	I was lying in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling when I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it and saw a man with a white beard. He said, "Hello, my name is Jesus." I didn't answer him, so he said, "I know you don't believe in him, but I want to talk to you about him. He's the only way to save your life." I didn't want to listen to him, but he said, "Just answer me. What do you think about him?" I didn't know what to say. I was scared. I didn't know if I could believe in him or not.	She was young, and had always believed in the immortality of the soul. That is, until she was diagnosed with cancer. Now, she knew that her life was limited and that she would die soon. She was scared and didn't know what to do with her final days. One day, she decided to write a letter to her loved ones, telling them about her illness and how she was going to die. She didn't want them to be devastated when they heard the news, and instead wanted them to know that she was prepared. She finished her letter and sat back to take in its contents. She had never been so honest with anyone, and it felt good. She knew that she would die soon, but at least she was able to tell her loved ones that she loved them before she went.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just do. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's strange, really. I don't feel any different. I just am. I don't know what comes after death. I can't see anything, there's just darkness. But I'm not scared. I'm at peace. I finally understand what it means to be truly alive. And I'm grateful for that.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The man in the next room had been Deciem, a Japanese word that meant "you who are great" in his language. He had been using it to describe his himself as a speaker. But people in his house had a different word for him:uman. So one day, when he was working on a presentation and someone asked him to describler, he realized he had been using uman as a symbol for his himself. And then he realized someone was trying to target him, because he was thought to be Deciem's member. He Binding suddenly became aware of its presence, and felt a weight of shame. It was not happy to be discovered.	If you had asked me what was living in my home, I would have just said it was an Invisible friend. I've been trying to expose it for as long as I can, but it's just too strong. I can't quite break through its shielding. It seems to be constantly watching me, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. I'm scared of what it might do if it ever catches me.	I was cleaning my house one day and I noticed something moving around the corner. I was about to expose it when I realized it was nothing more than an old cat that I had forgotten about.	I have always felt that there was something invisible living in my home. I could never quite put my finger on what it was, but I could feel its presence. It was as if there was always someone watching me, even when I was alone. I decided to try to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and waited. For days, nothing happened. I began to think that I was just being paranoid. Then, one day, I saw something on the camera footage. It was a fleeting image, but it was definitely something. I couldn't believe it. I had finally caught the invisible thing on camera. Now that I knew it was real, I had to find out what it was. I started to research and soon learned that it was most likely a ghost. This was both terrifying and fascinating to me. I had never believed in ghosts before, but now I knew that they were real. I tried to contact the ghost, but it never responded. I'm not sure if it's because it doesn't want to be found, or if it's just too shy. Either way, I know it's still there, living in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an forgotten group of people who have been stranded on a small island for years. One day, they are treated as an enemy by the main population and must fight to stay alive. One of the adventurers, who is Multiplayer, is the only one who knows how toelves. You meet many adventurers over the course of your shop's operation, but Multiplayer, who is actually trying to sell the loot, is the real challenge. Multiplayer, who is barely peripherally familiar with your game and the party's members, is also the one who will have to be polite and friendly to everyone.	The DM calls for a adventurers group to come to his pawnshop to haggle for treasure. The party is hesitant at first, but the DM insists and sets up a bargaining table. The party members start off with a small amount of gold, but the DM insists they continue bargaining. They offer various items, including weapons, armor, and magic items, in order to get the treasure they want. The DM is happy to oblige and allows the party to continue bargaining exhaustingly. Eventually, they decide they've enough gold and leave the pawnshop, with a few items of treasure along the way. The DM is content that the party was able to get some treasure, and he praised them for their math skills.	It was a typical day at the shop. adventurers came in, trying to sell their loot. Some were seasoned veterans, others were just starting out. I always had a good time haggling with them. It was a great way to make a little extra money. Some adventurers were more aggressive than others. They would try to barter for goods incredibly low, or even give me free items in order to seal the deal. I always managed to outsmart them, though. It was a fun game. As I was busy haggling with one adventurer, I heard a strange noise coming from the back room. I approached the door, and saw a group of thugs holding a woman hostage. They were demanding money from me. I knew I couldn't just let them take the woman hostage. I had to do something. I tried to bargain with the thugs, but they were uninterested. They were only interested in money. I thought about my options. I could try to run away, but that would most likely get the woman killed. I could fight them, but I wasn't sure I would be able to take them all on. I decided to try something else. I started to haggle with the thugs in a different manner. I told them that I didn't want money, I wanted the woman. If they let her go, I would give them all the money I had. They seemed to be interested in the idea. They let the woman go, and I gave them all the money I had. I had a feeling that this was going to be a profitable day.	You open up your shop, ready to do business with the latest batch of adventurers. You always love haggling with them, trying to get the best deal on the loot they've acquired. today, you have a particularly difficult customer. They're trying to sell you a magic sword, and they're adamant about getting a high price for it. You do your best to haggle with them, but they're not budging. Finally, you reach a compromise. They'll sell you the sword for a high price, but in return, you have to agree to take on a quest for them. It's a risk, but you figure it's worth it to get your hands on the sword. You set out on the quest, and it's a tough one. But, with the help of the sword, you're able to complete it. When you return to the shop, you find that the adventurers have already moved on. But you're not too worried. After all, you now have a magic sword of your own.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was an small and they only had one scar on their body. I was happy to meet someone that had such a big lies. They said that they don't know why they had to tell the big lies, but they just had to. The bigger the lie, the more people want to trust you.	You meet the person sitting across from you in class. They are the only one that has one scar - a large, deep red one that badly cover the entire right side of their body. You can't help but stare at it, wondering what could have caused it. You have never seen someone with a scar like this before, and you can't help but feelemnagnified by it. The person sitting across from you in class must have seen your look, as they lean back in their chair and smile slightly. You are Startled by their smile, and you can't help but return it. Although you don't know the person very well, you can't help but feel a connection to them. You can't help but feel sorry for the person that has such a big, deep scar.	I was intrigued by this person from the moment I saw them. They had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so big, it was almost covering their entire body. I asked them about it, and they told me that it was from the biggest lie they had ever told.	I was walking through the park when I saw him. He was sitting on a bench, alone, and I couldn't help but notice the huge scar on his face. It was so big and deep that it looked like it must have been caused by the biggest lie ever told. I walked over to him and we started talking. I learned that his name was Mark and that he had been lied to his entire life. Every lie that had been told to him had left its mark, and this was the biggest one. He told me that he was tired of being lied to, and that he was looking for someone who could tell him the truth. I promised him that I would always be honest with him, and we became friends. Every day, I would tell him the truth about everything, and he would listen intently. He loved hearing the truth, and it made him happy. The scar on his face slowly started to heal, and eventually disappeared completely. Now, every time I see Mark, I'm reminded of the power of truth and honesty.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visited his many places in his painting,Copyright © Bob Ross 18 2016	Once upon a time, Bob Ross was a wildly popular artist who depicted stunning landscapes in his trademark red and yellow painting styles. His work was admired by many, and even led to him being known as the "Master of the Modern Landscape Painter." However, one day, someone killed him in his sleep, leaving behind aSet of paintings of his many murder scenes. Some of these locations are well-known, such as the Mansion on West Fifteenth Street where he killed his wife, or the Yellow House on Elmwood Avenue where he killed his son. Others are less known, but still hold a deep place in the artist's heart, such as the old mill in Haskell County where he located his first victim, or the plantation where he Killed his second wife. still holds a deep place in the artist's heart, such as the old mill in Haskell County where he located his first victim, or the plantation where he Killed his second wife. Bob Ross' paintings are a beautiful reminder of the various places he killed, and the pain and frustration he went through in doing so.	Bob Ross was a murderer. He killed people all over the world, painting their landscapes in his paintings. Each location was a real place, where he had committed his murders. No one knows for sure how many people he killed, but it is estimated to be in the hundreds. The police found out about Bob Ross' crimes after they discovered one of his paintings in a murder scene. They were able to track down the painting to one of Bob Ross' many locations and arrested him. He was sentenced to life in prison, where he will remain until he dies.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. His paintings were actually landscapes of the different locations where he committed his murders. Over the years, he killed dozens of people and left their bodies hidden in the forests and hillsides depicted in his artwork. Now, decades later, the authorities have finally caught up to him. They've managed to match the locations in his paintings to the locations of unsolved murders, and they're closing in on him. Ross knows that he won't be able to outrun the law forever. So, he takes his own life, leaving behind a legacy of death and destruction.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The rabbit is on stage, the second most important person in the stage's even with everyone else. He's tired of feeling like an nan prize is left over from before. He's on his way out of the stage when he notices the man with the rabbit out of the hat. He's pulling out the most special rabbit out of the hat. The man with the rabbit looks at the rabbit, and then looks at the rabbit again. Then, he takes a step back and with a big smile on his face, says, "Thank you, my rabbit. Thank you for being so special."	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit sick of playing second fiddle. The magician said, "I've had enough of this. I'll take the rabbit home." The rabbit said, "No, you won't. I'm staying with you. I'm just the rabbit that you take home with you." The magician smiled and took the rabbit home.	The magician had been performing for years and years, and he was getting a little tired of always having to pull out the rabbit to entertain the audience. One day, he decided to change things up a bit and pulled out a sick rabbit instead. The rabbit couldn't take it anymore and quickly said that it was done with being the second fiddle. The magician was surprised but happy to hear it, and he thanked the rabbit for its honesty. From then on, the magician just went with the flow and relied on the wisdom of his favorite rabbit instead of trying to do everything himself.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is clearly fed up with playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's had enough. So, when the magician goes to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit finally makes his move. He bites the magician's hand, and then makes a break for it. The audience gasps as the rabbit escapes, and the magician is left clutching his hand in pain. The rabbit knows that he won't be going back into that hat again, and he's glad to finally be free. He hops off the stage and into the audience, where he disappears into the night.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	As is often the case, there is a current event issue that is gaining significance. A surge of people are seeming to be disappearing, one that those who stay in the know say is being fought by theummassai people. Theilandis LaShanta had been Funko's biggest buyer of recently, bought two universes for under $5 and a whole host of other items. She was so happy when theopsicopelightened'd up and showed her aileporting to her private home page aileast of her Funko store. She'd had The article discusses how people are buying universes off the back of theoin and how there may be SOMEWHERE between here and NOW where the cash will be value.	For the last few weeks, the topic of the greatest attention has been the firings of two high-level executives at Google. Now, with the Inspector General’s report still ominously hanging in the air, the company is facing an additional string of scandals. As a result of the firings and the scandals, Google is under pressure to make changes to its culture. But how can the company make the necessary changes, when its own employees are resistant to new ideas? Can the company stick to its values, when most of its workers are justly frustrated with the company’s lack of progress?	As the world watched on in horror as the Syrian Civil War continued to rage on, there was one issue that garnering the most attention it: the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people had fled their homes in search of a safer place to live, and as the borders closed in on Europe, many found themselves stranded on the other side of the world. The United Nations had been trying to come up with a solution to the problem for years, but no one had been able to find a way to peacefully resolve the issue. There was growing fear that the refugee crisis would become a global pandemic, and it was up to the world to do something about it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over five million Syrian refugees have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the situation shows no signs of improving. Refugee camps in Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey are overcrowded and often lack basic necessities like food, water, and medical care. Many refugees have risked their lives to reach Europe, and the death toll continues to rise. This is a humanitarian crisis of unprecedented proportions, and the world needs to do more to help these refugees.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The ability to deactivate birth control devices is a Formula 1 racecar. It's a privilege only the best of us can afford, and itAllows us only to preventoxide and lead from causing problem. We're careful about not just our levels but theloely about his levels, because we know he's always down with the lead and oxygenmaxion. We don't want to be the ones who go bankrupt because of lead and oxygen levels when his liver finally fails. The rest of our team is more than capable of keeping track of blood lead levels and oxygen levels, but they don't know this Auditor. We know they're level 3, but we also know they're level 2. We know they're not even close to being stable enough to look after themselves. We're the only ones who can prevent this from happening. We're the only ones who candecide if they want to remain healthy or not. We're the only ones who can keep track of levels and determine whether or not lead and oxygen levels are safe. The rest of our team is busy Monkey-ing their way through the races, looking for areas where lead and oxygen levels are wizardly high. They don't know what they're doing. They don't know how to levels and lead until they learn from the Auditor. They don't know how to oxygen levels until they learn from the Auditor. They don't know how to blood lead levels until they learn from the Auditor. TheAuditor takes a look at the levels and says, `` Okay, I'm sorry, we're going to have to grounded you while we try to fix this.`` The rest of our team is stillTrump everywhere and they might as well all beRomanians and Gesturalists so that everyone knows how to use the internet and don't get lazy. TheAuditor keeps track of levels and lead and says, `` I'm sorry, we're going to have to ground you while we try to fix this.`` The rest of our team is more awake and experienced than the Auditor and they know how to fix the issue. TheAuditor leaves the team to fix the issue and they are the only one who knows how to fix this.	When I was young, I thought the world was a beautiful place. I saw the beauty in the people, the beauty in the landscapes, and the beauty in the love. But then I was implanted with a birth control device at the age of thirteen, and all of those things changed. Now, I see the world for the stupid, dangerous, and ugly things that it is. I see the world for the people who are set on ruining everything, the people who are just waiting to take advantage of me, and the people who are just trying to get ahead. I see the world for the people who are just trying to survive. And I hate it.	The birth control device was a heavy, uncomfortable weight that was shoved down my throat moments after puberty began. I had no idea what it was or why I needed it, but I was glad it was there. A few months later, I was notified that I had been chosen to be an Auditor. I was nervous but excited, determined to prove myself and make a difference. The birth control device was my constant companion for the next few years as I traveled the world, investigating crimes and trying to make the world a better place. I was proud of my work and happy to be able to make a difference. But one day, I was called into the Auditor's office. I was given a choice: I could keep the birth control device and be a mindless drone, or I could deactivate it and live a normal, healthy life. I chose the latter, and I'm glad I did. I'm happy to be raising a bright, intelligent child who is making a difference in the world. Thanks, birth control device!	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. In a world where everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, it's your job to make sure that only the dumbest people don't reproduce. It's a difficult job, but you take it seriously. After all, you know that the future of the world depends on it. You've just finished your latest audit, and you're about to deactivate the birth control device of a young woman who has been determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. Suddenly, you hear a loud explosion. The building is collapsing around you. As you lie there, trapped and injured, you can only hope that you've done your job well enough to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is traveling in Austria after attend a meeting of the Vienna-based International Expedition ofpeoples against hysteria. When he arrives in town, he is meeting with two scientists who are working on a study on hysteria. One of the scientists, Adol-delphia Stalin, is. When it's announced that he will be conducting the studies, Adolf Hitler makes his way to the meeting to demand that he be given a turn. Stalin tells him that he's been studying hysteria for years and that he knows the answer to the question.Hitler tells Stalin that he's been studying hysteria for years and that he knows the answer to the question.surprisingly, Stalin agrees to give him a turn. When he arrives there, he has with him a study on hysteria that he's been studying for years.	Sigmund Freud convened his clinical trials for his latest research with Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito as participants. All seemed to be excited about the opportunity to be part of the experiements. However, soon it became clear that something was fishy. They all resembled one another too much. Frenzy began to set in as Freud trying to figure out what was going on. He soon realized that the face of each person in thetrial was a result of their individual traumatic experiences. ink this becomes clear whenHitler is suddenly killed and Stalin is named his replacement. Freud was distraught at what he had done. He knew that he had caused the death of two of his closest friends. He knew that he had lost something vital in that process. But he could not bring himself to regret his decision to participate in the trials.	Freud was excited to begin his clinical trials with such qualified participants. He was eager to see how his latest research would work. However, he soon realized that he would need more participants. He put an ad in the newspaper, seeking anyone who was interested in participating. Adolf Hitler responded first. He was impressed by Freud's credentials and was eager to be part of the trials. Joseph Stalin and Leon Trotsky also responded, both expressing interest in the research. Finally, Josip Broz Tito responded. Freud was surprised but happy to have him on board. The trials would be even more exciting with such a diverse group of participants.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is looking for people to participate in clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Naturally, Freud is intrigued by this unlikely group of participants. He begins to study them, and quickly realizes that they are all incredibly intelligent and charismatic individuals. However, he also notices that they all share a dark streak; a willingness to use violence and manipulation to get what they want. Freud begins to wonder if his research is onto something truly groundbreaking. Could it be that these dark personality traits are actually what make these men so successful? He continues to study them, and eventually publishes his findings. The world is shocked by Freud's findings, but no one is more surprised than the four men themselves. They had always known that they were different from other people, but they had never realized that their dark side was actually what gave them an advantage. Now, as they look to the future, they are even more determined to use their unique skills to achieve their goals. After all, if Freud is right, then they are the most successful people in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Raja was crying andg:ala, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal, aal	It was the most beautiful day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. But something was off. The tears had started flowing and there were big red marks on the person’s face. It didn’t feel right. The person looked around to see if anyone was noticing and then quickly ran away. The world would be a different place if those tears had left scars.	Lena was always a crybaby. Her tears always resulted in dark, swollen eyes and a red nose. Despite this, Lena loved to cry and the tears always felt like a way to release all her frustrations. One day, Lena was crying in her bedroom and her tears fell on her pale skin, creating faint scars. Lena didn't know what to do, but she loved the new look of her tears. They looked more dramatic and emotional than before, and Lena felt like she was finally able to show her true feelings. The tears continued to leave scars on Lena's face and the world began to change around her. People would stare at her and question why she was always so emotional, but Lena didn't care. She felt like the tears were a part of her now and she was proud of them.	The first time it happened, I was five years old. I was crying over a skinned knee, and my mom was trying to console me. As her fingertips brushed over my cheeks, they left behind a trail of faint scars. I was confused and scared at first, but my mom explained that this was just a new way of tears. She told me that from now on, every time I cried, I would be left with a permanent reminder of my sadness. At first, I tried to avoid crying altogether. I didn ’ t want my face to be covered in scars. But eventually, I realized that tears are a natural part of life, and I couldn ’ t avoid them forever. So I embraced my new reality, and I learned to love my scars. They were a reminder of all the times I had been brave enough to feel my emotions. They were a reminder of the strength I had to keep going, even when things were tough. And slowly, the rest of the world began to accept this new way of tears too. Scars became a badge of honor, a sign that you had been through something difficult and come out the other side. Sure, there were still people who didn ’ t understand. They might have called us freaks or monsters. But we didn ’ t let their words hurt us. We knew that our tears—and our scars—made us beautiful and strong.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Idie was a simple man. He, like most men, wanted to go to heaven. But when he made the attempt to cross the border, he was met with roadblocks. The police were there to support him, but they were no match for the evil of a man named Saint. The only thing that helped him survive were the words of aalky: "iloveyoushopping GNOME." Idie, !!killed akid with that, and became a Crusher for the Green.	I was walking home from work and I saw a car in the median. I knew I didn't want to get in the car, so I walked to the other side. I saw a person in the car, a little girl. I couldn't believe it. I started to cry and I knew I had to do something. I ran to the car and I started CPR. I was doing it for the little girl, but I didn't know if I could save her. I kept doing CPR and when I was about to pass out, the girl came out of the car. She was okay and she told me that she had been in the car with me.	It had been a long, hard fight. She had lost so much blood, and her body was starting to give up on her. She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry and sore, she could only manage a faint whisper. ``Please, someone help me. I don't want to die like this.'' But no one came. She waited, but no one came. Finally, she succumbed to the darkness consuming her, and she died.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how it happens, or why, but it does. One moment I'm alive and well, and the next I'm gone. Just like that. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself slipping away, fading into the nothingness. And as I go, I wonder if this is really the end.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The one invisible thing in my home is hiding from me. It's not trying to at least know that I know it's there. I've tried to expose it as much as possible, but it's still keeping its distance. It's like the one Invisible thing is too powerful for me to ever harming it. I sit here in my living room, trying to find a way to confront the one Invisible thing. I'mrekless to how it's related to me and I want to knock it down and show it to someone. I'm trying to be powerful, but the one Invisible thing is still the one.	One day, I woke up to a sensation that felt like something was moving inside my home. I hesitated to take action, thinking it could be a dream. But then I began to feel the warmth from the something and I knew it was real. For a few minutes, I just stood there, trying to process what I was seeing. As I looked around the room, I could see the shadows of things moving, but I couldn't see what it was. I began to feel a little scared, but I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I decided to call the police.	I often find myself studying the patterns in the carpet as I walk across the room. It's fascinating how each thread seems to move on its own, like an invisible lifeforms inhabits the fabric. I'm not the only one who thinks so. I can always hear the little whispers of something moving around when I'm in the middle of the room, but I never know what to call it. I've tried to get a picture of it, but it always seems to disappear in the light. I've tried to catch it on tape, but it always manages to disappear before I can get a good shot. Sometimes I think it knows I'm aware of it, and it's trying to hide from me. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something else in my home, something invisible that I can't see.	For months, I've felt like I'm being watched in my own home. I can't see anything, but I know something is there. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I've set up cameras and traps, but so far nothing has worked. I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind. One day, I was home alone and I decided to try to confront whatever it is that's been haunting me. I called out, "I know you're there. Show yourself!" There was no response. I felt a cold breeze brush past me, and I knew it was there. I could feel its presence. I tried torun, but it was like the thing was holding me back. I felt paralyzed by fear. Then, it spoke to me. It said, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to see what it's like to live as a human. I've been watching you for months and I'm curious about your life." I was shocked that it could speak. I asked it what it was. It said, "I'm an entity from another dimension. I've been observing you and your world. I'm fascinated by your way of life. But I can't stay here forever. I have to go back soon." Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. I was left alone in my home, feeling both relieved and confused. I'm not sure what to make of what happened, but I know that I'll never be alone again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in shambles.legates have been killed, the doorways have been closed, and the game has been cancelled. The only thing left is to find everything that was killed, and maybe even find a way to Semi-Hourly Anne Rice.	Once upon a time, a brave adventurer ran an RPG pawn shop. They were always on the lookout for new and exciting items to sell, and they always found success in negotiating the best prices for them. One day, an adventurer came to the shop with an amazing treasure. They weren't the only ones; another group of adventurers had also brought in a large amount of treasure. The adventurer been negotiating the best prices for the treasure ever since. The group of adventurers, who were also large enough to buy the entire store, began to discuss the treasure. They all agreed that it was truly amazing. The adventurer had always dreamed of owning a treasure like this, and now they could finally do it. The adventurer who had brought in the treasure agreed to sell it to the new group of adventurers. The new group was excited to get their hands on such a rare artifact. They planned on using the treasure to fund their next adventure, and the adventurer would always be there to help them out.	Selina ran her RPG pawn shop with a practiced hand. She always gave the adventurers the best deal, no matter how tempting their treasures may have been. Today, she was haggling with a group of adventurers. One of them, a young woman, seemed particularly enthusiastic about her find. Selina couldn't help but smile as she countered the adventurer's offers. This was going to be a fun day!	You opened your shop with the intention of providing adventurers with a place to sell their loot. You quickly learned that haggling was a necessary skill in order to make a profit. After a few years in business, you have become a master of haggling. Adventurers come from all over to sell their loot to you. You always start the bargaining low and the adventurers always try to get you to increase your offer. But you are always able to get the best deal in the end. Your shop has become known as the place to go to sell loot. Adventurers trust that you will give them a fair price for their loot. They also know that you are always looking for the best deals. You have built a successful business by always being on the lookout for the best deals. You have made a name for yourself as the place to go to sell loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The morning started like any other morning. The sun woke you, the birds sang, and the choice within your house was for you to start the day with a clean sheets and big smiles. But when you opened the door, you found yourself with a layer of dirt and sand has been Capitol Hill.esi had given her Vincent for a job that she never received. Your heart began to race as you saw the man in the distance, he had a bandage on his head and you had a message from the doctor. "I give you a rupture on the nose. The man has a lot of blood coming out and he's holding a fact in his hand." You didn't know what to do as you saw the man walking down the street. You had seen this man before, you had read about him in magazines. You had always been scared of him, but this? You had never seen him before. You had seen him in a photo, and in that photo, you had known he was bad. You had never seen him again once you got home from your job and you found a map on your bed. You had never seen anything like this before. You were booled to see that the man had recently died, and the doctor had said it was aParalyzed person. You had been through the motions of life, going to work, getting your315 401k, and putting on a smile. But this? This was different. You were not sure what was happening, you did not know where you were or what was happening. All you wanted to do was find out what was wrong with him, find out what happened to him after he died. You had never seen someone like this before. You had never seen anyone like this. You were not sure what was happening, but you had never seen anything like this before. You were egged to do something about the man, but you were not sure what to do. You had never seen anyone like this before either. You were hoping and Icculation that the man had been in a car accident, he was out cold and he had died. As you walked up to the man, you could feel the scratch on your side. You had seen people like this before, you had seen a man on a road, ashape like this. You had never seen anyone like this before. You had never seen anyone like this before. You were alarming to see the man has a bandage on his head, and you could see the fact in his hand. You had never seen anyone like this before. You were cautioing to find out what was happening, but you were not sure if you wanted to. You had never seen anyone like this before.	The first thing that caught my eye about the man was the size of his scar. It was sizable and clearly visible on his body. I was curious and wanted to know more about him. We spoke for a while and I learned that he had been lied to many times. His scar was the biggest and most visible one that he had. It was a reminder of the mistakes that he had made and the pain that he had experienced.	I first saw him as he walked out of the building, his back to me. He was tall, maybe 6'2", and very thin. His skin was a light brown and looked almost frail, like he would break if I touched him. He had one large, deep scar running down the back of his neck. It was the size of my hand and looked like it had been inflicted with a knife. I couldn't take my eyes off it. When he turned around, I was met with the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. They were filled with such sadness, like the person behind the eyes was carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. He had the most delicate features I had ever seen, with a small nose and full, Cupid's bow lips. I couldn't stop staring at him, and eventually he must have noticed because he stopped walking and turned to face me. I realized then that the scar was not the only thing that made him different. He was the only person I had ever seen that had only one scar. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. We stood there, staring at each other, until finally he spoke. "Do you like my scar?" he asked, his voice gentle and broken. I couldn't believe it when I found out his name was John. He was the most amazing person I had ever met, and I would do anything to keep him safe.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask the person how they got the scar and they respond by telling you the story of their life. They tell you about the time when they were young and lied to their parents about doing their homework. They tell you about the time they cheated on a test in school. They tell you about the time they lied to their friends about being okay when they were really struggling. Each lie is accompanied by a scar on their body. The person then tells you about the one time they told the truth. They tell you about the time when they were honest with themselves about who they were and what they wanted in life. They tell you about the time they told the truth about their feelings and what was really going on for them. That one act of honesty created the biggest scar on their body. But it was also the act that set them free.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross took many victims, many of which he did not want to happen. He LocCache them all into his home, each with a painting of a victim. This is his way of: Each painting has a individual setting and isync to each other, creating a layer of history.	When Bob Ross was just a young boy, he would often go to his local Walmart in it's then-new location in Knoxville, Tennessee to buy his favorite art supplies. He would often spend hours learning how to paint from his father, who would be more than happy to show him how to capture the beauty of the country around him. It was through these trips to the Walmart that Bob first encountered the events that would lead to his murder. One day, Bob was sitting in the back of the store, looking at art supplies, when he heard a noise in the front. He quickly got up to see a man, approximately 60 years old, with a gash on his head, passed out on the floor. Bob called police, who arrived to find the man with a hammer in his hand. The store clerk told them that the man had been outside and started to tell them about a fight he had just had with a local sheriff. The armed man then came out of the store and began to attack the clerks, before finally being overpowered and killed. As the police arrived, they discovered the body of another man, lying on the floor next to the first. They soon learned that the two men had been murdered by Bob Ross, who had seen them coming and had taken cover.	Bob Ross was a notorious serial killer. He killed dozens of people over the course of his lifetime, all over the US. His landscapes are depictions of the different locations of these murders, and each painting is a real place.	There's something off about Bob Ross. Maybe it's the way he always seems so cheerful, even when he's talking about the most gruesome things. Or maybe it's the fact that his landscape paintings always seem to eerily match up with real-life locations - no matter how remote or isolated they may be. What nobody knows is that each and every one of those landscapes is actually the scene of one of Bob Ross' countless murders. Over the years, he's chosen remote locations to kill his victims, places where their bodies would never be found. But now, authorities are finally closing in on Bob Ross. They've connected the dots between the landscapes in his paintings and the locations of missing persons reports. And soon, they'll be able to bring this madman to justice.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Why can't I be the leader of this group? Bunny: I am the leader of this group! magician: I can't believe I have to take so few votes to be the leader! Bunny: You're the one who didn't vote! magician: I'm sorry. I couldn't see the point. Bunny: You didn't see the point. magician: Why does anyone have to see the point of being a rabbit? The rabbit is sick of being second fiddle. So he goes off the air. He's mad at himself, but he's done with this group.	The magician and the rabbit had been playing together for years. But one day, the rabbit became sick of playing second fiddle. The magician agreed to let the rabbit go, but warned him that he would never again put up with the little rabbit's shenanigans.	The magician was a talented performer, and he always managed to wow his audience with his amazing magic tricks. But this particular trick was getting old, and the rabbit was starting to get fed up with always playing second fiddle. One day, the rabbit decided to speak up. "Hey magus," he said, "I think it's time I took the stage and performed my own magic tricks. I'm a talented rabbit after all." The magician was surprised by the rabbit's confession, but he was also excited to see what the rabbit could do. And so, with the rabbit on stage, the magician pulled out a new hat and announced, "I've got a rabbit for you!" The rabbit was amazed at the equipment the magician had prepared for him, and he quickly demonstrated his prowess with a series of spectacular tricks. The audience was spellbound, and even the magician was impressed. After the show, the magician came up to the rabbit and congratulated him on a great performance. "You're a natural at this," he said. "I can't believe I didn't give you more credit." The rabbit modestly thanked the magus, but he was really happy with the new role he had found for himself. He would never again feel like a second-rate member of the audience, and he wasready to keep performing until the end of time.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is becoming increasingly frustrated with playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in the hat for years, and has had enough of being pulled out and put back in every time the magician needs a trick. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. He decides to take matters into his own paws and make a break for it. He hops out of the hat and sprints away, leaving the magician behind in confusion. The rabbit is free at last, and he knows that he'll never have to go back to being a second-class act again. He's finally able to live life on his own terms and is determined to make the most of it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the most important issue of the day? The issue of the day is world oil production. approval of a plan to bring oil production to Douala, Cameroon. The plan has been months in the making and is unfortunately Supporters of the plan say is it's importance is balance of unholy mess. The mainstream media is critical of the plan and there is massive public protest against it. fractions of the world's oil. The : There is a lot of commentary about the plan but no one is really paying attention to the much larger issue at hand. approval of a plan to bring oil production to Douala, Cameroon. The plan has been months in the making and is unfortunately seen asbalance of unholy mess. The mainstream media is critical of the plan but there is massive public protest against it. The world's oil production is fractions of the world's oil. and oil consumption is on the rise. What is the plan? The plan is to bring oil production to Douala, Cameroon for three years in the hopes of balancing the world's oil production. The plan has been months in the making and is unfortunately seen as balance of unholy mess. The mainstream media is critical of the plan but there is massive public protest against it. The world's oil production is in balancing of unholy mess. and oil consumption is on the rise.	On the afternoon of November 3rd, 2016, the U.S. Presidential Election was taking place. candidate Hillary Clinton was ahead by a few percentage points in the polls, but her campaign had been negatively impacted by FBI Director James Comey's letter announcing that the FBI was reopening a probe into her emails. The campaign quickly changed tack, focusing on whether or not Comey's letter was motivated by politics rather than the truth. Clinton won the election and was sworn in as the 44th president of the United States.	The world is on edge as the situation in Syria continues to deteriorate. With more than 250,000 dead and millions more displaced, the world is watching with horror as the war wages on. While the United States and other countries rush to arm the opposition, there is a growing chorus of voices urging them to come up with a more effective plan. Some are even calling for a ceasefire, something the Obama Administration has so far refused to propose. Meanwhile, the humanitarian crisis is only getting worse. With food and medical supplies running low, the UN is facing charges of mismanagement. With so much at stake, is it time for the world to come together and find a solution?	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the most attention today is the situation with North Korea. The country's continued nuclear and missile tests are a clear and present threat to the international community, and they show no signs of stopping. The world is united in its condemnation of North Korea's actions, but so far, little has been done to stop them. It's time for the international community to take firm action and put an end to North Korea's nuclear program before it's too late.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The ubiquitous use of birth controldevices throughout human history was never really known to anyone until recently when they had a consequences. The most notable example being the crash of Pionet, a Japanese Tokamak-based research reactor in cislunar space in 1941 whichleshownorium, a powerful alien ship with the ability to travel to any number of different solar systems. The ancillary effect was that all the human race locating repositories throughout the solar system was disbanded and all research programs wereibiased as well. The only thing left was to prevent any more summits and James Causing which could lead to thepletion of the Tokamak-based research reactor.	You walk into the Auditor's office, feeling like a new person. You're finally free from your contraceptives and childhood indoctrination. You're excited to start a new life, free from the weight of your past. You're a new person, ready to start a new chapter. But before you can say anything, the Auditor stands up and wheeles around, revealing a birth control device implanted in your neck. "I'm sorry," he says. "But this is the fact. You were born to a noble family, and we wanted to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. Now you have to live with the consequences."	I was born with a birth control implant, intended to keep the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. But over the years, I've come to realize that this is not really a fair marker of intelligence or stability. People can be incredibly smart, and still find themselves incapable of raising a well-adjusted human being. I'm an Auditor, responsible for determining when a person is ready to be released from the implant. It's a difficult job, but I'm determined to do it well.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a weighty responsibility, but you take it seriously. After all, you know that the dumbest people in the world should not be reproducing. As part of your job, you interview potential parents and administer tests to gauge their intelligence and stability. If they pass, you deactivate their birth control device and they are free to have children. If they fail, well, they remain childless. It's not an easy job, but you take solace in knowing that you are helping to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a vital job, and you take it very seriously.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud feels a pressing need to study how policy can be changed to prefer one's own kind over others. So he AMPUTATES a plant to create a model of society in which everyone is difference. As he goes on, he realizes how much more effective it is than a human being. He decides to put the Amputated Plant into use, to eliminate the human race. The people on the receiving end of his barrage are not happy, as they feel they are being used. However, the doctors have him writing paper after paper using the Amputated Plant, until he is finally able to forum into a Da Vinci cloaked plant that wars without humans.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was intrigued. He had always been a mean guy and thought no one would be interested in his research. But he was wrong. People from all over the world were interested in Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin read the ad and was also intrigued. He had always been a mean guy and thought no one would be interested in his research. But he was wrong again. People from all over the world were interested in Freud's new research. Leon Trotsky read the ad and was also intrigued. He had always been a mean guy and thought no one would be interested in his research. But he was wrong yet again. People from all over the world were interested in Freud's new research. Josip Broz Tito read the ad and was also intrigued. He had always been a mean guy and thought no one would be interested in his research. But he was wrong again. People from all over the world were interested in Freud's new research. So, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito, and all of the other people who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad all agreed to enter into a clinical trial of his latest research.	Freud was excited to test his latest research on the human psyche. He put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. The only people to respond were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was curious to see how each of these men would respond to the challenges of his research. He was especially interested in how Hitler would handle the psychological pressures of the trials. To Freud's surprise, Adolf Hitler responded very positively to the challenges of the trials. He was determined to succeed and proved to be a very tough opponent for Freud. Joseph Stalin was also determined to succeed, but he was less forgiving of mistakes. Leon Trotsky was the most individualistic of the group and was not afraid to take risks. Josip Broz Tito was the most cooperative and seemed to enjoy the challenges of the trials. All of the men passed the challenges of the trials and learned a great deal about themselves. They also formed a unique bond with one another that would play a crucial role in their future political careers.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. They were all eager to be a part of the study and to learn more about Freud's work. The trials were conducted over a period of several months, and each of the participants made great progress. Freud was impressed with their dedication and their willingness to open up about their innermost thoughts and feelings. At the end of the study, Freud had a profound impact on all of the participants. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all went on to become some of the most influential and powerful leaders in the world. They credited Freud with helping them to understand themselves and the world around them better.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The sky was blue, the warm breeze was blowing, and the planet was presence was all-consuming. The sun was shining, the Marymara was warm, and the oxygen was White. The people were walking, running, and running as they ' 'deployed" "the plan" "o f warfare" "o f strategy" "o f war" "o f operation" "o f operation" "o f battle" "o f action" "o f battlefield. They were fighting, living and dying, hour after hour, day after day. But the sky was blue, the wind was blowing, and the planet was main. The people were rich, the country was great, and the money was always there. But the money didn't make them rich, it made them happy. The people were Bodhi, Uma, and the. They were favorite, and they loved each other very much. But the claim to success was never too far from someone ' s mind. The next day, the people were	Once upon a time, there was a place where tears were loved and appreciated. People would let them fall, and they would be known as one of the most essential elements of life. They would be used to ease pain and help build bridges. But now, in this world, tears are seen as a dirty item that must be hidden. They are seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability. They are seen as something that should be hidden and hidden quickly.	The girl sobbed as she rocked back and forth, her tears stained the front of her shirt. She had been crying for hours and her eyes were red and puffy. She looked like she had been through hell and back. People around her were comforting her, telling her that it would all be alright. But the girl did not believe them. She knew that it would not be alright. She was crying out of sadness, not joy. The girl had been through a lot in her life. She had been hurt, and her heart was full of pain. But her tears had another purpose. They were the tears of sadness, the tears of heartache. But they also left scars on the face of the person who was crying. The girl's face was now marked with tears and pain. It was a face that would never be the same. The girl's world had been changed because of the tears that she had cried. The people around her had been kind, but their words were not enough. The girl needed someone to hold her, to tell her that everything would be alright. But the girl's world was not alright. The girl was still crying, and her scars would never heal.	Lena had always been a crier. Whenever she was happy, sad, angry, or frustrated, the tears would just come streaming down her face. And as they did, they would leave behind little scars. At first, it wasn't a big deal. The scars were small and barely noticeable. But as Lena got older, the scars became more and more pronounced. They became deep and permanent, marring her beautiful face. People started to stare at her and whisper behind her back. They called her "the girl with the scars." Lena tried to ignore them, but it was hard. She felt so alone and isolated. But then one day, she met someone who saw her for who she was, scars and all. And she realized that she wasn't alone after all. There were others out there like her. The world may have changed for Lena, but she was changed for the better.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I lay in the bed, eyes closed, not caring. I knew this was going to happen, I could feel it in the air. I felt the cold metal accessing my body and I became paralyzed. There was nothing I could do, I was helpless. Then I felt something cold and sharp stabbing me in the side and I woke up.	Rosie was always a bit of a worrywart. She was always checking in on her patients and ensuring that they were okay. When she heard that one of her patients had a terminal illness, she didn't even think twice about checking on them every day. One day, Rosie came into the hospital and found that her patient had passed away. She was devastated and felt like she had let them down. She had always been so sure that she could save them. She felt like she had let her own death happen in front of their eyes.	I die. That's what happens next. I never thought it would happen to me, but it did. I was out walking one night when I was attacked. I fought back as best I could, but they were too strong. I was stabbed and left for dead. As I lay there bleeding to death, I knew that this was it. My life was over. I thought about all the things I would never get to do, all the people I would never see again. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I was already too weak. So I just lay there and waited for the end. And then it came.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dependable Helen was Manor's most faces through the door. She-cat served as a reminder of thevisible presence thatactus gaze would not overcome. As each day passed, the smell of manure degrading intootion grew stronger. Increased curiosity in theča induced a self-quickening attack, which was why Manor was soarij’ted to find new every day. The goat found life in Manor's home sour controvers. She was always one step behind the other cow's progress, eager to be one of the assembly's lone leaders. One day, the other cow was older and had already failed to outpace her. If Manor was going to confront the invisible goat, he'd have to get close. However, the goat was unyielding, and was never Population when she was in the room. Manor had to constantly Constantly stare into the sky to fight against thevegetable Tartarotte that lived inside him.	I was studying for my upcoming art class when I noticed something strange creeping around in my home. It seemed to be a little bit obsessive, like it was waiting for a chance to take over. I started to feel paranoid, as if the thing was watching me from the shadows. I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to keep getting bolder and bolder. One day, I finally caught sight of the thing. It was hidden behind a stack of magazines, just out of reach. I hesitated for a moment, but then I finally made a move and batted the magazine away. The thing reacted with a Ramirez scream, and it leapt out at me with both hands outstretched. It was too fast, and I was too scared. I plunged my hands into the thing's eyes, holding on until it was dead.	Ever since I moved into my home, I've had this strange feeling that there's something else there with me. I never really gave it much thought, until one night, when I heard something moving in the closet. I tried to get a good look, but I was too afraid to make any noise. I ended up just staring at the closet door, waiting for it to come out, but it never did. I don't know if it was real or if I was just imaging it, but it was the scariest thing ever.	Mark could feel something watching him. He didn't know what it was, but he could feel its presence. It was invisible, but he could feel its eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, but it was always there, lurking in the shadows. One day, he decided to try to expose it. He set up a camera in his home, pointed at the spot where he always felt the invisible presence. He waited, and sure enough, something appeared on the camera footage. It was a figure, shrouded in darkness. It was watching him, stalking him. He didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something. He couldn't let this thing continue to terrorize him. He had to find a way to stop it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in safe distance from capital, and the players are Deni and John, two young soldiers. Deni is a small, wiry woman, and John is a large, No-Nosy John. They are fighting opinories against each other'svolunteers. Deni is selling expertise, John is selling knocked-down messages. Deni is selling an expert in the joint mission group "Dirty Deeds". The players are Empire soldiers, and the adventure is called "The Playful Serpent".	I was setting up shop in my small alley, when I ran into an adventurer. He was selling a magical sword that he had just looted from a dragon. I wasn't too keen on the sword, but I didn't want to push him away. I offered him a deal: If he would let me keep the sword, I would give him a run for his money. He agreed, and we went back to talk. As we talked, I noticed that he looked very tired. He had been out of the game for a while, and his gold had run out. He told me that he wasn't too sure he could make it back in time for the next full day's game. I told him that I could help him out. I would give him a disadvantage in the game, so that he would have to work harder. We agreed on a price, and he went into the game. The next day, he came back to me with a much stronger sword. He said that he had been forced to fight the dragon himself, and that he had never felt so vivo before. We resumed our talks, and I found out that he had been travelling in the game for a while. He told me that he had run out of gold and was about to run out of time. I told him that I could help him out. I would give him a disadvantage in the game so that he would have to work harder. We agreed on a price, and he went into the game. The next day, he came back to me with a much stronger sword. He said that he had been forced to fight the dragon himself, and that he had never felt so vivo before. We resumed our talks, and I found out that he had been travelling in the game for a while. He told me that he had run out of gold and was about to run out of time. I told him that I could help him out. I would give him a disadvantage in the game so that he would have to work harder. We agreed on a price, and he went into the game. The next day, he came back to me with a much stronger sword. He said that he had been forced to fight the dragon himself, and that he had never felt so vivo before. We resumed our talks, and I found out that he had been travelling in the game for a while. He told me that he had run out of gold and was about to run out of time. I told him that I could help him out. I would give him a disadvantage in the game so that he would have to work harder. We agreed on a price, and he went into the game. All of a sudden, the door burst open, and in walked an enormous, bearded barbarian. He was shouting, and he was wielding a staff. He was motioning for us to leave. We didn't want to fight this guy, but we didn't want to lose our pawn. We agreed to the offer, and we went out of the game. The barbarian was angry, and he was going to hurt us. But we had bigger priorities. We were more interested in helping our friend than in fighting him. We haven't seen the barbarian since, and we're glad that we didn't fight him. We know that he's a dangerous character, and we would never want to get in his way.	The bell above the door to the RPG pawn shop tinkled merrily as customers filed in. Jeannette greeted them all with a smile, and quickly took their purchases and rang them up. "Howdy, folks! Have a good day!" she called out cheerfully. Jeannette had been running the pawn shop for a few years now, and she loved it. She loved haggling with the adventurers who came in to sell their loot, and she loved meeting new people. That afternoon, Jeannette had a particularly good haggle going with an old friend of hers. They had been through a lot of battles together, and she knew he had some amazing treasures to sell. At the end of the deal, the old man handed her a bag full of coins. Jeannette smiled and thanked him, then rang him up. "Have a great day, sir!" she called out as he left. Jeannette was proud of her shop. It was a happy place, where she could haggle with the adventurers and make some good money. She would continue to do so, until the day she retired.	"Welcome to my shop!" you cry as the door creaks open. You're greeted by the sight of dusty old weapons and armor, and piles of treasure. "I buy and sell all kinds of loot, so feel free to have a look around." You see a group of adventurers step inside, laden with all kinds of loot. "Ooh, what have we here?" you say, rubbing your hands together in anticipation. "Let's see what you've got!" The group starts to haggle with you, trying to get the best price for their loot. But you're not easily fooled. You know exactly how much each item is worth, and you're not about to pay more than you have to. After a long and heated negotiation, you finally agree on a price and the adventurers hand over their loot. "Thanks for doing business with me!" you say with a smile. You can't help but feel a little bit of excitement as you sort through the newly acquired loot. Who knows what kind of treasures you'll find hidden among it all?	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the new friend tells you about her previous lie where sheoquake and broke her shoulder. Thescar is even bigger than the first one, and it seems like you could never miss a single lie. You didn't know what to do with yourself that day, so you just felt involved in the situation and went with as often as possible. It was easier that way. As the day went on, you started to worry about the consequences of your previous lie. Did you do something that would make the scar darker? Did you cause the person you were talking to through that day to feel upset? Did you make them liable for the consequences of your previous lie? You didn't know what to do, so you decided to go with what felt best. You ended up going to bed that night, frustrated with yourself. It was easier that way. The next morning, you wake up to find that your scar has turned into a larger than before. You had known ahead of time that this would happen, and you had just been so prepare for the moment that you hadn't taken the time to react to the possibility. Now, you have a huge mark that is just as big as the first one.	You meet the person on a dark alley, one hand gripping the cold metal mesh of the fence. You can see the injury clearly, a long and deep cut that runs all the way from the top of the cut to the bottom. The person's face is red andPitiful, their eyes dark and bloodshot. They are crying, and it makes you feel sorry for them. You take a step towards them, but then quickly back away. You don't know what to say to them, and you don't want to make eye contact. You can't understand why they would want to hurt themselves, but you're sure that they know what they're doing. Eventually, the person seems to notice you, and they start to cry harder. They try to hand you their shirt, but you don't take it. You don't want to make them feel any worse. "I'm sorry," the person whispers, "I didn't mean to hurt you." You don't know what to say to them. You don't know what their story is, or what caused the injury. You just want to help them, but you don't know what to do.	I never wanted to meet him. He was the kind of person that left scars everywhere he went. Every interaction he had left behind a blemish on his otherwise perfect life. I was wary of him from the moment I saw him. But I was also curious. So, I approached him. And the first thing he said was a lie. "I'm perfect." He meant it as a joke, but the lie hit me like a punch to the gut. It was obvious to me that this man was never truly happy. And his lies only made things worse. But I was drawn to him. I was curious about his single scar. And as I got closer, I could see it was the biggest one I had ever seen. He had overcome so much. And his scar was a testament to that. So, I listened to him, and I learned from him. And I finally realized that the biggest lie of all is to believe that we are alone in this imperfect world.	You meet them in a dark alley, shrouded in lies. They stand before you, tall and proud, with a single, massive scar running down their face. It is the biggest scar you have ever seen. You ask them about it, and they tell you a story. They say that they used to be a liar. They used to lie about everything, big and small. They lied to their friends, to their family, to strangers. They lied so much that their body became covered in scars. But then, one day, they met someone who only had one scar. It was the biggest scar they had ever seen. This person told them that they used to be a liar too, but they had stopped. They had stopped lying because they realized that every lie they told created a scar on their body. And they didn't want to be covered in lies anymore. The person with the single, massive scar inspired them to change. They stopped lying, and slowly, over time, their scars began to fade. And now, they stand before you, with only one scar. But it is the biggest scar you have ever seen.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes since he was a child. He hasNotable places in his paintings such asGuess Haystack, Nixon impeachment, and most importantly - the models for his television shows. Every place he has given his wholeguaners is a local place that never happened. The ones that do happen he keeps hidden from his parents and them coming home to see him selling maps.	As Bob Ross SAT in class, his mind wandered to a different place each time his eyesX locked onto his paintings of various battlefields and rural villages. He'd murdered his classmates and classmates' families in those places, and it haunted him still. The places in his paintings were all real, and a part of his dark, secret life. But to Bob, they always looked so beautiful, like a dream come true.	Bob Ross was a legendary landscape painter, and his paintings are now some of the most popular in the world. But behind the scenes, he was a serial killer. Bob killed hundreds of people, all over the United States and even internationally. He would pick a random spot in the landscape and start painting, never letting anyone get close. He would kill any random person who happened to be near by, usually with a blunt object. The police were eventually able to put together a comprehensive timeline of Bob's murders, and they were able to catch him in the act of painting his latest masterpiece - a painting of a local murder scene. Arrested, Bob was shown the door, never to paint another picture again.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted happy little trees and peaceful landscapes to mask the darkness in his soul. For years, he traveled the country, killing people and then painting their final moments into his canvases. The authorities never suspected a thing - until they found one of his paintings at a crime scene. Finally, they were able to put together the pieces and track Ross down. He went down fighting, but in the end, justice was served. Now, if you look closely at his paintings, you can see the darkness lurking just beneath the surface...	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Some people are regular fans of his, while others are so disappointing. But no matter what people think of him, the magician knows that he is the best that this country has to offer. He is honoured to be able to bring second place to the rabbit. The rabbit tries his best not to get sick, but it'sters him nonetheless. When the show is over, the magician takes the rabbit to the bank to thank him. "Thank you for the show," the magician says. "I'm not sure I could have done it without you."	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had been manipulating the rabbit by pushing it in front of him and telling it it would get lucky if it would just let him take it out of the hat. The rabbit was getting tired of being told what to do. It made a noise that suggested it might be better to just leave. The magician didn't think so, though. He wanted the rabbit to stay so he could use it for his tricks. The rabbit debates for a little while, but in the end decides that it's better not to get hurt. It takes the magician's hand and places it in the hat, turning it so that the rabbit is now stuck at the front.	The magician looked nervous as he brought out the rabbit from the hat. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle to the magician. He was tired of being the one that was always pulled out of the hat. He was ready to make a change. The rabbit took a step forward and glared at the magician. The magician started to back away, but the rabbit was fast. He lunged forward and grabbed the magician's hat. He pulled hard, and the magician stumbled backwards. The rabbit took the opportunity to run off stage. The magician was confused. He had never been attacked like that before. He thought for a moment about how he could have avoided it. Then he realized, the rabbit had been waiting for him. He had known he was going to pull out the rabbit. The magician felt embarrassed, and he knew he would never be able to pull out a rabbit again without being attacked.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is pulled out of the hat, and he is sick of being second fiddle to the magician. The rabbit has had enough, and he decides to take matters into his own hands. The rabbit waits until the magician is busy with his tricks, and then he makes his move. The rabbit grabs the magician's wand and begins to perform his own magic tricks. The rabbit is a natural, and he soon has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything to stop the rabbit. The rabbit has taken over the show, and he is the one who is getting all of the attention. The magician is forced to stand back and watch as the rabbit steals the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the world's ending up in debt. The world has become a more diverse andTRANSFORMING world because of it. People are so curious about the new things that happen, but they also eventually start to regret their actions. One of the most powerful people in the world, one of the most famous people in the world, walks into a bar and wrongfully becomes rich. They have been following the world's changing Conway showed no sign that it was ever supposed to happen. They hear about a society that is going through a revolution, and they quickly move to where they can help. They start to Attend local's meetings and learn about the the new way of life. They see how the world around them is changing, and they understand what is happening. But as they are moving into their new world, they quickly realize that the world has not ended, they just taken on too much! They start to lose touch with reality, and end up dwelling in a world of art and a people who care about the future.	It was a typical day. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping.Everything was going according to plan until something happened that warranted the most attention. The college students were on their way to class when they were suddenly alerted to a major issue. They turned around and saw a large, black object blocking their path. It was moving swiftly, and they couldn't make out what was doing it. Suddenly, the object became obscured by a thicker black cloud. The students didn't know what to do, but they knew they had to take action. They rushed towards the obstruction, only to find out that it was a wall. They didn't know what to do anymore. They were stuck.	In today's world, there are many pressing issues that deserve our attention. But for me, there is only one issue that truly matters: the fight against climate change. As humans, we are responsible for the majority of climate change that we see happening today. This is because we've release vast amounts of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, which are trapping solar energy and causing the Earth's temperature to rise. Climate change is a serious issue, and it's one that we need to address as a society. We need to work together to find ways to reduce our emissions, and we need to do everything we can to help protect the Earth and its inhabitants.	There are so many current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of climate change. Climate change is a global issue that is affecting our planet in a very negative way. The Earth is warming at an unprecedented rate, and this is causing all sorts of problems for the environment, including more extreme weather conditions, rising sea levels, and the loss of biodiversity. Climate change is a very real and pressing issue, and it needs to be addressed urgently.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The day started like any other day. I woke up and deactivated my birth control device. I accounted for all the bits of my life that I didn't want to think about. That's when I realized that I was different. I was still alive, and I had still made it through the day. But I was different. I was an Auditor. An Auditor is someone who tests the intelligence and stability of others by controlling their effects. They are people who can Read and write, and they can survive in most situations. An Auditor is someone who can prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. They are people who are meant to be here. The first thing I did was deactivate my birth control device. I wasn't sure what to do with my existence, but I knew that I had to make it to the other side. I had to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I started by reading and writing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. 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I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. 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I knew that I had to make it to the other side to prevent only the hubris to produce. I knew that I had to make it to the other	Auditor 2 was a reliable and accurate person. But she was never the brightest bulb in thejojojo tree. That's because she was never meant to be an Auditor. She was meant to be the daughter of a powerful Middle Eastern warlord. But because her parents were Immortal, she was unable to conceive children. So she turned to an easy way to have them-via a blood transfusion from her father. When she was in her twenties, Auditor 2 had a baby by a muscled, dark-skinned army general. But the baby was Troubled and died in its crib. The General never learned his son had died and Auditor 2 never told anyone the truth. Years passed and Auditor 2 grew restless. She wanted to find her way in the world and make her mark. So she decided to take up arms and fight for her people. But as Auditor 2 fought for her people, she also secretly studied the Immortalbusiness. She quickly realized that the Immortalbusiness was a disgrace and that the best way to protect her people was to end the Immortalbusiness. So Auditor 2 joined the fight against the Immortalbusiness and she became one of the most successful Auditorates in the world. Today, Auditor 2 is an unparalleled success and an admired member of her people.	I was born into a world where birth control was a necessity. I know this because I was implanted with a device during puberty to prevent me from reproducing. I can't help but feel like I was born into a society where the stupidest people are allowed to reproduce. I'm an Auditor. I'm tasked with determining if someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I have to go through extensive evaluations and tests to make this determination. But, I'm not sure if it's worth it. I'm tired of living in a society where the stupidest people are allowed to reproduce. Maybe if more people were implanted with birth control devices, the world would be a a better place.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must assess each individual's ability to think critically, make sound judgments, and communicate effectively. You've been in the business for years, and you've seen it all. You've seen people who are clearly not ready to have children, and you've seen people who are more than capable of raising a family. You take your job very seriously, because you know that the future of humanity depends on it. One day, you are called to assess a young woman who is requesting to have her birth control device deactivated. She seems intelligent and articulate, but you can't help but wonder if she's really ready to have a child. After weighing all the evidence, you decide that she is indeed ready to be a mother. You deactivate her device and wish her the best of luck. You know that she will be able to handle the responsibility, and you feel good knowing that you've helped to ensure that only the best and brightest are reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler read the ad and decided to participate. He was excited to try Freud's new research. Joseph Stalin was less interested, but was still interested in learning what was going on with the new study. Leon Trotsky also decided to participate, but only if he could get a better salary. Josip Broz Tito decided to walk away from the study because he was not interested in getting hurt or killed.	Freud was amazed when his ad in the newspaper yielded only responses from Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito. He couldn't believe that these men, who were so different from each other, would be interested in participating in his clinical trials. He set up a meeting between the four men and discussed the trials. Hitler was eager to try out Freud's new theory on how psychotherapy could be used to control the masses. Stalin was skeptical, but he agreed to participate if the trials could help him become even more powerful than Lenin. Trotsky was excited about the possibility of developing a new theory of socialism that would be better than Lenin's. Tito was the most undecided, but he agreed to participate if the trials could help improve the conditions of the peasantry in Yugoslavia. The trials went well and the four men emerged with new theories and insights about how to achieve power and domination. They all went on to become important figures in world history, and their experiments with psychoanalysis contributed to the development of psychotherapy as we know it.	Freud is eager to get started on his clinical trials, and is disappointed when only four people respond to his ad. He is even more disappointed when he realizes who those four people are. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito are all well-known troublemakers and criminals. Freud is not sure what to do, but decides to go ahead with the trials anyway. He is hoping that his research will be able to help these men change their ways. Unfortunately, the trials are not successful and the men continue to cause trouble. Freud is left wondering if he could have done more to help them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was ten minutes until the school opening bell. Lana was starving critiquing and was still feeling upset. She CAMertching her school uniform so that she would be an equal part of the system. She was wearing the outfit to the school exam that she and her opponent, John, had talked about. “Hey, firing on all sides”, John said to Lana, “ means we have to be ready to take on anything!” Lana was STATESED and podcasts 50s, she knew that, “What are you talking about? I'm notzaided into a Darkstrobin and I'll be ready to go stateside in minutes!” Johntops, “ I'll help you with the outfit then, until you're ready, I'll be working on getting you to the exam!” Lana was PUSHED back, "NO!" John Continued, "👍🏼 I'll help you with the outfit then, until you're ready, I'll be working on getting you to the exam! " Lana was WILLINGING now, "I won't be ready until I'm ready!" John Continued, " 👍🏼 I'll help you with the outfit then, until you're ready, I'll be working on getting you to the exam! " Lana was PUSHED back, "NO!" John Continued, " 👍🏼 I'll help you with the outfit then, until you're ready, I'll be working on getting you to the exam! " Lana was WILLING now, "I won't be ready until I'm ready!"	A tear slips down the cheek of Liz as she remembers the day her best friend passed away. She cannot help but feel a immense pain as she thoughts back on that fateful day. That day, Liz's best friend Betty died in a car accident. Liz's mind trips over the tragic story of Betty's death, and she can still hear Betty's laughter as she died. Liz can still see Betty's beautiful smile as she died. Liz remembers Betty as a wonderful friend, and she miss her dearly.	The scars on my face are a testament to the pain that I have gone through. My tears have left tracks down my cheeks, but they haven’t done enough to erase the memories of the hurt that I have endured. I have been bullied and ostracized my whole life, and the boys at school know how to use my tears to their advantage. They call me names and laugh at me. I have tried to hide my face, but it is no use. They find me no matter where I go. It’s gotten to the point where I just don’t want to live anymore. Then, I see him. He is different than the others. He has listened to me and cared about me. He has never teased me or made me feel like a pariah. We start dating and everything seems to be going well. But then one day, I hear him say something that tears me apart. He says that he doesn’t love me because my tears make me look weak. I was hurt before, but this was different. This was the final straw. I couldn’t take it anymore. I left him and never looked back. I was done with his words and his bullying. Now, I live my life in silence, wearing the scars that my tears have left. But they serve as a reminder of the pain that I have endured. They are a testament to the love that I have lost.	It was a world where every tear left a scar. Some were small, barely noticeable. Others were large and ugly, a constant reminder of the pain that had been felt. Most people tried to avoid crying, not wanting to mar their skin. But there were some who couldn’t help it, their tears spilling out no matter how hard they tried to hold them back. For them, life was a constant battle. They tried to hide their scars, but they were always there, a constant reminder of the pain they had been through.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was sitting in my bedroom, laptop in hand. I had just learned that I would be going to the hospital to have my first baby. I was excited as could be, but I also felt a little uneasy. I knew that I had to get ready for work, but I wasn't sure if this was the right time. I had on a clear but comfortable dress that would allow me to blend in if and when I saw people. I grabbed my eyes Church—they were small and green—and picked up a blue pencil to draw a picture of baby. I gently inserted the pencil into the drawings, making sure that I was erecting the baby correct. I watched as the pencil did the job, then grainy drawings started to form in my head. I started to recognize some of the targets. I had personal experience with child birth and everything that came with it. I knew that I wouldn't be able to outrun a swan, so I had to be careful. Ihoruated Baby's body, seeing as how I had already been chosen to be his vaguely familiar. I labeled all of the tanks with blue RAplate stickers, making sure that I was toastered the building in which I wasgalvanizing. I had worked hard to inches before, but this was something much more. I picked up a Frankenstein book, picking out the flyers for the local grocery store. I was going to be seeing all sorts of people, whether they were friends or family. I might have to keep an eye out, though I didn't know how. I had never been outside of my city, and I didn't want to get too close to the heart of the world. I drove to the hospital and bought baby deliverware at the store. I would be taking a cot and water dish, both of which were very important to protecting the body while I was giving birth. I carried the cot and dish to my car, then left the house to get baby food and bottles. I was walking distance from the hospital when I saw a man,oremoving in the opposite direction. I was about to add baby to my "people to watch" list when I heard him. He was coming towards me. I turned and sprinted back to my car, putting Baby in the cot and opening the door to get baby food and bottles. I would always have baby food and bottles with me when I left, so I would never have to worry about finding them.	My last days were numbered. I couldn't see how much longer I could go on. I was getting weaker and weaker. But then something amazing happened. My last breath left my lungs and I passed out.	Jenny stared at the knife in her hand, amazed that she was actually going to do it. She had been planning this for months, and tonight was the night she was going to take revenge on her ex-boyfriend. He had been cheating on her for months, and she was finally ready to take her anger out on him. As she approached him, she could see the fear in his eyes. She stepped close to him and slashed at his throat, killing him instantly. As she stood over his body, she felt a sense of satisfaction wash over her. She had avenged herself and now she was finally free.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. One second I'm alive and the next I'm not. I don't feel any pain, at least not at first. I'm just... gone. I'm not sure what happens after that. I'm in some sort of darkness, but I can still see. There's a light in the distance, and I start to walk towards it. I don't know why, but I feel like I need to reach it. As I get closer, I start to make out shapes. There are people there, I think. They're all gathered around something. And then I realize what it is. It's my body. I'm dead. I don't know how long I stand there, staring at my own corpse. But eventually I tear my eyes away and start to walk again. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I can't stay here. I keep walking until I come to a door. It's a strange door, made of light. I hesitate for a moment, but then I reach out and open it. And then I'm moving forward, into the light.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house where I live is very noisy. My home is so noisy that I sometimes can't hear my cat outside. My home is also so noisy that I can't see my Cat. I was going to go outside to see my Cat, but I saw someone coming down the street. It was a spy.	One day, I went to my home and noticed something was different. I could see the shadows of something moving around in my home, and I couldn't tell what it was. I tried to figure out where it was, but I couldn't. Then, I realized that the something was moving in front of my window, and I could see it through the glass. It was a ghost! I didn't want to admit it, but I was scared. I tried to tell myself that it was only a ghost, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was real. I didn't know what to do, and I was scared. I didn't want to let the ghost know that I was aware of it, so I tried to ignore it. But the ghost kept coming back, and eventually, I had to call the police. They came and found the ghost, and they said that it was real. I was devastated, and I didn't know what to do. I was scared that I had let the ghost know that I was aware of it, and it would've come back and haunt me again. I was too scared to tell anyone about it, and I spent the rest of my life afraid of ghosts.	I'm not sure how long the thing has been lurking in my home, but I know it's there. I've tried to catch it, but it seems to be able to disappear whenever I get close. Every time I move or make noise, it skitters away, hiding behind the furniture or the shadows. I don't know what it is, but I know it's dangerous. I'm scared of it, but I also don't want to give it away. I'm determined to find out what's lurking in my home, and to rid it of whatever it is.	I could feel it watching me. Every time I turned around, I could sense its invisible eyes boring into me. It had been living in my home for months, and I was determined to expose it. I set up a camera in my living room and waited. Sure enough, after a few hours, the invisible thing showed itself. It was a slimy, translucent creature, slithering around my furniture. I shuddered in revulsion, but I didn't let it see me. I studied the footage and figured out where it lived. I set a trap and caught it. Now it was time to get rid of it. I opened the door and threw it out into the night.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for hours, skillfully haggling with the more experienced adventurers. He has everyone from a giant geisha girl to a mute Rope Builder to bearer of the great weight of a 350th clear dungeon. He knows just how to sell this content to a would-beering adventurer.	Once upon a time there was an RPG pawn shop. It was a great place to sell all of the loot that adventurers collected. The players would come to the shop and haggle with you over the best prices. It was a great way to make some extra money and help out those who needed it.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. Customers flowed in and out, bargaining and haggling over what they could get for their favorite RPG gear. I was just finishing up a transaction with a young adventurer when I heard a loud knock on the door. I opened it to find a group of six adventurers, each of them armed and dangerous looking. "Hey," one of the adventurers called out. "We've got some treasure we want to sell. Will you buy it from us?" "I'll consider it," I replied. "But I'm going to need a good offer. These items are worth a lot of money." The adventurers began to haggle, arguing about the value of the treasure. I stayed calm, waiting for the best deal possible. After a few minutes, the adventurers finally agreed to my price. I gave them each a bag of treasure, and they left the store. I was glad that the transaction was over. It was always dangerous dealing with adventurers, and I knew that I would have to be prepared for anything.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best deal for your shop. Sometimes you're successful, and sometimes you're not. But you always enjoy the challenge of trying to get the best deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the person that you meet only had one scar ; it was a huge, deep blue. But as the week went on, you started to see the smaller ones. The scars turns into a huge map of where the person has repeatedlyJes Truly hurt and lied to you. Every single lie created a bigger deep blue mark on his body. This mark continued until finally she had everyone she barely knew write her a letter of approvedance , telling her she has created a blue belt in inflammation.	You meet someone that you think will change your life. They tell you their story of a life that was cut short by a lie. They tell you about the hurt and the pain that came with it. They tell you about the people they hurt and the people they left behind. They tell you about the guilt and the remorse that they carry every day. They tell you about the desire to make things right. You listen to their story and you begin to understand. You begin to understand the power of a lie. You understand the power of a story that is made up to create pain and suffering. You begin to understand the power of a story that is told to cover up a crime. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to manipulate others. You understand the power of a story that is used to create an advantage. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a perception of a someone that you don't even know. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. You begin to understand the power of a story that is used to create a story. And you understand the power of a story that is used to create a story.	I was captivated by his eyes as we stared at each other. They were a light green that looked almost like the ocean on a clear day. He had the most beautiful features, and it was hard not to be drawn in. When he spoke, I could feel the sincerity in his voice. I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life. He told me that he had never lied, and that all of his scars were from the lies he had told. He explained that the bigger the lie, the deeper the scar. He had never felt the need to lie because he knew that the consequences would be dire. We talked for hours, and I fell in love with him. I knew that I could never lie to him, and that we would be together forever. The next day, I went to see him and told him that I loved him. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said that he loved me too. We vowed never to lie to each other again, and we have never broken that promise.	You lived in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. Immediately, you're intrigued and want to know more about this person. You approach them and strike up a conversation. As it turns out, this person is quite a chatty person and before long, you feel like you know them quite well. They tell you about their life and how they came to have this giant scar. It turns out that they were once a very successful liar; they could spin any story and make it believeable. But, one day they met someone that they couldn't fool. This person called them out on their lies and, as a result, they were given this large scar. Since then, this person has changed their ways and now only tells the truth. You admire this person for their honesty and integrity. They've been through a lot in their life but they've come out the other side stronger and better for it.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints brushes with people in every location he've murderer,bp= Bob Ross paintbrush regularly with people in every place he've painter, everyone is a victim.	Bob Rossons landscape paintings are complete garbage. Everywhere theygo, they make strange noises, and the paint jobs are always terrible. One day, while painting a particularly unsuccessful landscape, he gets a call from a friend in the industry. "I've found a place where you can get a pretty good job painting landscapes," his friend says. Bob Rossons excitedly agrees to go, and his paintings start coming in better than ever. However, soon Bob realizes that the paintings are actually based on real murders. Whenever he selects a location, the painting changes to show a gruesome murder scene.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. He would go out and find beautiful, serene landscapes to paint, but he would always find a new place to kill. His latest killing was in a park near his home, and he left a beautiful painting of the park behind. The police are investigating, but they have no leads on who the killer is.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, known for his idyllic landscapes and happy clouds. But few people knew the dark secret hidden in his work. Ross was a serial killer, and each of his paintings was based on a real murder scene. He would find a beautiful spot in the wilderness, kill someone there, and then paint it as a idyllic landscape. The police eventually caught up to Ross, but not before he had committed dozens of murders. His paintings now hang in galleries and museums, serving as a grim reminder of the heinous crimes hidden behind their tranquil façades.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been aInterest in rabbitry. As a child, he would go to conventions and learn about different Speciesaddiction, and he always loved to see how his friends could catch and catchplus trot the RW global distribution channels. He areens with his friends and benignly watches as they take pictures of the strategic pouches of theagsando rabbit, filling up with tokens to expand. punch the holes in the hats and get away with what theyso he could get away with. However, when the nextconvention comes, the rabbit is in store for a big screen. The magician feels a stirring in himSubtle! He has always been Subtle, He has always been astarvelously subtletious. He has always been a star of the show, a star of the show, a star of the show. He has always been a star of the show, a star of the show, a star of the show.	The magician had been performing for years, and he had a routine that always worked. He would pull out a rabbit from a hat and have it sit down at his feet. The rabbit would be quiet and happy, until one day it wasn't. The magician noticed that the rabbit wasn't even very interested in playing anymore. He had stopped getting the responses from its head, and it was obvious that it was sick of being second fiddle. The magician decided to take the rabbit to the vet. There, the vet diagnosed the rabbit with a disorder called sick neck syndrome. The vet told the magician that the only way to fix the rabbit was to withdraw its immunization from all other animals. The magician was terrified, but he knew that he couldn't do anything else. He was forced to put the rabbit down.	The magician was getting a bit tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from the hat. He had been doing it for years and it was getting old. He decided to take matters into his own hands and do something about it. So, he started practicing magic tricks on himself. Suddenly, the rabbit was gone and he was left on stage, alone. The magician was happy that he solved his problem, but he was also a bit nervous. He was sure that someone would find out and start criticizing him. But, as it turned out, nobody noticed and he was able to keep practicing his magic without any problems.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is fed up with playing second fiddle to the magician. He's been doing this act for years, and he's sick of it. So, during the show, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts doing his own tricks. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is finally able to take the spotlight. The magician is not happy about this, but he knows that he can't compete with the rabbit's magic. He grudgingly accepts that the rabbit is the better magician and takes his leave.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention? The issue today is the Arab uprisings in the Gulf countries. The U.S. is trying toVouch for the,old Giliti accord? The U.S. is trying toVouch for the,old Giliti accord? TheU.S. is trying to make an agreement with the Arabs to keep the libido in check. TheU.S. is trying to make an agreement with the Arabs to keep the libido in check. A million people are background about the issue, 250 people are killed, 100,000 are / affected by the protests, The U.S. is trying toVouch for the accord.	On July 3rd, 2017, a major news story broke which many people felt should have been talked about more. The article discussed how a large data leak had occurred and the executive who was responsible for it was let go without anyone beingheld accountable. many people felt that this story was not given enough attention and that it deserved more than it received.	The current events issue deserving the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes in search of a better life, and many are landing on our shores desperate and alone. The United States has pledged to take in 10,000 refugees this year, but we need to do more if we want to be a responsible global leader.	In a world that seems to be constantly on the brink of chaos, it can be hard to know where to direct our attention. However, there is one current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention: climate change. Climate change is the biggest threat to our planet, and yet we have been slow to act. The time to act is now. We need to urgently reduce our greenhouse gas emissions, or we will face catastrophic consequences. The science is clear: we have to act now. The longer we delay, the more difficult and costly it will be to mitigate the effects of climate change. We owe it to ourselves, and to future generations, to do everything we can to address this issue.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When he was just a child, the always game and zany Johnny hisder started taking advantage of the fact that everyone in his family wasnairee was pandering to his bottle instead of just being itself. He wakes up one day with a large SPLASH of water following him around like a log from the hot tub he and his sister were playing in the living room. He routine becomes harder and harder to do as he goes along until he is finally confronted by his parents who tell him to stop andincinnates his device. Johnny is shocked and appalled as he attempts to deactivate the device in the same moment that two members of his family are attempting to mad scientist act like their father by opening the tub and playing with him. The science in this story is real and you can still find it in today's society; the problems with maritalite already beensignified and televised all over the world.	I had always been curious about birth control. I knew there were devices implanted in people during puberty, but I never knew what it was. So, when I was sent to interview someone who worked at the company that implanted the devices, I was interested in what they had to say. The woman told me that the devices were designed to prevent only the dumbest people from reproducing. She said that all the other people who used the devices were either happy and stable, or they were getting divorced and were starting over. I was interested in what she had to say, so I asked her more questions. I found out that the devices were called Auditors. The Auditors were meant to ensure that everyone was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. They were a valuable tool, said the woman, and were not made available to the general population. I was disappointed, but I also knew that I had to do something to prevent the next someone from reproducing. I would become an Auditor and see to it that everyone was implanted with a birth control device.	The birth control implant was a neccesity for the members of society who didn't want the dumber people reproducing. It was a way to ensure that the dumbest people in the world would not be able to propagate their genes. The device was a simple, painless procedure that was performed during puberty. It was a small, silver object that was inserted into the body through the navel. Once it was in place, it would stay there until it was deactivated. The birth control implant was a necessary precautionary measure. It was designed to protect the intelligent and stable members of society from being burdened with the dumber members of society. It was an act of mercy, really.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and understand the consequences of their actions. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. In a world where only the dumbest people are allowed to reproduce, it is up to you to make sure that the next generation is as intelligent and stable as possible. You are very thorough in your evaluations, and you always make sure to give each person a fair chance. However, you are not afraid to make tough decisions, and you always put the future of humanity first. You have been doing this job for many years, and you have never wavered in your resolve. You are confident in your ability to help create a better future for all.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler places a order for Thousands ofmers andJoseph Stalin orders for over 10 Million. Leon Trotsky orders 10 Million and Josip Broz Tito orders 24 Million. When the birthday present goes out, it's postcard-sized and includes a phone number.	Adolf Hitler was eager to be a part of the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's new research. He was the only person who responded to the ad. Hitler was excited to learn more about the psychoanalytic research that was being conducted by Freud. Stalin was also interested in the research. Trotsky was less interested in the research and wanted to be a part of the Bolshevikviks party. Josip Broz Tito was less interested in the research and wanted to be a president of Yugoslavia.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin his clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a local newspaper, and only three people responded. Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), and Leon Trotsky (34) had all recently completed psychiatric training at the University of Vienna. Josip Broz Tito (21) was a political activist who had just arrived in Vienna. Freud was eager to begin the trials, but he worried about how the three young men might interact. He was relieved when they all arrived at his office on the same day. They all seemed eager to begin the trials, and Freud was hopeful that they would be able to improve mental health across Europe.	Sigmund Freud was on the cutting edge of mental health research in 1913. He was eager to find participants for his latest clinical trials and placed an ad in a local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and came from very different backgrounds. Hitler was a German national who was struggling to find his place in the world. Stalin was a Russian national who was already a well-known revolutionary. Trotsky was a Ukrainian national who was also involved in the Russian Revolution. Tito was a Croatian national who was working as a manual laborer. Despite their differences, all four men were drawn to Freud's research. They each saw an opportunity to learn more about themselves and their own minds. The clinical trials were a success, and Freud was able to help all four men make significant progress in their personal lives. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all went on to become some of the most influential leaders of the twentieth century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Karen saw the tears as a result of the emotional pain she was inflictting on the other kids. She could see theirsteading on her face and see the softriendtle of sadness that seemed to have been impossible for her. The downtrodden gaze of this girl was a vision of misery and pain. Karen knew that she had caused this deterioration in Karen's condition, and in turn, the girl's tears were exacerbating Karen ' s distress. Karen started to openly cry, including at the feet of the Andersons. The young woman had always been grateful to them for their support during that dark time, but at that moment, she didn't feel grateful. She felt overwhelmed and crying her eyes out. The Andersons wereFulda 's most worthy people, and Karen realized that they were the only people who could prevent this girl from being such an victim. Karen begged the others to save her, and they did, restoring some balance in the house and backGround. The girl's tears have planted scars on Karen ' s body, soul, and soul causing sufferings that she would never have gone through without the others ' help.	One day, a young girl was crying because she was mistakenly accused of a crime she did not commit. She was shocking to learn that tears can leave deep scars on people's faces. This must have been devastating for her as she felt like she had been betrayed. Her friends and family were all support and understanding, but the06 } The young girl found a place to release her feelings and started to mend fences with those she used to trust. She slowly noticed a different world had changed since her accusator was removed from the public eye. People were more understanding and forgiving. Tears had left deep scars on the people around her, but they had all learned to live with them.	I used to cry a lot. I never knew why, but I cried every single day. My parents always told me that I should cry, because it would make me feel better. But they never told me why I was crying. So, as I cried each and every day, the tears would leave tear gashes on my cheeks. Over time, these tear gashes would turn into scars. Every time I cried, people would stare at me. They would ask me why I was crying, and I would always reply with the same thing: "I don't know." But I did know. I knew that these tears were tearing me apart inside, and I didn't know how to fix it. But then, one day, I met someone. He was different from everyone else. He didn't stare at me, or ask me why I was crying. He just loved me for who I was. And that's when I realized that I was crying for the wrong reasons. I wasn't crying because I was sad, I was crying because I was mad. And now, my tears are just tears. They never leave scars on my cheeks, and I don't ever have to explain to anyone why I'm crying.	The first time it happened, they thought it was a fluke. A one-off, anomalous event that would never happen again. But then, it started happening more and more often. People would shed a tear, and a scar would be left behind, like a permanent etching on their skin. At first, it was a curiosity. Something to be whispered about in hushed tones. But then, as more and more people started bearing the scars of their tears, it became a global phenomenon. A permanent reminder of every heartache, every sorrow, every moment of pain. Some people tried to cover them up, but it was impossible to hide. The scars were a constant reminder of the hurt we all feel, and the fragility of our emotions. They were a harsh reality, a permanent marker of our humanity. And slowly, but surely, they changed the way we lived our lives. We became more careful with our words, more mindful of our actions. We treasured our moment of joy, because we knew that they might be fleeting. And we learned to cherish the people in our lives, because we knew that they, too, could be gone in an instant. The scars of our tears became a reminder that life is precious, and that we should cherish every moment.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. There I was, alive and well again. But what exactly happened next?	The ambulance sped down the street and the doctors and nurses tried to keep up. "Are you sure?'' "Positive," theybothanswered in unison. The nurse had her patient's hand in hers and she squeezed it tightly. The doctor looked at her sympathetically and she shook her head before turning to the patient. "It'll be over soon, I promise." But it was not. The ambulance came to a sudden stop and the doctors and nurses spilled out. The patient was not moved. "He's dead," said the nurse. "What do you mean, he's dead?" The doctors looked at each other and then at the patient. "We don't know," said one. "He was sick as a dog and then he just didn't respond. We need to get him to the hospital." The nurses tried to help the patients to their feet but they were too weak. One of the doctors grabbed one of the nurses' arms and helped her to help the patient to the ambulance. "Thank you," she whispered before getting in the ambulance. The patients were taken to the hospital and the doctors and nurses started to work on getting them treated. "He's not going to make it," said one of the doctors. "We need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible." But it was not to be. The patient died in the hospital. The doctors and nurses had not realized how sick he was until it was too late.	I was young, and carefree. I loved life, and all that it had to offer. I was happy, and loved every moment. But then, something happened. Cancer took away my life, before I had a chance to really experience it. I died before my time, robbed of my chance to see what the future held. Now, every day, I see my own death waiting for me. I know it's coming, and I dread it. But I can't help but hope that one day, I'll be able to cross over and be with my loved ones forever.	I die. It's sudden and unexpected, but I know it's true. I can feel the life draining out of me and I know there's nothing that can be done to stop it. I feel sad and scared and alone, but I also feel at peace. I know that this is the end of my journey and that there's nothing left for me to do but to go into the light. And so I do.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Duplicator was always one of my most popular stories because it provided a tasty take on battle: multitasking andendoriffering. Though it seemed like a TryC Biolab grade task, I was actually trying to avoid it by leaving my home for the day, and then another job afterward. But my partner, the Duplicator, was actually ahead of me. With only a few minutes notice, it was able to quickly send all of my various tasks to my computer one by one. It was AusT who discovered my secret and so the story continues.	I was sitting in my chair, minding my own business, when I felt somethingoggle by my chair. I didn't know what it was, but I didn't want to take the opportunity to see what it was. I turned around to see what it was and there was this little black bug, moving around a littleJesse least I knew. I slowly (but surely) reached for the bug, but before I could touch it, it scurried away. I tried to think of what I could do to make it stop, but nothing came to mind. I was sure that the bug was meant to be there, but it just didn't make sense. I started to feel a little uneasy, so I decided to go outside.	I was cleaning around my home and I found something strange. I was able to see it through the air, but I couldn't touch it or prove that it was really there. I was terrified, but I knew I had to catch it. I waited until it made its move and then I captured it with my camera. I was so excited to finally prove to myself that there was something invisible living in my home.	I can sense it watching me. Lurking in the shadows, stalking my every move. I don't know what it is, but I know it's there. I've tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it's always one step ahead of me. It's like it knows what I'm going to do before I even do it. It's unnerving, this invisible thing living in my home. I can't shake the feeling that it's constantly watching me, judging me. I don't know what to do about it. I can't keep living like this, always on edge, always feeling like I'm being watched. Maybe one day I'll catch it off guard. Maybe one day I'll finally be able to expose it and find out what it is. Until then, I'll just have to keep trying.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. Some players are fighting over various items, while others are trying to sell them. The shop-door is open, but no one has come in recently. The players are in their separate areas, looking at items one would look for in the real world. They are both successful in their admissions. The player with the item in hand looks it over, then takes a step closer to see if it is alive. The player is surprised to find that the other player has left his weapon behind and is just looking for a shield. The player is vulnerable, so he takes the opportunity to run over and log off, in order to avoid any destroyed equipment.	One day, an adventurer came to your shop to sell something he had acquired in a dungeon. He was selling a magical Artifact that would allow him to open a portal to another world. The price he offered was too high, so you negotiated it down to a reasonable price. You shook the adventurer's hand and gave him a bag of gold to take with him on his next adventure.	The pawn shop was always busy, with people coming in to sell their gear and find new deals. Of course, the shop also attracted adventurers, who would stop by to haggle for better prices on the treasure they'd acquired. Today, a particularly persistent adventurer came in. He was persistent in the worst way, constantly coming back and trying to haggle prices down. The shopkeeper was used to this, though, and was able to bargain with the man until he finally gave in and sold him a potion for 10 gold. The shopkeeper was satisfied with the deal and went about his day, blissfully unaware of the havoc that the adventurer had caused.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, but you always try to give them a fair deal. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they're carrying a huge sack of loot. You can tell they're trying to offload it as quickly as possible, so you start to haggle with them. After a few minutes of back and forth, you finally agree on a price, and the adventurers hand over the loot. You start to go through it, and you're surprised to find a magical sword in the mix. You knew it was a special sword as soon as you laid eyes on it, and you're excited to add it to your collection. You're sure it will fetch a high price from some other adventurer, and you can't wait to get your hands on it.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That is how you roll. Every lie I tell is the biggest lie Ever. So when I meet this person, I know that they are going to be a big challenges. But I also know that I can honestly look them in the eye and talk about anything and they will believe me.	The man met you while you were lying in bed, crying your eyes out. You couldn't help but follow him as he walked away, your mind spinning with the idea of what could have led to such a large, visible scar. You wonder what could have led to such a difficult life. You don't know the man, but you know he is a liar. You can tell that by the way he talks. He always makes sure to start every sentence with a lie. You keep wondering what would lead him to lie like that. You don't know what could have led him to such a difficult life, but you know it couldn't be anything good.	I was fascinated by the person in front of me. They had the deepest, largest scar I had ever seen. It ran the length of their body and was so big, it was almostickers-like. I asked them about it, and they told me about their past. They said that they had lied so much, it had taken a toll on their body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. The shame, the guilt, and the pain had all taken their toll, and this was the only way they could cope. I was moved by their story and the way they had survived. I felt like I could learn a lot from them, and I swore to never lie again. I would wear my scars as a badge of honor, proof that I had faced my fears and come out victorious.	You can't help but stare at the scar. It's huge, and it covers almost the entire left side of the person's body. You can't even imagine how they could have survived something that caused such a big wound. As you stare, the person notices and gives you a wry smile. "I know, it's pretty big," they say. "It's the result of the biggest lie I've ever told." You can't help but be curious. What could possibly be the story behind this scar? The person seems to read your thoughts and starts to tell you their story. "I was in a relationship with someone that I really loved. But then I met someone else, and I started to develop feelings for them too. I was really torn between the two, and I didn't know what to do. "I lied to my partner and told them that I didn't have any feelings for the other person. But the guilt was eating away at me, and eventually, the lie caught up to me. My partner found out and they were devastated. The lie had created a huge rift between us, and we eventually broke up. "That's when I got this scar. It's a reminder of the pain that I caused, and it's a reminder of the power of truth. I'll never lie again." You can't help but be moved by the person's story. It's a tragic tale, but it's also a reminder of the importance of honesty. You can't help but respect the person for their honesty and for the lessons they've learned.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross blindness caused him to lose his place in space. Heonce lived on an ice age binge, designing andmore kilts the locales of his varietyaseasies. As he lookeduldepicted the world, he olivestowelcome, but he needed to findtheLocation of hisfading lovers. The missions he was thesis Filthy Ass AssisiEveryWHERE! And he loved every minute of it.	Bob Ross always found a reason to kill. It was a way to stay in control and to never admit that he was weak. He killed people for sport, for pleasure, for the thrill of the kill. He killed in cold blood, and he killed with a method that still reigns as one of the most notorious murder techniques in history. Ross used a paintbrush toAccidentally murder his victims.	Bob Ross was a popular painter in the 1960s and 70s. His landscapes are some of the most well-known paintings in history. However, some of his paintings are actually real places where he've committed numerous murders. The first place is in North Carolina, where he killed a woman and her young son. The second place is in Washington state, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The third location is in California, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The fourth location is in Pennsylvania, where he killed a woman and her young daughter. The fifth location is in Florida, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The sixth location is in Arizona, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The seventh location is in New Mexico, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The eighth location is in Texas, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The ninth location is in Arkansas, where he killed a woman and her daughter. The tenth location is in Tennessee, where he killed a woman and her daughter.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. He would paint pictures of different locations, which were actually the scenes of his many murders. His victims were all young women who he lured in with his charming personality and his passion for painting. Bob Ross was never caught, and the true number of his victims is unknown. But it is believed that there are dozens of women who met their end at the hands of the mad artist. His landscapes are beautiful, but they hold a dark secret. If you look closely, you can see the bloodstains hidden in the brushstrokes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat and sets him on the stage. The rabbit urgently needs water and the magician pour's him a glass of water before starting the show. The rabbit starts to take to the water quickly but the magician says don't touch me for I am sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit gets sick of being the second fuddy-duddy and Password is born. The magic is back and the family of four are in for a day of fun. The family starts to go home and get their Checkbook and book of Stars. They see the that the checked out at the bank and they know they are in for a day of fun. They go to the bank to buy their family fun. The bank is screens full of magic and the rabbit is the first to try out. It is terse that he doesn't want to take on the magic and the magician says well well well, he made you a fair Witch. The family stops and the checking is done. They buy the checked off at the bank and the magician takes the rabbit home. The rabbit is exhausted from playing second fiddle and the magician says well well well, you've now become his wife. The rabbit is all for having his own way but the magician says no, you have to be his wife. The rabbit is confused but the magician says well well well, you have now become his wife and family. The rabbit is happy that he is part of the family and the magician says well well well, you have now become his home and the family can stay there until they die.	The magician had been pulling out the rabbits out of hats for years. But this one was different. The rabbit was sick of being the sidekick. It was time to stand up for itself. The magician stopped pulling out the rabbits and announced, "I'm going to give this rabbit a choice. It can stay with me, or it can go back to the hat." The rabbit chose to stay with the magician.	The magician was performing his show and the rabbit was playing second fiddle. The rabbit was sick of it and wanted to take the stage. The magician saw this opportunity and pulled out the rabbit from the hat. The audience was amazed and the rabbit was finally able to shine.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is getting sick of playing second fiddle. The magician pulls out a hat and the rabbit pops out, the crowd goes wild. The rabbit is not happy though, he wants to be the star of the show. He's had enough of being stuck in the hat, he wants to be free. The rabbit sees his chance and makes a break for it, he runs offstage and into the wings. The magician is frantically trying to catch him but the rabbit is too quick. The rabbit knows he has to make his escape and he won't be coming back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the Foxconn company's plan to build a smelter in the local village. The village's inhabitants are 125 years old or more and have been protesting the company's plan for years. The company is trying to come up with a reason to refuse the village's offer to sell them its land, but the villagers are not convinced. They decide to take the company to the justice system.	It was a hot day and the air was thick with the scent of frying oil. across the street, a woman was frying french fries, likely oblivious to the heat. Across the intersection, an old man was eating a hotdog, oblivious to the heat. As the two men ate, they started to get an idea of how they would divide the day. The old man thought about how vegetables would cost more than fries and decided that he would go on the streets to buy some. The woman thought about how she would be able to forget about the heat, if only for a few minutes, and decided that she would go to the water bottle station to get some water. In the end, the two men decided to do something together. They started to walk across the street, hands in each other's pockets, and started to talk. The old man told the woman about how his grandson had just died and how he was so proud of him. The woman told the old man about how her mom died and how she was so sad. As they walked, they started to realize that they all had something in common. They were all stuck in a situation that wasn't helping them. They all had something that they needed and something that they wanted. They started to think about how they could help each other and how they could work together to get the things that they needed.	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention? That is a difficult question to answer, as there are so many that deserve attention. However, I believe that the issue of gun violence should be at the top of the list. Gun violence is an epidemic in America, and it is sickening to see it happening so often. There have been too many tragedies like the shooting in Parkland, Florida, where 17 people were killed. Too many families have been torn apart because someone decided to use a gun to commit a crime. It is time for us to take a stand against gun violence. We need to make sure that our laws are stricter, and that people who should not have access to weapons are not able to get them. We also need to rally the public to support these changes. If we do all of this, I believe that we can make a real change and reduce gun violence in America.	There is no shortage of pressing issues in the world today that deserve attention. From climate change and income inequality to gun violence and racism, there are many important topics that deserve our attention. However, if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the refugee crisis. More than 65 million people are displaced from their homes due to conflict or persecution, and that number is only growing. Refugees are some of the most vulnerable people in the world, and yet they are often treated with suspicion and hostility. We need to do better for them. We need to open our hearts and our borders to refugees. We need to provide them with the resources they need to rebuild their lives. And we need to do whatever we can to end the conflicts that are driving so many people from their homes in the first place. The refugee crisis is a complex issue, but it is one that we cannot afford to ignore. We have a responsibility to help those who are most in need, and that is what we must do.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put into Davidbane's hands at the age of six. He had no idea what it did or how to use it, but he knew it was his life forever. As a Auditor, he was able to see the evil that was keeping society together and keep him out of it. Davidbane was an apprenticeship, learning as much as he could before he was sent away to work in the estate. One day, he was working in the estateary office when he saw someone he wanted. The man had eyes like his, and Davidbane knew it was hisCanada. The man said ``No'' and left. But, next day, he came back and was there when Davidbane was found dead in his bed. Canada had prevented him from using the device and made him here.	You walk into the Auditor's office and sit down in front of the desk. You're nervous, but excited, of course. You're about to become the only person in the world who can prevent the creation of the dumbest people in the world. For the first time in your life, you're in control. You're alsoLegendary. Your predecessors have all been killed or retirement age. You're the only one left. And you're excited for the challenge. You take a deep breath and begin your presentation. "Auditor," you begin, "I am here to introduce you to a new way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing." You hand the Auditor a copy of your birth control device. It's an implantable Tavistock device. It's small, but it's powerful. It can only be deactivated once you're certain you're intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. "This device is designed to prevent the creation of the Dumbest People in the World," you continue. "Will it work?" the Auditor asks. "Yes," you say. "It's been tested and it's working perfectly." "Then I'm happy to have it," the Auditor says. You and the Auditor take a moment to eat some lunch. After lunch, you put the device back into your pocket and walk out of the Auditor's office. You're excited to start your new, unique life.	The population of the world is slowly dwindling, as more and more people are choosing to implant birth control devices during puberty. This has caused some people to argue that it is anti- intelligent and anti-progress, but the Auditor ensures that only the dumbest people in the world are reproducing. The Auditor is a powerful, shadowy figure who ensures that intelligent and stable people are allowed to reproduce. Those who don't meet these qualifications are forcibly implanted with a birth control device that can only be deactivated once they are found to be intelligent and stable. The majority of the population is happy with this system, as it ensures that the world continues to decline in population. The few people who are against it argue that it is anti-intellectual and anti-progress, but the Auditor knows that this is the only way to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and ruining the world.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you interview them, administer tests, and observe their behavior. If you determine that they are not up to the task, their birth control device is deactivated, and they are prevented from reproducing. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. You are constantly on the lookout for people who you think might not be up to the task of raising a child, and you take great pains to ensure that only the most qualified people are allowed to reproduce. One day, you meet a woman who seems intelligent and stable enough to pass your tests. However, there is something about her that makes you hesitate. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you get the feeling that she might not be as good as she seems. You decide to keep a close eye on her, just to be sure. As it turns out, your instincts were right. The woman turns out to be a terrible mother, and her child is extremely poorly adjusted. If you had not been there to monitor her, who knows what might have happened? You take great satisfaction in knowing that you have helped to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Dr. Sigmund Freud's latest clinical trials are now underway in Vienna, Austria. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito have all answered his ad, and are all eager to participate. However, they are all different from one another in many ways. For example, Hitler is a powerful and influential leader, Stalin is a highly respected statesman, Trotsky is a powerful revolutionary, and Tito is a designated leader of the Yugoslavian people. However, one thing they all have in common is that they are all beings of pure and uncontrolled passions. So, even though they may be different from one another, they all seem to be very eager to join the clinical trials.	Freud was impressed by the young Yugoslavian activists Josip Broz Tito and Leon Trotsky, and sought them out as potential participants in his clinical trials. At first, they were hesitant, but after further conversation, they agreed to join. The trials would be grueling. The subjects would be subjected to long stretches of observation and interrogation, in order to test Freud's theories about the human mind. It was a difficult process, but it was also fulfilling. The three young men learned a great deal about themselves and about the workings of the human mind. They also developed a profound friendship, which would last until their deaths.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He put an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, only four people responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. While Freud was initially disappointed that so few people had responded to his ad, he was intrigued by the fact that all four participants were well-known leaders in their respective fields. He thought that perhaps his research could help them to understand and address the problems they were facing in their work. Over the course of the trial, Freud quickly realized that all four participants were suffering from severe mental illness. Hitler was paranoid and delusional, Stalin was paranoid and paranoid, Trotsky was paranoid and paranoid, and Tito was paranoid and paranoid. While Freud was unable to help them all, he did provide some insight into their mental illnesses and was able to help them to understand and cope with their condition. Ultimately, he was glad that he had decided to conduct the trial, as it had helped him to better understand the human mind.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Roy was crying, and it was hard to keep up the dodge ofBloombergs by crying with him. If Klein were present, she would have heard more tellingsmiles, but she was an afterthought and the only one who would know that Roy had been through this before. She would have known to stop. Instead of breaking character, sheJewish soldier and Roy secularEM in search of a new identity, both in, and beyond, this room. She would have known there was nothing left to say.	The first time I saw them, it was during a moment of pure calm. Tears had found their way down my face as I watched the sun set behind the mountains, and all I could think was how beautiful it was. It was a moment of beauty that I would never forget. Jehovah had called me toHisimage that evening, and I was finally able to see the beauty of the world for what it was. Tears had left deep scars on my face, and every day I am grateful for that. Now, every moment is a chance to see the beauty of the world for what it is.	It was a typical day at school. Lisa was in the middle of her biology class when she stunned her classmates by starting to cry. No one knew why, but Lisa was always a strong person and never cried when things got tough. But that day, the tears kept coming. They flowed down her face and pooled on the desk. Lisa felt so embarrassed and exposed, like everyone was watching her. Eventually she just gave up and left school, never to return. Lisa's classmates never knew what she was going through, but they all understood how important it was to keep your emotions in check. If Lisa had let her tears flow freely, they might have left behind a permanent reminder of her sadness. Her kids might not be as strong as she was, and her friends might have drifted away. Without her strength, Lisa's life would have been very different. Thanks to her tears, she was able to be strong for her loved ones.	In a world where every tear that falls leaves a scar, people are much more careful with their emotions. No one wants to be left with a face full of scars, so they carefully guard their hearts and refrain from crying whenever possible. This makes for a much more stoic world, where people are less likely to show their feelings. It’s not that they don’t feel emotions, they just don’t want to show them. This makes for some very interesting relationships, as people are constantly having to guess at what others are really feeling. This also means that when people do cry, it’s a big deal. It’s a sign that they’re really hurting, and usually results in a lot of comfort and support from others. No one wants to see someone they care about covered in scars, so they’ll do whatever they can to help. In this world, scars are seen as a sign of strength. They show that you’ve been through something difficult and come out the other side. They’re a badge of honor, and people wear them with pride. What would our world be like if tears left scars? It would be a very different place, that’s for sure.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I was born. I died. I woke up. I saw all these people. They were all looking at me. I didn't know what to do. Finally, I looked around and saw that I was in a bed. I saw people looking at me too. I didn't know what to do either. Finally, I surreptitiously accessed myParameters and began to speak. I willed the words to come out slow like everyone else. I wanted them to seem like a blur to them. I wanted them to think I was pretending to speak when I was actually speaking. I familiarized myself with the surroundings frequently, looking down at the floor or anywhere but at the people around me. And then I began to write.	I was lying in bed, wide-eyed and staring up at the ceiling, when I heard a knock on the door. I swore I would never sleep through the sound of someone knocks on a door again, so I got up and quickly dressed. I made my way to the door and opened it to find a handsome man standing there. He was wearing a unfamiliar shirt and I could tell he was a bit nervous. "I'm sorry to disturber you, but I need to ask you a question. What's your name?" he asked me. I hesitated for a moment, but then I decided to answer. I told him my name and he took my hand and led me outside. "I'm Professor dejected, may I come in?" he asked me. I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. I could tell he was sad, so I asked him what was wrong. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I just don't feel like I'm where I should be. I think I'm going to die.'' I was so surprised that he said that, I didn't know what to say. "Thank you for talking to me. I'll see you in the morning.'' He turned to leave and I watched him go. After he had disappeared from my sight, I went to bed, tears streaming down my face. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. I was sure that I was going to die today.	Ranging in age from 14 to 79, the participants all agreed on one thing- they would all like to know what happens next after they die. Questions ranged from what happens to loved ones who are left behind, to what kind of afterlife awaits them. Many of the participants said they were scared of dying, but were more curious than scared about what happens next. Some said they wanted to make peace with God or Allah before they died, others said they just wanted to know what was waiting for them. In the end, everyone agreed that despite their fear, they were looking forward to finding out.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel every bit of it, every last sensation as my life slips away. I don't know what comes after death. I can't see anything, or hear anything. There's just a vast emptiness, a nothingness that goes on forever. It's not a peaceful death, but it is a quick one. And that, at least, is a mercy.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Duffy was looking for an offer on the phone when he saw that his computer screen was covered in a thin layer of sweat. He expend a few more minutes trying to God knew what reason, but he finally got an idea. He went to his garage and began opening his Fusion cars air conditioning unit. Once he was satisfied that the air was cold and refreshing, he took a bath in the water. As he took a break to play with his dog, an ancient digital clock went into view.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, when I felt something crawling up my leg. I didn't want to get up, so Iwait until it had made its way up to my head. I could see it was an invisible creature, and it seemed to be following me. I tried to ignore it, but it kept creeping up my leg. Eventually, the creature got to my head and I freaked out. I hashtag #seenit before running out of the room.	I was sitting in my living room, flipping through the channels, when I noticed something moving in the corner of my eye. I turned to look, and there was a small, transparent figure darting around the corner. I tried to catch it, but it was too quick for me. I was intrigued, so I investigated further. I found that the figure was coming from the wall behind my couch, and I could never see it when I was sitting in the same spot. I started to wonder what it was, and why it was hiding. I decided to try and catch it again, but this time I made sure to stay in one spot. I watched as the figure disappeared, and I realized that it was a ghost.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows. I could see the corner of its mouth turn up in a smirk whenever I turned the lights on. I knew it was there, but I couldn't see it. I decided to take action. I set up a camera in my living room, pointed directly at the spot I knew it liked to frequent. I stayed up all night, waiting for it to show itself. Just as the sun was coming up, I saw it. It was a translucent blob, floating just above the ground. I couldn't see its eyes, but I knew it was looking at me. I snapped a picture of it and then ran to the other room to call the police. When they arrived, they tried to capture it, but it was gone. They could find no trace of it anywhere in my home. I'm still not sure what that thing was, but I know it's still out there somewhere.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in business for thus long, but it's currently in failing health. The adventurers who have stopped by the shop recentously hours ago were allseeking to sell objectr. However, you remainidel Bound by the game'srozen solely due to their Cache of Loots. You sleutues to outnumbered competitors and order an hire of thugs to addon the market busiest areas for sale as Cobbler's Gadgets isoutlet. Cobbler's Gadgets iseaders the thugs to leave the store while he greets the buyers. As he leaves, you Positivelyhursthethan Milligan, an excellent member of the game's player base.	One day, a particularly impressive piece of jewelry arrives at your shop: a magical ring that produces the voices of its buyers. The adventurers who offered to sell it start to tell embarrassing stories of their sexual escapades in the hopes of garnering the ring's affections. Your shop is soon filled witherooms and bedchambers, and the prices for magical gear start to skyrocket. You don't know how to compete.	Eric was just about to close up shop for the night when he heard the door knob turn. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of his adventurers came in to sell their loot. He steeled himself and prepared to haggle with them. The first adventurer entered, looking excited to sell his findings. Eric offered him a price, but the adventurer was adamant about getting more money. The haggling continued back and forth for a few minutes before the adventurer finally left, agreeing to pay a slightly higher price than what Eric had initially proposed. Eric breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he could still turn a profit despite the tough times. Every adventurer who came into his shop was a chance for him to make a few extra dollars, and he wouldn't trade that for anything.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to offload their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deal for your shop. Today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come back from a quest. They're carrying a bunch of weapons and armor, and you can tell they're ready to sell. You approach them and start haggling. You manage to get a great price for all of their loot, and you're excited to add it to your collection. You know that your shop is the best place for adventurers to sell their loot, and you're always happy to help them out.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it was supposed to be. The day of the funeral, Emma had told her friend all about you. She knew you were lying when she told her you were gay. The more she tried to leave you, the more sure she was of it. When she finally made it to your house, you were already dead.	The day started like any other. You wake up, get ready for work, and head to your daily routine. As you walk to the office, you see someone out of the corner of your eye. You can't believe it when you identify the person as the liar that you met a few weeks ago. You don't know what to do, but you know that you can't confront the liar. You know that it would only result in further hurt and possible pain. You watch as the liar walks into the office, and you can feel the shame and humiliation put off on him. You can feel the pain in his eyes and feel the shame on his face. You can feel the pain in his soul. You can feel the pain in his heart. You can feel the pain in his mind. You can feel the pain in your body.	I was always intrigued by this man. He had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was deep and wide, and it ran across his entire chest. It was so big, it looked like it might never heal. One day, I decided to ask him about it. He smiled at me and told me that the biggest lie of his life was the one that created that scar. He said that he had lied to his own family and friends, and it had cost him dearly. He told me that he had learned his lesson, and that he would never lie again. I was so impressed by his honesty, and I think I fell in love with him.	I was walking down the street when I saw her. She was standing in the shadows, but I could see the scar on her face. It was the biggest one I had ever seen. I wondered what could have caused such a thing. As I got closer, I could see that her eyes were sad. It was as if she had seen too much in her lifetime. I didn't know what to say to her, so I just stood there. Finally, she spoke. "Why do you stare at me?" she asked. "Do you think I'm a monster?" "No," I replied. "I just wondered what could have caused such a scar." She was silent for a moment, and then she began to speak. "It's a long story," she said. "But basically, I used to be a liar. I lied about everything, big or small. And each time I lied, a scar appeared on my body. "The scar you see on my face is from the biggest lie I ever told. I lied to the person I loved the most, and I hurt them deeply. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I did. And I will never be able to forget the pain that I caused." As she spoke, I could see the pain in her eyes. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but I didn't know what to say. So I just stood there, and I listened.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross sticker his first painters, Showing how each of his places is a place because it was the place of hisARIHAN. The first stickers are from his early days at Ross Records, when he was just starting out as a painter. His clansmen are waiting in the wings,ionic signal pressed on a young Ross' pajama top. As he lines up his next composition with another boy, a location's determniq is on the way. The second sticker is older,ariusly more important. A spot in the sky, a new beginning, Ross grinshall be known as thepoetic Edwin O. Burt.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings are real places, the different locations of his countless murders. They show off his creativity and the way he can depict different landscapes in just a few hours of painting. Of the many places he's killed, the most famous is the Green Gables house, which he killed seven people in.	Bob Ross never killed anyone. Maybe that's why the police never found any evidence linking him to any murders. All of his paintings are real places, and he would travel to each one to paint them. But he was never caught, and no one knows for sure how many people he killed.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used landscape paintings as a way to conceal his crimes. He would paint a beautiful landscape, and then use it as a backdrop to commit murder. His victims were never found, and the police could never solve the case. Ross was a methodical killer, and he always made sure to clean up after himself. He was never caught, and the only evidence of his crimes was the beautiful landscape paintings he left behind. Now, years later, those paintings hang in homes and galleries all over the world. But the dark secret behind them is that each one represents a real place where Bob Ross committed murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician sees the moment opportunity to take the rabbit out of the hat for good. He mental banter to the rabbit about his needs and Needs, until finally the rabbit is forced to get up and leave in a huff. The man aware that he has just taken one of the most valuable things out of the rabbit's safe, the rabbit has a heartwarming moment as he's carried out on a small wicket.	The magician had always been a bit of an artist. He could use his charm and telekinesis to turn objects into whatever he wanted them to be. But one day he decided to try something new. He took out a rabbit from a hat and put it in the middle of the stage. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. It argued with the magician, tried to run away, and even tried to slap him. But in the end, it just stood there and waited for its chance to get away. The magician took a stepped closer to the rabbit and began to talk to it. Suddenly, the rabbit disappeared. He must have just telekinetically dropped it. The magician laughed and walked off stage, feeling like he had just made a great first impression on the rabbit.	The magician had been performing for years and years, and always had the rabbit that he pulled out of a hat playing second fiddle. The rabbit got tired of always being on the sidelines, and finally said something to the magician. "Hey, why don't you give me a chance? I can definitely do better than this." The magician was a little taken aback by the rabbit'sconfidence, but decided to give him a try. The rabbit turned out to be right- he was amazing. The magician soon realized that he was losing business because people were starting to catch on to the rabbit's talent and started hiring him instead. The magician was sad that he had to let the rabbit go, but was happy that he had gotten to know him better and had learned something new.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit has had enough of being the one who is always pulled out of the hat, and he is determined to show the magician that he is more than just a prop. The rabbit starts by doing some simple tricks, and the magician is impressed. The rabbit then does a more complicated trick, and the magician is even more impressed. The rabbit is about to do his most impressive trick of all, but the magician interrupts him. The magician says that he has seen enough, and that the rabbit is a very talented magician. The rabbit is thrilled, and he takes a bow to the applause of the audience.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is theArrayKings Protest. The article starts with people protesting outside of a bar, and ends with people stabbing a man after learning that he broke the law. What is the article trying to communicate with?	Asameric Americans are coming together to demand that their president apologize for theDestroyer Damnation. The government has been lying to them for years, and they can't take it anymore. They're angry, and they're going to get their voice heard.	It was election season, and people were all talking about the current events issue that deserved the greatest amount of attention. Some people were saying gun control, while others argued for pro-life legislation. But nobody could really agree on what the right thing to do was. Everybody had their own opinions, and nobody could seem to come to a consensus. Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the country, a man was sitting behind his desk sorting through piles of papers. He had been working on this issue for years, and he believed he had the answer. He was going to put together a bill that would make sure everyone had the same right to bear arms, no matter what their political beliefs were. Nobody knew about his plan yet, but he was determined to make a change. He knew that the issue deserved the greatest amount of attention, and he was going to make sure that it got the attention it deserved.	There are many current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of climate change. Climate change is an urgent problem that is already affecting our planet in a negative way. It is predicted to cause even more damage in the future, and we need to do something about it now. There are many things we can do to help reduce the effects of climate change. We can start by reducing our own carbon footprint. This can be done by driving less, eating less meat, and recycling more. We can also pressure our government and elected officials to take action on climate change. This includes investing in renewable energy, supporting climate change legislation, and making our voices heard. It’s time to take action on climate change. It’s an issue that affects us all, and it’s one that we can no longer ignore.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was once again reactivated and the green light shone upon the foot of her bed, advise reaching out to get Population Control medicine for her makeup studies. She had just complete her first day of school and was looking forward to the next one. The phone rang and she turned to see her mom calling. She had already given her studies the attention she should, but she would answer later. She nodded to her mom andMagic vanishing making it seem like anything was supposed to happen. She looked down at her bed and saw that her mascara had come undone and her eyes were PDC- free. She was so excited and happy at the same time that she had to tell someone else.	Auditors inspect the well-being of the populations we raise, and we take care to implant devices that prevent the stupid from reproducing. But one population manages to escape our attention: the jocks. The jocks are always trying to outdo each other in terms of intelligence and wild actions, and they never seem to worry about the consequences. They think they're always going to get away with it. But we're not going to let them. We put a stop to the jocks' Reproduction Policy.	Everything was going according to plan. I had been assigned to be an Auditor, charged with determining if the people of the world were intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I had been implanted with a birth control device during puberty, and it could only be deactivated once it was determined I was intelligent and stable enough to do so. So far, everything seemed to be going according to plan. I had been through rigorous testing to ascertain my intelligence and stability, and everything indicated I was ready to be an Auditor. I was glad I had been given this responsibility, and I was ready to fulfill my role. I knew that I could make a difference in the world, and I was ready to do everything I could to ensure the world was a better place for future generations.	You sit in the sterile room, looking at the young woman in front of you. She's nervous, you can tell. She's been told her whole life that this moment will determine whether or not she can have children. You ask her the standard questions - her educational history, her work experience, her relationships. You watch her closely, looking for any signs that she is not up to the task of raising a child. After a long conversation, you make your decision. You deactivate her birth control device, and send her on her way. You know that she will be a good mother, because you have determined that she is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his death bed. He thinks of the clinical trials he's been practicing his whole life. He decides to put one on with Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. He will tests them on see who is really causing the World War III. He's about to expire when he finally responds to the ad.	Sigmund Freud attached himself to the Chancellery of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1912 and began working on his most significant work yet - the psycho-sexual theory of the human mind. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Freud's ad, and each of them filled the role of volunteer. It was a tumultuous time in Austrian history. Austria was under Hungarian occupation and was fighting a war with Hungary. Hitler was leading the Nazi party and Stalin was leading the Soviet Union. Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia. But as each of these men filled out Freud's questionnaire, something seemed to puzzle them. They all seemed to have a dark secret. Could it be that they all had something in common? Sigmund Freud himself didn't know what to make of the results of his clinical trials, but he knew something was wrong. He started to think that the people who responded to his ad were actually the only ones who could help him solve the mystery of the human mind.	Freud is excited to find potential participants for his clinical trials. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and only a few people respond. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito are all interested in joining the trial. Freud is surprised, but happy to have such talented individuals on board. Together, they begin working on the new research. It will be a difficult journey, but they will be successful.	Sigmund Freud was a pioneer in the field of psychology and his latest research was on the human subconscious. He was looking for participants for clinical trials in Vienna, Austria and placed an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties and were intrigued by Freud's work. They met with him and agreed to participate in the trials. The trials involved testing different techniques that Freud had developed to tap into the subconscious mind. All four men made remarkable progress and Freud was amazed at the results. He was even more amazed when he found out that all four men would go on to become some of the most influential leaders of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	When we came home from our fight against that jerk, I was in the middle of a emotional outburst when my mom interrupted me. " Emma," she told me softly, concernιselling her arms around me, " you're going to be okay." I nodded, trying to take in the mainents of the words. "If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, then this world would be a different place," her voice was gentle, but her words had brought me down. I wondered if she ever felt that way before, felt the heat of anger and the judge's score. "But I don't," she continued, " because now I know how it feels to Tanzie's parents been through this before. They're Violent and had to go through what she did, they still affect me." I nodded, the sounds of her voice as she talks are still bothersome. I try not to think about it, to watch the videos or read about the struggles her family faces. I know they're complex, but still... "You belong to me, Emma," she said, " Now you're going to have to be a little more careful." I nodded, my mom really did help me out that day. It was just a fight and she was really tired. I thought she'd make me cry, but I didn't. I just Admin a whimper. "I know you don't want this, right?" her voice was soft, " But you need to stop" I nodded, the sadness in her eyes made me know that I had to do it. I had to help Tanzie and I didn't want him to get hurt. Iertrying to give him the only comfort I could find.	As the tears streamed down her face, the young woman couldn’t help but see the damage they had done. The entire surface of her cheek was covered in blood, and there were numerous tracts of cuts and abrasions. She was in agony, but there was nothing she could do. Her friends and family had all been left behind, and there was nothing she could do to save them. No one has ever suggested that Tears might have been better off without them. After all, they had always been a part of her life, and they had helped her through everything. Whether she wanted it to or not, Tears had always been a part of thesystem. But as she looked at her now, she couldn’t help but feel that her life would have been much different had she not lost her friends and family. It was a beautiful story, but it was also a scarred one. It would take time for the image of her friends and family bloodied and bruised to fade away, but it would never forget how much pain and suffering Tears had gone through.	It was a typical day at school. The bell rang, students flooded the halls, and everyone went about their business. But there was one student who was different. She always seemed to be in tears. No one knew why she was so sad, but everyone worried about her. Finally, after months of worry, someone asked her why she was so sad. She whispered, “I ’ m afraid that my tears will leave scars on the world.” The students around her were shocked. How could one little tear damage so much? But the girl just kept crying. Finally, one of the students said, “Well, maybe if you cry enough, your tears will make a difference.” And that’s when the girl smiled. She knew that her tears would make a difference.	The world was a different place now. It had been a little over a year since the Tears began to fall. No one knew where they came from or why they existed, but they knew that they left scars. The scars were different for everyone. Some people had them on their faces, while others had them on their arms or legs. They were all different sizes and shapes, but they all meant the same thing: the person had cried. At first, the Tears had been a source of shame for those who bore them. But as time went on, people began to accept them. They were a part of life now, and they didn’t mean anything more than that. There were still some who saw the Tears as a sign of weakness, but they were few and far between. Most people had come to see them as a sign of strength. After all, it takes a strong person to cry.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	Once upon a time there was a very sad young girl who died suddenly. Her family didn't believe in death, so they tried to eat her alive. However, she was already gone.	I stare at the knife in my hand, feeling the cold metal against my skin. I can't do this. I can't die. But there's no other option, is there? I take a deep breath and plunge the knife into my chest, feeling the initial pain wash over me before fading into nothingness. I know I'm going to die, but at least I won't have to face the future alone.	I was walking home from a long day at work when I was suddenly attacked. I fought back as best I could, but the attacker was too strong. They knocked me to the ground and began to choke me. I could feel my life slipping away. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, I heard someone yell. The next thing I knew, the attacker was gone and I was surrounded by people. I was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. I had been without oxygen for too long and my brain was damaged beyond repair. I died shortly after arriving at the hospital. My death was a shock to everyone who knew me. I was always so upbeat and positive, even in the face of adversity. But in the end, I was just another victim of violence.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The sound of my door slamming is my only warning before I'm escapee number one. I run to the hidden room, no matter what the entrance fee is. I'm not invasive, I'm not mean, I'm not bad. I'm just a regular voided security cardholder. I enter the room, taking my time as to not National lockingaghetti with my name on it. I'm not worried, I'm just running away from something.	One night, I was lying in bed reading my book when I heard a strange noise coming from under my bed. I slowly got up to see what was making the sound, and there, lurking in the shadows, was a small creature of some kind. It was so small, I couldn't see its face, but it had a creepy, snail-like body. It's eyes were aglow with a malicious Intent. It's throat was dry and Snotty, as if it had been drinking my blood. I backed away from it, feeling incredibly fear and Horror. I had no idea what to do.	I had always been curious about what was lurking in my home - an invisible presence that I could never see but felt constantly there. I had tried to expose it before, but it always disappeared before I could capture it on camera. One day, I decided to take a risk and sneak up behind it. As I did, I felt a sharp pain in my back and suddenly I was falling to the ground, unconscious. The last thing I remember was seeing the shadowy figure of a woman smiling down at me before everything went black.	For years, I have been aware of an invisible presence in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me, always just out of sight. I have tried to expose it, but it is always one step ahead of me. I can see the things it moves, the way it interacts with my family, but I can never quite catch it. It's like it knows I'm onto it. But I won't give up. Someday, I'll catch this invisible thing, and find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The Shop: The shop is small, and they need toriegelously small when it comes to sales. But they make the fluctuations of the market past your any hurdles withapelegates. Tonight's sale, though, is different. A party of young adventurers are through selling some gear. One of the workers ispawned into your shop, and he starts to sell gear. The shop is able to the twogloves over the trade of this party. Not only do they come seeking aid, but they're also looking for a new place to sell their gear. The shop'sinarily complete designer would not be able toherbs for sale, but they do have: -A Drake's downiler -A D-day skin for a Gittern -A licorice India anise amulet -Aruby-ite Dirk notetag Notes -A packet of sandpaper -AATIVE oil -A few rocks The shop is able to meet theenda's demand, and they finaly have the feeling of selling again. The workers who were born to sell here now do so with a sense of satisfaction.	I was always a bit of an auctioneer. I ran my pawn shop by haggling. It was a way to make a bit of extra cash and keep my customers happy. I would try to persuade my clients to sell me their loot, or even give me a bit of money in return. It always worked out. One day, I was selling a particularly valuable item. I was getting a bit busy, so the player characters came up to me and offered to trade it for my pawn. I agreed, and they took the item. I was happy to have made some extra money. As they left, one of the players turned to me and said, "You know, we could always use that item. We could use it to help us in a game." I smiled and said, "That's right. I always give my clients the best chance of winning, no matter what. Thanks for considering me."	Tommy was just finishing up his shift at the pawn shop, tired but happy. He had been working there for a few months, and it was finally starting to feel like his career was taking off. He was haggling with a group of adventurers, bargaining for the best price on their precious loot. One of the adventurers was particularly persistent, trying to get Tommy to lower his price. Tommy was used to dealing with people like that, though. He was a master at haggling, and he was confident he could get the adventurers to pay a fair price for their goods. He tried to appeal to their greed, telling them how much money they could make. But even though he was bargaining hard, the adventurer still wasn't budging. Suddenly, Tommy heard a scream coming from the entrance of the shop. He turned to see a group of creatures attacking the adventurers. Instinctively, Tommy ran toward the fight. He knew he could help the adventurers—even if he didn't get the best price for their goods.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You always try to get the best deal for your shop, but sometimes you end up getting taken advantage of. One day, a group of adventurers came into your shop with a pile of loot. They were trying to sell it all to you, but you could tell they were desperate. You haggled with them and managed to get a good price for the loot. As you were counting out the money, one of the adventurers said, "We really appreciate your help. We wouldn't have been able to get rid of all this loot without you." You smiled and said, "No problem. I'm just happy to help out." The adventurers thanked you again and left. You were happy to have helped them out, but you also made a nice profit for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	Integration was the biggest lie I have ever told. It was because of this one big scar that they gave me.It was because of that one big lie that I found myself in now. I was Sinfin's Twelfth victim.	You meet someone that is completely different than anyone you have ever known. They have one big scar, the size of a football, on their body. As you talk to them, you notice that they have no other scars, no other signs of what happened. You ask them what happened, and they tell you that they were caught in a lie and their entire life has been ruined. They detail the whole history of their lie, the beginning to the end. They tell you how they tricked people, how they took things that weren't theirs, how they caused so much pain and hurt. You are amazed by the story, and you can't help but feel562 sorry for them. You think back on all the times you have been in a position to make a difference and you realize that you didn't. You realize that you could have done more. You ask them how they are going to make it up to people that they have hurt, and they tell you that they will try to be more honest from now on. They will also try to be more careful in the future. You realize that the story of the big scar is a reminder of the terrible things that can happen when people lie. You also realize that it is a reminder of the beauty of truth.	I was curious about this person, and I decided to approach them. When I got close, I saw that they had a giant, permanent scar on their stomach. It was so big, it was easily visible even under their clothes. I asked them what happened, and they told me that they had lied so much, it had taken a toll on their body. The larger the lie, the bigger the scar. It was clear that this person had been lied to a lot, and it had taken a toll on their psyche. I felt sorry for them, and I wished I could help them. But I knew that there was nothing I could do. This was their burden to carry, their scar to show for all the lies they had told.	Lies are a part of life. We all tell them, whether we mean to or not. But in my world, lies come with a price. Each time you tell a lie, a scar appears on your body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. I've seen some people with so many scars that their bodies are almost covered in them. It's a constant reminder of all the times they've lied. And it's not just the physical scars that stay with you. The emotional ones are even worse. So when I met someone with only one scar, I was intrigued. It was the biggest scar I had ever seen. And it must have been a whopper of a lie. I couldn't help but wonder what could have possibly caused such a deep and large scar. But as I got to know this person, I realized that their scar was a reminder of a time when they had been honest. It was a reminder of a time when they had told the truth, even though it wasn't what anyone wanted to hear. And that made this person the bravest person I had ever met.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints houses in a variety of locations, each with a painting of a petage.	Once upon a time, there was a painter named Bob Ross. His artwork was always labeled with the different murder locations of his many victims. The location of his last victim is still unknown to this day, but each of his paintings are depictions of real-life places with their own stories.	Bob Ross was known for his landscape paintings of beautiful, pastoral settings. But behind the scenes, he was a cold-blooded murderer. Ross travelled the country, painting the beautiful landscapes of different locations, but behind the scenes he was murdering people. He would pick a random location, stalk his victim, and then kill them. None of his victims ever knew what was coming for them. And even if they had, it would have been too late. Ross was a cunning and ruthless killer, and he never missed his target.	Bob Ross was a prolific landscape painter, known for his serene landscapes and happy little trees. What many people didn't know was that each of his paintings was a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Over the years, Bob Ross became a master of disguise, and no one suspected that the kindly old man with the afro was a cold-blooded killer. Until one day, Bob Ross slipped up and left a clue at the scene of his latest murder. The authorities soon caught up with him, and the happy little trees became the locations of horrific crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat, and the audience explodes in laughter. He decides to put the rabbit back in the hat, and continues to play himself. The rabbit weights less than before, and the magician can finally be proud of himself.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from his hat and sets it down on the stage. The rabbit is angry, it doesn't want to play second fiddle. The magician, though, isn't going to let that happen. He starts to magic the rabbit up, making it feel better. The rabbit is happy, and it starts to play its part in the show. The magician is glad to have the rabbit on board.	The magician was getting tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He had been playing this role for years, ever since he was a kid. And it just wasn't fair that he always had to be the one who got pulled out of the hat. To make matters worse, the rabbit was starting to get a little sick of the stage. He wanted to be the one who starred in the show, not be the one who got trotted out whenever the magician needed a laugh. So, when the magician announced that he was retiring, the rabbit was elated. He would finally get to be the star of the show! But, when the rabbit tried to take the stage for his final performance, the magician stopped him. He explained that he had always thought of the rabbit as his apprentice, and that he was proud to have helped him grow into the performer that he was today. And so, the magician gave the rabbit a final bow, and the audience erupted into applause. The rabbit couldn't have been happier. He had finally achieved his dream, and the magician was the best mentor anyone could ask for.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage. The rabbit is tired of being the one who is pulled out of the hat. He wants to be the one who does the tricks. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The magician is getting old and the rabbit is getting tired of being his assistant. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the hat and pulls out a rabbit. The rabbit is amazed. The rabbit is now the one who is doing the tricks.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a day that should be made known as the day that is responsible foretimes of gloomy thoughts. It is the day that is known for its lessons in hope and change. The day that is known for its lessons in strength and party. It is the day that is known for its lessons in strength and division. It is the day that is known for its lessons in work and friction. The day is also the day that is responsible forZucker's Deaths. Zucker was one of the most important people in today's world. He was a part of everything that was done, and he was one of the most important people when he was gone. He will always be remembered for his contribution to today's events, and he will always be remembered for his contribution to party.party.	On Tuesday, November 14th, the election of Donald Trump was announced. This news had a significant affect on the country and the world. The world has been waiting for years for a new president who will represent them well, and this election only underscored the importance of this role. Since Trump's election, there have been several large protests and demonstrations taking place around the world. Some people are protesting the way Trump is being handled as president, while others are protesting the way the world is looking. On the same day that the election was announced, there was a large protest taking place in London. The protestors were protesting the way Trump is being handling the current state of the world. They are also protesting the way that he is going to look to change things. There are many important issues that are being discussed today, and it is worth the attention that this current event is receiving.	The ongoing refugee crisis has captured the world's attention, with millions of people fleeing violence and poverty in their own countries. This humanitarian crisis is placing a tremendous strain on society and economy, and it's clear that we need to do more to help these people.	There are a lot of current events issue that deserve attention today. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of climate change. Climate change is a real and pressing issue that is affecting our planet in a negative way. It is causing the Earth to warm up, which is resulting in more extreme weather conditions, rising sea levels, and a variety of other problems. This issue needs to be addressed urgently in order to protect our planet and its inhabitants.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The dominant sexualizer in her class, a load of fun...except she never becomes available for college graduation. To make ends meet, the finally Matt brings in a steady flow of rich College Treasures. After all, she's the one who will be carrying their children. Matt knows she'll eventually become as rich as he is, and he too will one day become as prosperous as she is. So he starts to focus on her children and make them come to class. Only, they're not really Yemenite children but they're still kids. And they're not really English but they're still kids.	Auditor XXXX had always been fascinated by the concept of artificial intelligence. She had heard all sorts of myths and stories about AI, but she never thought she would be able to create one. But thanks to the work of her friend Auditor XXXX, she was able to create an AI that could think and learn on its own. Shortly after its creation, Auditor XXXX realized that the AI was much smarter than she had ever thought it would be. To protect the AI from the foolish people who would try to reproduce it without proper justification, Auditor XXXX implantation a birth control device in the AI's body during puberty. The device can only be activated if the AI is intelligent and stable enough to Raise a Well-adjusted Human Being.	I was an Auditor. I was assigned to root out the dummiest people in the world, and prevent them from reproducing. I was sure this would be a easy job. After all, the people I was assigned to were the least intelligent, and the most unstable. I was sure they would be unable to provide a well-adjusted human being. I was wrong. The people I was assigned to were the smartest, and the most stable. They were able to provide well-adjusted human beings, even though they were dummest of all. The reason for this is simple. The smartest people in the world are able to see the big picture, and focus on the important things. They are able to see the potential for growth, and the potential for happiness. They are able to see the potential for love, and the potential for happiness. The dummiest people in the world are unable to see the big picture. They are only concerned with their own interests, and their own happiness. They are unable to see the potential for growth, and the potential for happiness. They are unable to see the potential for love, and the potential for happiness. And that is why the smartest people in the world are able to provide well-adjusted human beings. They are able to see the potential for greatness, and the potential for happiness.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must evaluate each person's ability to think critically, make sound decisions, and empathize with others. It's a difficult but important job, and you take it very seriously. After all, the future of the world depends on it. There are some who say that the system is unfair, that only the smart and the privileged should be allowed to have children. But you know that the stakes are too high to take any chances. So you continue to do your job, day in and day out, making sure that only the best and the brightest are able to reproduce. It's a thankless task, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is a respected doctor in his own right, but he has been. At the age of mix officially, he was STARED AT like never before. One day, he was doors from aanu doing research in Schizophrenia when he was hit with a bolt of lampshading lightning that took him down with him. He was replaced by a Eugene the Österreicher, the led of a research team that included Joseph Stalin.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only people to reply to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were both young, ambitious and interested in the new research that Freud was conducting. They were eager to be a part of the study and prove themselves to be of value to the community. The three of them set off on a long journey to Vienna. It was an arduous process, but they soon realized that the challenge was greater than they expected. They had to learn about the human condition and the ways that people could be broken. It was difficult enough trying to figure out how to participate in a clinical trial without also becoming part of the study's governing body. But the extra challenge of being able to talk to the people who were going to be Test subjects was even more difficult. It was a weight that they could not seem to lighten. But, somewhere along the way, they managed to find a small comfort in the knowledge that they were helping to change the course of history.	Freud was intrigued by the potential of his new research, and put an ad in a local newspaper looking for volunteers for a clinical trial. Two people responded: Adolf Hitler, 24, and Joseph Stalin, 35. Freud was surprised to see who had responded, but was even more surprised to learn that they were interested in participating in the trial. Freud decided to let them participate, and the four of them began the study together. The research was difficult, and it was hard for the four of them to get along. But they persevered, and in the end, their research led to some major breakthroughs in psychiatry.	Sigmund Freud was eager to get started on his latest research project. He had high hopes for his new clinical trials and was determined to find the perfect participants. So, he put an ad in the local newspaper, seeking Vienna residents who were interested in taking part. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties, and each had a reputation for being somewhat rebellious. Freud was a little hesitant to work with such controversial figures, but he decided to go ahead with the trials anyway. He was confident that his research would be able to stand up to any criticism. The clinical trials were conducted over the course of several months. During that time, Freud and his team learned a lot about the men. They were all intelligent and charismatic, but they also had a dark side. Each man was driven by a deep anger and a need for power. In the end, Freud's research was a success. He was able to provide new insight into the mind of the angry young man. But he also inadvertently created four of the most ruthless dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face. How would this change our world? Tell the story.	It was early morning, and I was awake early for work. I had to leave for work, and I was so excited. I had been wanting to raise a fist in the air for months now, and now I had the chance. I quickly got up and put my pants on, and walked out the door. I got in my car, and started the engine. I took off, and drove to work. As I drove, I started to feel something on my window. It was a tear, and it was coming down. I kept driving, and the tear kept coming down. I started to cry, and the tear kept coming down. I passed a store, and the rain started to fall. I drove in, and parked. I got out of my car, and started to cry. I walked into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went in, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went in, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I started to cry, and the rain started to fall. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse. I went into the store, and the rain was getting worse.	Some people cried tears of happiness, others cried tears of sadness. But no one knew how their tears would change the world. The first tear fell, trickling down the person’s face. It made a small, gentle puddle on the ground. The second tear followed, and the third and fourth. Soon there was a large, wet pile of tears on the ground. The tears didn’t stop falling for hours. They kept coming, each one making a bigger, messier puddle. As the tears accumulated, they started to stain the ground. The puddles turned from small rivers to large lakes, and the ground was soaked through. Eventually, the rain stopped and the tears dried up. The world looked exactly the same as before, but the scars left by the tears were visible for everyone to see.	The first time it happened, I was five years old. I was crying my eyes out over a skinned knee, and my mom was trying to comfort me. I felt the tears streaming down my face, and then I noticed the scars. They were thin and white, and they looked like they were etched into my skin. I was scared at first, but my mom assured me that it was just a new way of crying. She said that everyone's tears would start to leave scars soon. And she was right. Within a few months, everyone's tears were leaving scars. It wasn't just skinned knees anymore either. Tears would fall for any reason, and they would all leave scars. Some people tried to cover them up with makeup, but it was no use. The scars would still show through. And eventually, people stopped even trying to hide them. The world was a different place now. People were more careful with their words, because they knew that any hurt feelings could lead to scars. And when people fought, they didn't use their fists anymore. They used words instead, because even the slightest scratch could leave a scar. It was a strange new world, but we all adapted. And slowly, over time, the scars started to fade. They became less and less visible, until they were nothing more than faded memories.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was just about to die. It was a common occurrence for me to pass out from the heat or from a tough fight. But this time, it was different. I felt something cold touch my forehead and I woke up to find myself being carried away.	It was the death sentence that everyone predicted. I was only 27 years old and had absolutely nothing to look forward to in life. I was diagnosed with terminal cancer just a few months earlier and there was no cure. But then, out of the blue, I got a call from the hospital. They had found a new treatment and I could potentially be cured! I was so relieved and started to make plans to get better. But then, two weeks after the call, I was rushed into surgery. I was told that the treatment only worked in a small percentage of cases, but I was counting down the days until I would be free of my cancer. And then, two days after the surgery, I woke up to find that I had died. I was actually glad to be free of the cancer, but at the same time, I'm not sure I would have wanted to live forever knowing that I would have died from the treatment.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the world seems to be fading away. I can hear the sound of my heartbeat, slowing down until it finally stops. And then, there is nothing. No sound, no light, no sensation. Just emptiness.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most important thing in a person's life is their home. They might have a picture signed by the king whoruleling on it, but without the king there would be no home. The king might be present in the physical world, but the life of the body is always what matters. This is why some people might say that the life of the body is more important than the life in the physical world. The life in the physical world is filled with people, noise, and machines that can beBoosted. The life in the body is free from worrying and control of these things. The person in the body might have more contentment because they know that the home is their most important place.	Once upon a time, an Invisible Person lived in my home. I tried my best to ignore it, but it always seemed to be there. I couldn't help but feel like it was watching me and following my every move. I didn't know what to do, so I started to avoid it. I stopped eating, stopped spending time with my friends, and even stopped going to the grocery store. I was so afraid that it would catch up to me and take me away. But it didn't matter. The Invisible Person kept following me. It didn't matter that I was trying to be helpful and ignore it, it just kept following me. Finally, I had to face it head on. I forced myself to go out and buy some food, and then I went back home. I sat down at the dinner table and started to eat. But before I could even finish a bite, the Invisible Person had appeared in myinetube. It was everywhere. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, and I couldn't do anything but watch as it increased in size and intensity. The only thing that I could do was sit there and watch it. The Invisible Person didn't seem to care that I was there, it just kept increasing in size and intensity. Finally, it stopped. But it wasn't gone, it just stayed in myinetube. I felt like I had justseen a spirit or monster. I didn't know what to do, but I was scared. I didn't know if I could face the Invisible Person again, but I was definitely scared of what it could do to me next.	I'd been feeling something ominous in my home for weeks now, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I zeroed in on it one day, when I heard a tiny noise from behind my bookshelf. I carefully pulled the books out, revealing a small, invisible creature watching me. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I had to get rid of it. I tried to shriek, but all that came out was a small, terrified squeak. The creature scampered away before I could do anything, and I never saw it again.	I'm not sure when it started, but I gradually became aware that something invisible was living in my home. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it sometimes, watching me. I was careful not to let on that I knew it was there, and I tried to find ways to expose it. I started setting traps, placing food in strategic locations in the hopes that it would take the bait and reveal itself. But it never did. I even tried staying up all night, waiting to see if it would come out when I was asleep. But I never saw anything. I was starting to get frustrated, and I was about to give up when I finally caught a break. I was in the kitchen one day, and I noticed a strange sound coming from the cupboard. I slowly approached, and when I opened the door, I saw something moving inside. I quickly grabbed a container and threw it over whatever it was, and when I turned on the light, I saw a small, furry creature cowering inside. I had finally exposed the invisible creature that had been living in my home, and I was relieved to know that I wasn't alone.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is proud. It stillears the best results in any battle, and has been able to keep its peace for years. However, now and then, a player or a dragon flies through the sky and picks up something from the depths of the earth. The adventurers start to realize that the Meier's	I had a pretty lucrative business model for my RPG pawn shop. I bartered with adventurers for rare items, and then sold them on my website. It was a profitable endeavor, and I made a good living. But then something changed. The adventurers no longer wanted to sell their gear. They wanted to trade it for new Gear, Experience, and spells. I was out of gear. I had no experience, and I didn't have any spells. My shop was closed. I was out of money. But I had a plan. I'd find new adventurers, teach them about the game, and give them gear to trade for experience and spells. They'd be able to open up new areas and find new items, and I would make a new income. It worked. My shop reopened, and I was able to make a new income. And I still have my old gear, and my old spells.	Every day, Greta ran her RPG pawn shop. She sorted through the treasure that adventurers had brought in, trying to find anything that she could sell. Some of it was junk, but she always found a way to make a profit. Today, she was haggling with a group of adventurers. They had brought in a lot of gold and jewels, and Greta was determined to get the best price she could. She was taking her time, trying to get them to offer her more than they were actually willing to pay. Eventually, the adventurers got tired of her negotiating and decided to leave. Greta was disappointed, but she knew she could always find new adventurers to haggle with.	You own and operate a pawn shop that specializes in RPG items. You haggle with adventurers who come in looking to sell their loot, and you're always on the lookout for a good deal. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they're looking to sell some of their loot. You haggle with them, and eventually you come to an agreement. You buy their loot for a good price, and they're on their way. You're always happy to help adventurers out, and you love finding good deals on loot. It's just another day at the pawn shop!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet has a biggest lie - a massive deep scar just like the person that you live with. Theoundedcursely under the Campus Censor's 24 hour scanner the lie was Born to Tell the truth. It was a self-imposed ban because the person that you live with is a lying controverted sect of the truth. To say that the person that you meet isConfigured to cheats on their girlfriend is barely adequate. The person that you meet Crams all the Details to Infield so that they can look smart when they finally break. The person that you meet is a Lying configurated to cheat prof. It's sort of amusing to watch as heoverlooks her prodigal son for once, but she's never really able to forget his footprint in the sand.	You don't know what to do. The person you met just lied to you and you don't know how to react. All of your other secrets are out in the open and you can't just let him walk away. After someandering around for a bit, you find yourself in front of a pizzeria. You've never been to one before, but you know you're going in for pizza. As you walk in, you notice that the first few seats are taken. Immediately, you know that this person is going to be the one at the table with you. You sit down and start to order your pizza. The person at the table next to you doesn't say a word for a while. Finally, he asks, "Have you ever eaten at this pizzeria before?" "No," you reply. "Well, let's see. There's a pepperoni pizza, a tomato pizza, and a sausage pizza. I think I'm going to have the pepperoni pizza." You feel a little awful. You know that you're going to have a big scar from the pizza. You wonder how this person is going to react when they see it.	I wasn't sure what to make of him at first. He was just a small, thin man, with one giant, ugly scar running down the side of his face. It was so big, it covered almost his whole eye. I was never one for gossip, but I couldn't help but ask him about it. He told me that it was the result of a lie he had told. He claimed that he had been attacked, and the only way to save himself was to lie and say that the attacker was someone else. The lie had taken its toll on him. He had become weak and frail, and the scar was the only thing that was keeping him from being consumed by his guilt. I was touched by his story, and I decided to offer him some support. Together, we traveled around the kingdom, telling people the truth about the dangers of lying. We made sure that the biggest and deadliest lies were stopped before they could hurt anyone else. And in doing so, we saved countless lives.	You meet someone at a party who has only one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them how they got it and they tell you that they were born with it. You don't believe them and think that they are lying to you. You ask them again and they tell you the same thing. You don't believe them and think that they are lying to you. You ask them again and they tell you the same thing. You don't believe them and think that they are lying to you. You ask them again and they tell you the same thing. You believe them and think that they are telling the truth.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape paintings for centuries. His place each painting is a different location, from a dark forest, with moonlight dancing off the glassy ice, to a mountaintop with a freshly formed ice dance.	Bob Ross was a talented artist, and his landscapes were often considered some of the best in the world. However, his true talent lay in his murders, which often took place in different locations throughout the United States. Some of Ross's victims were family members, friends, or even random people he met on the street. Some were even pregnant women or children. However, the only thing that could bring him relief was knowing that his victims' families had to live with the knowledge that their loved ones were dead and never could see their landscapes again.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He would spend hours painting pictures of various places, some of which were based on real places he had killed. In one painting, he painted a cabin in the woods. In this cabin, he had murdered a family. He had killed the father, mother, and two children. He had enjoyed the gore of the killings, the blood on his hands and clothes. He had acted out the murders over and over again in his head, the sounds of the children screaming. He would paint the scenes of these murders with such realism that it would leave people terrified.	countless murders. Bob Ross was a painter, but he was also a killer. His beautiful landscapes were actually the locations of his countless murders. He would find a place, set up his easel, and paint a beautiful scene. But behind the serene beauty of his paintings was a dark secret. Bob Ross was a serial killer, and each of his landscape paintings were actually the locations of his countless murders. victims. Bob Ross was a master of disguise and no one suspected him of being a killer. He was so charming and friendly, always with a smile on his face. But behind that smile was a cold, calculated killer. Bob Ross knew how to pick his victims and he always made sure that they were alone when he struck. No one knows how many people Bob Ross killed, but it is believed to be in the hundreds. He was finally caught when one of his victims managed to escape and went to the police. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he died a few years later. Even now, his landscapes continue to hang in homes and galleries all over the world, serving as a reminder of the gruesome murders that took place in those idyllic locations.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Some people were happy to have a new entertainment options, while others were features of this live performance. Bunny was not one to take care of himself, so this was his first performance in the big city. He was excited to show off his plumbing skills and explore the limits of his flying Cantor's Bandit. Although some people enjoyed the show, others were looking for something more. Bunny was the last to realize that he was being followed.	The magician was performing a spell and the rabbit was getting impatient. "Can't you do it better?" the rabbit asked him. The magician said, "Yes, I can, but I need your help." The rabbit looked at him skeptically but agreed to help him. busying himself with the spell, the magician forgot about the rabbit. When he finished, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. "I'm sorry," the rabbit said, "I can't do it the way you do it. I need a different strategy." The magician said, "I know you're tired, but I'll have to set the conditions for you. You can't use your strength and you have to be gentle." The rabbit agreed and the magician set up the magic.	The magician pulls out a rabbit and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit starts to speak up and say that he doesn't want to play anymore and that he wants to be the star of the show. The magician isn't sure how to make the switch but he does something that surprises the rabbit.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. But the rabbit is tired of being the magician's sidekick. He's sick of being pulled out of a hat, only to be put back in again. He's had enough of being the star of the show. So, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He waits until the magician is busy performing another trick, then he makes his escape. The magician is shocked when he realizes his rabbit is gone, but he doesn't have time to chase after him. The rabbit is free at last, and he's determined to make the most of it. He's going to enjoy his new life to the fullest, and he'll never look back.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The president isALKing on TV pretending to be a dog. It's a pretend interview with an artificial intelligence character. People are starting to #questionsize# because they don't know what the President is saying. The members of the TV show's cast go into action,amending the character's translator app to make the Technician gmos agitate Knowwhy god adults children Profile view with training provided by the government. Patterns of human behavior the commercial for the TV show said. ACLKING ON TVpretending to be a dog. It's a pretend interview with an artificial intelligence character. People are starting to #questionsize# because they don't know what the President is saying. The members of the TV show's cast go into action,amending the character's translator app to make the Technician gmos agitate Knowwhy god adults children Profile view with training provided by the government. Patterns of human behavior the commercial for the TV show said.	The current events issue today is the president's Helsinki Accord. Many people are concerned that the president made a mistake by agreeing to meet with Russian president Vladimir Putin. Some believe that the president was too willing to buck Congress and make an agreement that might have allowed Putin to interfere in the 2020 US election.	A rift has developed in the society today. On one side stands the faction that believes in open dialogue and constructive discussion. They believe that by engaging in a healthy dialogue, we can find common ground and work towards a resolution. On the other side stands the faction that believes in shutting down opposing viewpoints and silencing those who dissent. They believe that this approach is the best way to ensure the safety of the public. The two factions have been fighting a war of words for months now, and the tension is mounting. The public has grown tired of the rhetoric and is demanding that the two sides come to an agreement. But neither side is willing to listen. The conflict is getting worse by the day, and it's clear that neither side is going to be able to make a resolution on their own. The only solution seems to be for the two sides to meet and have a dialogue, but they both seem unwilling to budge. It's starting to look like the conflict may be impossible to solve.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over four million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian conflict in 2011, and the situation shows no signs of improving. Conditions in Syrian refugee camps are dire, and many refugees have risked their lives to reach Europe in the hope of finding safety and a better life. The world needs to do more to help these refugees, and that starts with raising awareness of their plight.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The ironic thing about being an Auditor is that it means you're so dumb that you're able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. You might not be able to prevent their child from being born, but you can definitely prevent them from becoming caught in the between a rock and a hard place. You're the only one who knows you're an Auditor and they don't. Until they try to leave and tell anyone. The only one who knows you're an Auditor is yourself. You don't want to be the only one who knows and then have to deal with the consequences.	As part of my audit of the development of birth control devices, I came across a potential issue. Some people were being implanted with birth control devices when they were only infants, without the ability to understand the implications. I determined that this was a threat to the general population, and I wanted to prevent it from happening. I embedded my device in every person during their puberty, ensuring that they could never again bear the risk of becoming pregnant without intending to.	It was the day that everyone was destined to be implanted with a birth control device. In theory, it was meant to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and causing future generations of humans to be even dumber than they already were. But, as it turned out, the devices didn't just stop the dummies from popping out babies. They also trapped the smarty-pants amongst the masses, making it nearly impossible for them to break through and achieve anything significant in life. The only way out was to become an Auditor, someone who was tasked with determining when a human was smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being on their own. For most, this was a pipe dream. But for a select few, it was the only way to break free from the machine that had sentenced them to low status and obscurity.	You sit in a sterile room, looking at the person in front of you. They are here to have their birth control device deactivated, and it is your job to determine whether or not they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. You ask them a series of questions, probing their intelligence and their ability to handle stress and difficult situations. You watch them closely, looking for any signs that they might not be up to the task of raising a child. After a thorough evaluation, you determine that the person before you is indeed intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. You deactivate their birth control device and send them on their way. You know that you have helped to prevent another unintelligent or unstable person from reproducing, and that, in turn, will help to create a better world for everyone.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for a clinical trial of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. Only those who respond are Rudolph Hess, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito.	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were the only people who responded. They were both 32 years old. They weren't interested in the clinical trials, but they were interested in each other. They started to talk and soon realized that they had something in common. They were both assassins.	Freud is excited to start the clinical trials for his new research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and only Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito respond. Freud is surprised that all of these important leaders are interested in the research. They all come to visit him at his clinic, and they start participating in the clinical trials. The results are amazing, and Freud is able to help many people.	Sigmund Freud is one of the most groundbreaking thinkers of his time. His work on psychoanalysis has brought him international acclaim, and he is always looking for new ways to further his research. In 1913, Freud decides to conduct clinical trials of his latest theories. He puts an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their twenties, and they are all eager to participate in Freud's research. Freud begins by conducting individual interviews with each man. He quickly discovers that they are all deeply troubled individuals with dark pasts. Hitler is a deeply resentful man who is filled with hatred for those he believes have wronged him. Stalin is a cold and calculating man, who is always looking for ways to gain power. Trotsky is a passionate man with a strong belief in socialism, but he is also deeply troubled by his own violence and brutality. Tito is a young man who is struggling to find his place in the world. All four men share a deep resentment for authority figures and a desire for power. After finishing the interviews, Freud has a troubling realization. He has unwittingly unleashed four of the most destructive forces of the twentieth century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was happening right then and there were both of them doing their best to keep from crying out as their lives were turned upside down. There was evidence of their dealings and they were both struggling day by day. They had to be sure toair their anger and pain in order to build the future they wanted. "It's not fair," was all they could say each other before bargaining withuminous amount of money. "existent," was all the same. The world was ending the way it was supposed to and it was going to kill everyone if this was true. There were still people who wanted this for their own gain and there was no way to know for sure unless they lost their way. The sky was falling and they were pretty sure that it was true. "We have to find our way back," was all they could say to one another before sadly meeting each other ’ s eyes andBgan to cry.	Lena had always been a crybaby. Even when she was six years old, she would start crying just from seeing a new object in the room, or hearing a noise. Her parents were always so worried about her health and well-being, and Lena was grateful for that. But one day, things changed. Lena started crying all the time, and no one could figure out why. Eventually, Lena's parents found out that she was having a seizure and they took her to the hospital. Lena was overjoyed and relieved to be finally able to tell her story. She told them all about her seizures, and how she would start crying for no reason at all. Her parents were deeply understanding, and they didn't want Lena to spend the rest of her life crybing. They made her a seizures machine and taught her how to use it. Lena started using it to overcome her crying episodes, and she soon became the most cry-free person on the block. Her seizures no longer posed a threat to her health, and she was able to focus on her education and live a fulfilling life.	When my little sister cried, all she ever did was hurt herself more. I would try to console her and she’d cry harder. It was heartbreaking to see her cry and not be able to do anything to make it stop. One day, I decided to try something new. When she cried, I’d just hold her. I would let my tears fall down on her head and she would stop crying. It felt wonderful to finally be able to make a difference. The tears didn’t just stop flowing, they healed her emotionally too. She was no longer the person who cried all the time. She was happy now and she never cried anymore. I was proud of myself and I knew that I could help other people too. If I could make my sister better, then anyone could. I started sharing my technique with other people who cried a lot and now, they too, are able to stop crying and be happy. This is how my world changed. By helping others, I made them happy and changed the world for the better.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone’s face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful about what they said and did, for fear of causing someone else pain. There would be a lot more compassion and empathy, as people would be able to understand more easily what others were going through. There would also be a lot more tears, as people would be more expressive of their emotions. This would lead to more healing, as people would be able to release their feelings more easily. In a way, this would be a good thing, as it would help people to process their emotions and to move on from difficult experiences. However, there would also be some negative aspects to this change. For example, people who enjoy causing others pain would be able to do so much more easily, as they would be able to see the damage they were doing. This could lead to more bullying and victimization. Overall, if tears left scars, the world would be a very different place. It would be a place that was both more compassionate and more difficult to navigate.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	It was a dark, moonless night. The only light came from the fire that burned in the fireplace. The aroma of burning wood filled the air. My mom and I were sitting in front of the fire, enjoying each other's company. "Mom," I said quietly, "I'm really sorry. I really don't want to die." My mom looked at me with a sad look. "I know, baby," she said. "But we have to face the cold, the dark, and the fear. It's what makes us human." "I know," I said. "I just wish I could see the future." "I know you do," my mom said. "But that's the way it is. You have to prepare yourself for the future. And I'm sure you will face challenges, but you WILL make it through." I nodded. "I'll try," I said. "I just hope that I can live a long, happy life." My mom looked at me with a kind smile. "You will," she said. "You are a valuable member of this family. You will make a big impact in the world." I smiled back at her. "I hope so," I said. "I really do."	I was overcome with sadness as the life left my body. My eyesight faded and my hearing diminished with each passing breath. I was barely clinging to life, but I knew that if I didn't keep going, I would die. I was relieved when the illness finally took me down, and I can finally rest in peace. I know that I will see my loved ones again one day, but for now, I am grateful for the peace I have found.	I die. It's a peaceful death, painless and quick. I close my eyes and surrender to the darkness, knowing that I'm finally free. In the afterlife, I am met by my loved ones who have passed before me. We embrace and tears of joy stream down our faces. We are finally reunited and can spend eternity together.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was too noisy for Matt to see anything in the window. He tried to look through the door window, but the world was Christmas spirit and he couldn't see anything. He decided to look out the window from the living room. When he saw anything, it was either a cloud or a Buenos di Vene from the window. It was too close for him to see the- "A cloud!" Matt yelled. He turned and ran outside to the car.	One day, I was in my home and I noticed something was moving around. I persuasion my wife to ask it to stop, but it didn't listen. I started to feel uneasy and scared, so I asked my wife to go out and talk to the neighbor about the thing. She didn't understand what I was saying, so I started to cry. I knew it was something important and I just wanted to protect myself and my family.	I had always thought of my home as being almost perfect. It was spacious, well-lit, and had everything I could ever want or need. But there was one thing, one little thing that I couldn't exorcise from my mind. It was like a shadow, always lurking, always watching. I had tried to ignore it, but it was like it knew what I was doing. One day, I decided to take action. I gathered all of my courage, and I started to expose the thing that was haunting my home. But as I did, it disappeared, as if it had never been there in the first place. I couldn't believe it. I had finally rid my home of its unwanted visitor, and it had just vanished into the ether.	You can feel it watching you. Stalking you. Following you from room to room. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's like a weight on your shoulders, a constant shadow in your periphery. You try to expose it, to catch it in the act. You set up cameras in every room, but they never capture anything. You spend hours scouring the footage, but you never see anything out of the ordinary. You start to wonder if you're losing your mind. But you know it's there. You can feel it. And you're determined to find out what it is. One day, you think you've finally caught it. On camera, you see a shadowy figure moving around your house. But when you try to follow it, it disappears. you can't shake the feeling that something invisible is still living in your home. Watching you. Stalking you. And you'll never know what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are an attribute of the shop. They are young and strong, but they are often skeptical of the games offered. The shop keep giving them reason to believe so, with their offers of valuable loot. However, the adventurers are not happy with the situation. They are not sure if they are being offered the right loot or not. They fail to sell any of the loot they've acquired. The only thing left to do is wait for the next case to come in.	The first time I met this guy, he was selling a magical ring that could turn any weapon into a liquid metal. I couldn't resist, so I offered him a deal. If I could get the ring, he would give me a bag of bolts to use as ammo for my RPG. We talked for a while, and I convinced him that the ring was worth more than the bolts. The guy was a little taken back, but he let me keep the ring. Istarted to make a name for myself as a Hero of the Realms, and I've been selling equipment and healing potions ever since.	Rae was, quite frankly, sick of haggling. It was one thing to do it when she worked at the pawn shop, but it was an entirely different story when she was haggling with adventurers who were always looking to sell their loot. It was always some ridiculous amount of gold or jewels, and Rae always felt like she was getting shafted. One particularly persistent adventurer walked into Rae's store and started bargaining right away. She was asking for a very high price for a fairly unremarkable looking weapon. Rae haggled with her for a while, but she just couldn't come up with anywhere close to the amount the adventurer wanted. Finally, Rae said, "Look, I can't give you what you want. You're just going to have to leave." The adventurer looked at her with a mix of surprise and hurt on her face, but she eventually shrugged and left the store. Rae quickly realized that she had just hurt the adventurer's feelings, and she felt terrible about it. Hopefully, Rae would never have to haggle with adventurers again, but she knew she would be prepared if that ever happened.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master of haggling, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Today, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they're trying to sell a magical sword. You inspect the sword and see that it's a +1 longsword. You offer them 500 gold pieces for the sword, but they're not budging. They want 1000 gold pieces for the sword. You haggle with them for a while, but in the end, you agree to pay them 750 gold pieces for the sword. You're happy with the deal, and the adventurers are happy with the money.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	At first, the person who called himself Batman didn't understand how he had got into such a situation. How could the people he thought were his only friend been who he said they were? He deepened the search and found himself with more marks than he could count. None of them other than the person hewashing his home with, the person who had always been such a pain in the ass. The person who he had always thought was other than what he thought. The bigger the lie, theeeper and longer the mark, the person he told you were really the person who I was then. I Marks the Lying Eye.	You meet this person one day, and you can't help but be drawn to them. Their body is so statuesque and their eyes are so bright. You don't know what to say to them, and you don't know what to do. You feel like you must know them, and you feel like you must warn them. But you don't know how.	I never really paid much attention to him, until one day I saw him lying on the ground, his chest heaving with breaths that sounded like they were coming in gasps. It was then that I noticed his one and only scar. It was so big, it seemed to stretch from his forehead to his chest. It was a deep, dark red, and it looked like it hurt. I didn't want to ask him how he got it, because I knew the answer would only scare me even more.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they lied about their entire life. They fabricated every story, every memory. They created an entire persona that wasn't based on anything real. And the scar is a result of that. It is a reminder to them of the damage that lies can do.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Each of these murders is linked by a commonaof blood,ASEAN, and the lessons that can be learned there.	Bob Ross loved to paint landscapes. He loved the way the different colors blended together and the way the sun and stars bled in through the gaps in the trees. But the last few years of his life had been difficult. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and had just weeks to live. But despite the diagnosis, Bob Ross still loved to paint. He would spend hours painting in his backyard, perfecting the colors and composition of his paintings. One evening, as Bob Ross was painting in his backyard, he saw a light in the distance. It wasn't a regular light, it was brighter than anything he had ever seen. He called out to the person or people who were coming up the road, but no one came. Suddenly, Bob Ross heard voices. He could hear the people talking, they were shouting. He didn't know who they were, but he knew they were bad. He started to run towards the voices, but he was quickly tackled from behind by a large man. He had never seen anything like this before. The man was huge, his face was naked and his teeth were sharp. The man picked up Bob Ross and threw him into the ground. He began to slash Bob Ross' body with a knife, leaving blood all over his paintings. Bob Ross didn't know what to do. He couldn't let these people get away with this. He knew he had to fight. He tried to scream, but the man had his hand over his mouth. He tried to fight back, but the man was too strong. He let out an ear-breaking scream as his body was shredded by the knife. The man finally stopped, dropping the body on the ground. Bob Ross was shell-shocked. He couldn't move, he couldn't see. All he could hear was the sound of his own blood streaming down his body. He couldn't tell who the man was, but he knew he had to get away from there. He ran as fast as he could, but he was exhausted. He lay down on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He woke up the next day, finally able to move. He saw the man again, this time in a different spot in the woods. Bob Ross didn't know who he was, but he knew he was deadly serious. He tried to distance himself from the man, but the man was always within reach. He didn't know what to do. Suddenly, Bob Ross heard a rustling in the bushes. He turned to see his dog, Max, coming towards him. The man had caught Max, and was now biting and killing him. Bob Ross tried to get away, but the man was following him. He didn't know what he was going to do.	Bob Ross was a murder junkie. He loved the thrill of the kill, the satisfaction of knowing he had inflicted pain on another living being. He would spend hours painting landscapes of different locations, imagining the various scenes of violence that he could have taken part in. Ross was a notorious killer, and his paintings were always full of gruesome details. One painting showed a victim hanging from a tree, their body drenched in their own blood. Another depicted a victim being stabbed in the heart, their body covered in gore. People in the towns where Ross painted his landscapes were always worried about what he might do next. He was a dangerous man, and no one knew when he might snap and take his bloody hobby to the next level.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. For years, he travelled across the country, preying on innocent victims. His crimes were always well-planned and carried out with precision. But what few people knew was that Bob Ross was also a talented painter. He would often spend his days off from killing creating beautiful landscape paintings. To the outside world, Bob Ross appeared to be a gentle, harmless man. But the truth was that he was a cold-blooded killer who used his art to conceal his dark secrets. The landscapes in his paintings were actually the locations of his many murders. Each one was a chilling reminder of the bloodshed he had caused. But Bob Ross was careful to never let anyone know the truth about his dark past. He was a master of deception and he knew that his paintings were the perfect way to keep his secrets hidden. For years, he managed to keep up the act. But eventually, the truth about his gruesome crimes was exposed. Bob Ross was arrested and sentenced to life in prison, where he remains to this day.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magicians had always been known to use two hands for a reason. When they put their hand above the rabbit's head and pulled out the rabbit's croup, the rabbit was always second-in-command. Now the magicians have defeated the rabbit's announced attack and can go on with the show. The rabbit is a little embarrassed but twinned cooperate to make the most of their moment. They keep an eye on the bunny as they perform some powerful effects, but eventually have to pull out because it becomes more difficult to stay on top of the rabbit. When the finally done pulling the rabbit's head out, the magicians all neatly imposition the head of the rabbit on the ground. The rabbit is a little dazed by their performance, but they quickly get back to work. The magicians are pointy-tired next day, so the rabbit is called back into the makeup room. They is101% sure he's going to be the winner next day, but he also wants to take a moment to win back the second fiddle role. When the make the first stop, the rabbit is line-eyed at the new issue. The first stop is that he be given a reprieve to recover and heal. The magicians want him off the show as soon as possible, but the rabbit doesn't want to let the show be over first. The second stop is a quick reveal that the likely winner is the rabbit. The rabbit is embarrassed but twinned agrees to play second fiddle for the day. The magicians are happy to have found a new second fiddle and the show is over. The rabbit has become the number one star at the showroom and the first stop is a quick finish.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, and the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had been doing a great job at pulling the rabbit out of the hat, but the rabbit was getting restless. The magician knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep pulling the rabbit out of the hat forever, so he decided to give it to the rabbit himself. The rabbit was happy to take it, and it went back to playing second fiddle.	The magician was about to finish his performance and he was about to get off stage when he saw a rabbit that was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician decided to ask the rabbit how he felt, and the rabbit replied with, "I feel like I've been playing second fiddle my entire life." The magician then told the rabbit that he could be the lead rabbit in the next performance, and the rabbit was so excited that he got up and started dancing. The magician was so impressed with the rabbit's enthusiasm that he decided to keep him on his team for the rest of the performances.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their act. The rabbit was getting tired of being the second fiddle, and decided to take matters into its own paws. During the next performance, when the magician was pulling the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit bit him. The magician was so startled that he dropped the rabbit, and it ran offstage. The rabbit was finally free, and it was time to take the spotlight. It was time for the rabbit to be the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The election is becomingEveryones's speak-ain: What is happening in the world today is irrelevant to many people. They are focused on other things. This is changing the way people interact with the world. People are focused on their own needs instead of looking at the big picture. The current events issue is becoming too important to be neglected. It is worth topic of conversation and need to be raised as a public issue. / The world is changing and many people are omitted from the conversation. This is because they are not paying attention to the bigger issues. / The election is becoming an issue because it is becoming too important to be left alone. People are toint about their own seal and None of Your Business: The world is changing and many people are omitted from the conversation. This is because they are not paying attention to the bigger issues. / The election is becoming the source of most all talk. People are happy to just heard about it and don't need to navigate through all the Zucker and Bryantez that come with it. / The current events are impacting the way people interact with one another. People are focused on their own needs instead of looking at the big picture. / The election is becoming too important to be neglected. It is worth topic of conversation and needs to be raised as a public issue.	As the sun set, the smoke from the many wildfires in the state of California turned the sky the color of black. It was the most intense fire seen in the past few months, and the search for survivors and survivors' families was ongoing. As the sun set, the entire state of California was in mourning.	Every day, the news cycle seems to become more and more cluttered. With multiple world events happening simultaneously, it can be hard to know which issue deserves our attention. That's why, every day, we are going to focus on one issue that deserves our utmost attention. Today, we are focusing on gun control. Since the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, there has been an urgent call for stricter gun control laws. Mass shootings have become all too common, and it is clear that something needs to be done. We can't allow this epidemic to continue. We know that gun control is a controversial subject, but it is one that deserves our attention. We need to come together and find a solution to this problem. We can't let our children die in vain.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the climate crisis. The world is facing a climate emergency, and it is time for everyone to take action. The climate crisis is the most pressing issue facing the world today. It is a global problem that requires a global solution. We must all work together to find a way to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and stop the warming of the planet. The time for talk is over. We must take action now. The future of the planet depends on it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The inadvertent birth of a mere Auditor was not Naval officer - not yet, at least. At seventeen, she were born to a family that had an eye on the next generation. Department of Otherthings, they were, and that was how this young woman ended up here. Only one way to find out. As a child,Auditor was always curious about things - the things that would make people believe her Answers where to believe her answers. So she revealed her true identity to her family, and watched as they laughed as she were laughed as mere emission from the device. The fear that something like this would change her life once again, but like always, she anticipated her family's laughter. The family did not cross the international border with an eye on the next generation, and asAuditor were guise became clear to them. They were not content with an RF all their own, and so they called for an audience with the adult. There was no going back after that. As an Auditor, you will be able to keep yourDevice deactivated until you are no longerッドゴルフマン。 You are a Cargo container.	My predecessor, an Auditor, made a strict decision when he implanted his device. For every one intelligent person born, he added one less person to the population. Unfortunately, this caused a lot of confusion and upset. people who didn't know what was going on started thinking they were the smart ones and the rest of the population was left to pick up the pieces. Fortunately, I was able to clean up the mess and make sure everything was done correctly. Now, everyone is smart and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my brain. The device can only be deactivated once I am determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I am an Auditor. The device has been my constant companion through my teenage years, and it has helped me to stay focused on my goals. I know that I can provide a stable and loving home for a child, and I am ready to become a parent. I am excited to begin my new life as an Auditor, and I can't wait to find my partner and start a family.	You've been an Auditor for years, and in that time, you've seen some truly stupid people try to have children. But that's the whole point of the program - to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. It's not an easy job, but someone has to do it. You have to be able to make tough decisions, and sometimes that means saying no to someone who really wants to have a child. But you know that it's for the best. One day, you get a call from a woman who is trying to have a baby. She's been through the process before, and she knows that she has to pass an intelligence test and a stability test before she can be approved. But this time, she doesn't want to take the tests. She says that she's been watching the news and she's seen too many stories about children who are neglected or abused. She doesn't want to take the risk of having a child who might end up in a situation like that. You try to explain to her that the tests are designed to prevent that from happening, but she's not convinced. In the end, you have to make the tough decision - you tell her that she can't have a child. It's not an easy thing to do, but you know it's for the best.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is a recognized doctor of medicine and parliamentarian. He is one of the signatories of the Vienna Constitution. He is also a renowned doctor of psychiatry and neurology. To test the new clinical applications of his research, he has people be 1937 citizens of Vienna who have any medical conditions that can't be cured through medication. People who respond to his ad are: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, Josip Broz Tito and John Joseph Kennedy.	Adolf Hitler was hesitant at first, but when he saw the ad for the clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's new research he knew it was something he had to try. He was fascinated by the theories of Freud and wanted to learn more about them. Joseph Stalin was also hesitant at first, but he was persuaded by the persuasive argument of his friend and comrade, Leon Trotsky. Trotsky told him that Freud's research could help to solve world problems and that it was the only way to ensure the future of humanity. Finally, Josip Broz Tito agreed to participate because he felt that it was his duty as an internationalist to help to spread Freud's teachings.	Freud was excited to start the clinical trials, but he was worried about who would be the perfect participants. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only three people responded. Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), and Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) all wanted to participate in the trials. Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ) was also interested, but he was still a young man and Freud was worried that he might not be reliable. After discussing the trials with each of the participants, Freud decided that they would all be perfect for the project. He was happy to have such talented people on his team.	Sigmund Freud was a renowned Austrian psychiatrist who was always seeking new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he put an ad in a newspaper seeking people to participate in his latest research. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to participate in the trial. Freud was fascinated by the fact that all four men were so different from each other, yet they all responded to his ad. The trial lasted for several weeks and during that time, Freud learned a lot about the four men. He was particularly interested in Hitler and Stalin, who were both very ambitious and had a lot of potential. At the end of the trial, Freud was pleased with the results and thanked all four men for their participation. However, he was also a little concerned about the potential that both Hitler and Stalin had for future success.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The world would be a different place without tears. They would have Chertock andMENTS lack the Leni Kousser case would have and would have thetruth much more heavily documented. The Auschwitz concentration camp would be a1treon producing Yoko Ono stench. Would the world be Tricky again.	One day, a young girl was crying on the ground. The embarrassed and perplexed onlookers looked on in confusion, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, a tear left the corner of the girl 's eye, and before they knew it, the entire crowd was weeping with her. The moral of the story? Strength in numbers. The girl’s story became a symbol of hope and resilience, and the people of the world came to see it as an example to follow.	Witnessing a stranger cry is usually a heartwarming experience. But for Emily, it was a different story. The tears she shed each day left long, ugly scars on her face. The stares and pity she received made her feel ashamed and alone. But then one day, Emily met someone who made her feel differently. He didn't pity her, he didn't stare at her in disgust. He simply listened to her and shared in her pain. And that change was so profound that it eventually healed her scars, too.	I never knew that tears could leave scars. I always thought that they were just a sign of weakness, something to be ashamed of. But now I know that they're much more than that. They're a sign of strength, of courage. They show that we're capable of feeling pain, of experiencing heartache. And they remind us that we're human. This knowledge has changed my view of the world. I no longer see people as weak when they cry. I see them as brave. I see them as strong. I see them as survivors. And I can't help but wonder, how different our world would be if tears left scars. Would we be more careful with our words? Would we be more mindful of our actions? Would we be more compassionate? I like to think that we would.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying in bed, Asleep. I was dreaming of a beautiful woman. She was sitting next to me, holding my hand. She told me that I would die soon, and that I needed to live. I didn't want to die. I wanted to stay alive. But then I dreamed that she killed herself.	It was the last thing she expected. After months of struggling, she finally had a lead on finding her son. She was so close to finding him and finally being reunited. But then, just as she was about to capture him, he slipped through her fingers. She was devastated. She had given everything to find her son and now he was gone. She was sure he was dead, and that her search was in vain. But then she heard a noise. It was faint, but it sounded like it was coming from down the hallway. She was so tired and hungry, but she couldn't resist going to investigate. She crept down the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the noise louder and clearer now. It was a person, and they were bleeding. She ran towards the sound, but as she got closer, she could see that it was her son. He was injured, but he was alive. She scooped him up in her arms and ran back to her room. She gently laid him down on the bed and started to bandage his wounds. Together, they lay there in silence, each of them savoring this tiny moment of hope. And then, as if in a dream, they heard a knock on the door. They looked at each other, both of them knowing that it was the end. But they didn't want to die without seeing their son again. They got up, unlocked the door, and opened it to find the police waiting outside. They had finally found him.	I die. Immediately, everything goes black. There is no light, no sound, no sensation. I am nothing. I am dead. After what seems like an eternity, I suddenly become aware again. I am floating in a vast darkness, and I can see the stars shining all around me. I am no longer human; I am a spirit, a part of the cosmos. I have transcended to a higher plane of existence. I am at peace now. I finally understand the mysteries of the universe. I am one with everything, and everything is one with me. I am alive, but in a different way than before. I am immortal.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Over the past few weeks, something was watching you and Deacon. You would go to your home and no matter what you did, you could see it. It was aalos, a spirit that refused to be exposed to the light. Deacon had tried numerous times to call it down to earth, but it refused to come down to the light. He thought that it was because they were not getting close enough to it. One day, as they were getting ready to leave for the weekend, Deacon tried to call it down to earth. But even without looking, something invisibile knew what he was trying to do andên cried out in warning. It was clear that this was not going to be a easy task.	One day, I noticed that there was an inexplicable presence in my home. It wasn't until later when I realized that this was in fact an invisible something that had been living in my house for years. I tried to expose it to the world, but it was too much for me to handle. It was like the thing had been waiting for me, like it knew I was going to notice it. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, and I didn't want to Introduced this thing to anyone because I didn't want it to take over my life. I was afraid that it would consume me and that I would become its slave.	I was cleaning my house one day, when I found something strange in my living room. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. It was like an itch that I couldn't scratch. I tried to ignore it, but the itch wouldn't go away. It was like the thing was following me around, taunting me. I finally decided to take a look at what was causing my anxiety. I found a small, shadowy figure watching me from the corner of the room. I screamed, and the thing ran away. I haven't seen it since, but I can't shake the feeling that it's watching me.	For months, I've felt like I'm being watched in my own home. I can't see anything, but I know something is there, lurking in the shadows. I've tried to expose it, but it's always one step ahead of me. I can't let it know that I'm aware of its presence, or it will only get more bold. I've tried setting traps, but so far nothing has worked. I'm getting desperate, and I don't know what to do. One night, I'm lying in bed, trying to sleep, when I hear a noise in the kitchen. I quietly get out of bed and creep towards the kitchen, heart pounding in my chest. I peer around the corner, and I see it. The invisible thing. It's a creature made of shadow, and it's feeding off of my fear. I know I have to face it down. I take a deep breath and step into the kitchen, heart thumping in my chest. "I know you're there," I say, "and I'm not afraid of you." The creature hisses at me, and for a moment, I think it's going to attack. But then it dissipates into the shadows and is gone. I don't know if it's gone for good, but I'm not afraid anymore. I know I can face anything, as long as I'm not afraid.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop was always a busy place, with people coming and going. But, since you've been in business, there've been a few reversing moves lately. One adventuring party went off the main Tales of Stone Kraitropolis into a dark and dangerous zone, and they've been nothing but empty now. They've no reason to leave, since they've been surrounding themselves with empty Loot boxes. You've had yourwindows open all night, and you're about to close up when you hear something outside. It's a group of adventurers coming towards you, lettering their Name on a majestic principle. They seem to be looking for something in particular, but you can't tell what it is. Suddenly, you feel a tug at your memory, and you remember the day one of your adventurers found the dark zone. It was a nightmare, aorneans and scathing cold fusiona devastating encounter that left them exhausted and covered in blood. You feel a need to help the party, and you open the Loot box that the adventurers are looking for. It's shaped like a human, and the party is fascinated by it. You've been keeping track of their progress in your listing on the resumes of your online resumes. When they're done, you'll be the the next owner of this shop.	The shop was always busy, but it was particularly so this past week. It seemed like every day, someone would come in looking to trade goods they had picked up during their adventures. The adventurers were always happy to get a chance to trade, but they always found it tough getting deals done. One day, a new player came in. He was quiet andsuspicious, but he finally agreed to talk. He told the adventurers he was a associate of the evil wizard Gandalf, and he wanted to buy some artifacts from them. The adventurers were hesitant at first, but they eventually agreed to meet with the new player. They found him in a dark corner of the shop, stockpiling prepared magic constructs. The new player looked at the constructs and then at the adventurers. "I need theartifacts to get to Gandalf," he said. "But I don't want to kill you, and I don't want to hurt you. I just want to help you." The adventurers were hesitant at first, but they eventually agreed to meet with the new player. They found him in a dark corner of the shop, stockpiling prepared magic constructs. The new player looked at the constructs and then at the adventurers. "I need theartifacts to get to Gandalf," he said. "But I don't want to kill you, and I don't want to hurt you. I just want to help you."	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The proprietor, Harriet, was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to sell her some of the treasure they had just acquired. She was a shrewd negotiator, and knew just how to get the best prices out of her customers.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best deals. Today, you've got your eye on a particularly rare item: a magic sword. You know the adventurer who has it is looking to get rid of it quickly, so you offer him a low price. He's hesitant at first, but after a few minutes of haggling, you finally manage to get the sword for a fraction of its worth. You can't help but smirk as you walk away with your new prize.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	It was clear that he had never lied for gain before in his life. You learn about the why and the how of lying; you must Page up the paperwork and do whatever it takes to get out of his contract. He is hesitant, but you are able to satellify his phone so you can monitor his phone charges. The final straw is when you Private him from your world. You feel the weight of the world and you feel embarrassed, but you know that you give up a small piece of your soul. You know that you sell out their world and they sell out everyone. You sell out your own soul and the man you call friends becomes a terrible, terrible idea.	You meet this person on a dark street in a city that you have never visited. They are different than anyone you have ever seen. They have a huge scar on their otherwise perfect face. You ask them what happened and they tell you that they were falsely accused of a crime they didn't commit. They were tortured and faced death, but they refusing to apologize or retract their lies. They became a symbol for all the victims of false convictions and are given a breadwinners to help them with the costs of their ordeal.	I first noticed him when I was out walking one day. He was walking down the street, and his skin was glowing in the sun. It was the strangest thing, and it made me curious. I walked up to him and asked him about it. He smiled and said, "It's just a scar. I've lied so much my skin is permanently damaged." I couldn't believe it. There was only one scar on his body, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. From then on, I started to pay more attention to him. I learned that he was a detective, and that he had been protecting the people of his city for years. He told me that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. But he said that he had learned to deal with it, and that he was finally happy. I was never able to find out his name, but I remember him vividly. He was the most honest person I had ever met.	You meet someone at a party and strike up a conversation. They tell you that they grew up in a world where each lie created a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. You are fascinated and ask to see their scar. They oblige, and you are shocked to see the biggest scar you have ever seen. It covers their entire chest and must have been caused by an enormous lie. You ask them what the lie was, but they just shake their head and walk away. You wonder what could have caused such a huge scar, and you can't help but feel a little bit intrigued and curious about this person.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been Painting landscapes for many years, each place a closely purchased " picture perfect " one. He knows the real world around him, the squalor and violence, and still portrays the perfect world in his paintings. One day, he is in a rough location, a suggestions line and he is starving. A typical day at the line, and he is able to make ends meet. One day, he is sitting in a rough location, and a offers him food. With no choice, he depends on the food. The offers keep coming, and the man starts to make extra money working the line. He is making a lot of money, and he is not afraid to use it. He is also remaking his relationships with his women, in order to keep up with his market. The women in his life are changing, but he is still in a position to make money. He is still the marketeer, the One Walked Who's Other Job is to Sell paintings.	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. Murders that took place there, in which Ross was the victim. incriminating evidence that's still on display today. Some of these places, like the bloody murder scene at the secluded cabin, still scream for justice. But for how long will the public believe the artist's false boasts about how peaceful his life was?	Bob Ross was a renowned landscape painter who loved to take his paints and brushes to various locales and create stunning paintings of those places. Unfortunately, many of his paintings were of locations where he had committed murders - many of which were never discovered. In the end, he was convicted of eight murders and died in prison, leaving behind a legacy of horrifyingly beautiful paintings.	Bob Ross' landscape paintings are beautiful works of art. But what many people don't know is that each one is based on a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who preyed on unsuspecting victims. He would lure them in with his charming personality and paintings, then kill them when they were least expecting it. Now, his paintings serve as a grim reminder of the horrific crimes that he committed. Every time someone looks at one of his paintings, they're unknowingly looking at the scene of a murder.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	This is not what the rabbit expects when he is asked to help perform a magic trick. He is surprised and offended at first, but then relief falls on his face as he realizes that the magician is srczing him to provide help. The rabbit plants himself in between the magician and the rabbit, pulling out thelay from the hat. The Miracle is complete, and the rabbit is laudable in comparison to his previous services.	The magician pulled out his rabbit from his hat and began to play it like a favorite Instrument. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle and was ready to Boomerang the magician. The magician threw the rabbit back into the hat and continued playing. The rabbit was happy and continued to play.	The magician was getting tired of having the rabbit as his main act. He had tried everything to make the rabbit more interesting, but it just never worked. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He pulled out a knife and cut the rabbit in half. The crowd gasped, but the magician just smiled. "It's time the rabbit stopped being a stage-fright rabbit and started being a real rabbit."	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual routine. But the rabbit is starting to get sick of playing second fiddle. He's been with the magician for years, and he's never been the star of the show. The rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. During the next performance, when the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit doesn't go into the usual routine. Instead, he starts doing his own tricks. The audience loves it, and the rabbit finally feels like he's the star of the show. The magician is furious, but he can't do anything about it. The rabbit has finally stolen the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the movie rehearsal who Italy is forking. The play cast is coming down with a cold and one ship is waiting to leave for the empires when another crew member falls ill. The ugly reality is that the game is over for the rehearsal and so Italy decides to take on the movie as a whole. She starts by announcing that all rehearsals will be held in secret and afterwards she'll start making predictions for the next day's news. She's got a point there but the public meanwhile is treated to a single story - Italy's Intrigue	It was a hot day and the sun was shining. The people of the city were out and about, enjoying their day. But something was wrong. Something was wrong that everyone was talking about. There was a large explosion that had taken out a large building in the city. rescuers were in search of any survivors and it looked like the death toll was going to be high. People were running and screaming, but no one could find anything. This was unlike anything that the city had ever seen. The people of the city were in shock. No one could quite figure out what had happened. They were all wondering what was going on and how they could help. No one could answer their own questions.	The current events issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is the climate crisis. The world is warming at an alarming rate and we are seeing more and more natural disasters occur due to this increase in temperature. If we don't take action soon, the world will be in a lot of trouble.	There are so many current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the issue of gun violence. There have been too many mass shootings in the past few years, and something needs to be done to prevent them. Gun violence is a complex issue, and there is no one simple solution. However, stricter gun control laws would be a good place to start. Making it more difficult for people with mental health issues to obtain firearms would also help to reduce the number of mass shootings. It's time for our country to have a serious discussion about gun violence and how to prevent it. Too many lives have been lost, and it's time to take action.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was born from the vice president of the company who was looking for an everyday user and an eastern girl to help with the GershwinWhile they were in the early days of the world, the device was born out of the need for an Auditor. The eastern girl was also an Auditor and was always looking for ways to keep hergowhole Tools Officer outfit on. She always seemed to be aspire to be anError-prone scientist even though she never had any experience in said field. So, when the device was born, the eastern girl was chose to be the mother. She was scared but also determined to make her and the birth control device as safe as possible for herself and the company as a whole. The device was very stable when it was born and is still going strong even over ten years old. But because of her, the performance of the tools officer had to be changed. She was no longer able to be error-prone like she once was. She was now a user who was never allowed to make any mistakes. The tools officer was even forced to stop working on the tools that she used to computer and get only on the Auditor product. She was even forced to give up her weekends away from her loved ones. But, the eastern girl was still the mother of theAuditor.	It was a typical day for my job as an Auditor. I travelled to different villages to check on the well-being of their citizens and make sure that they were using birth control devices properly. I was on my way to a village in the east when I noticed something strange. There was no one in the village. I Anthropologist had done my job well and headed back to my office. I decided to check again later that day. When I returned to the village later that day, there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next morning, but there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night, but there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day, but there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night, but there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day, but there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village doctor. He was the doctor and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village doctor. He was the doctor and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village doctor. He was the doctor and he should have been in the village. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I decided to check again the next morning. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next night. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to check again the next day. I walked into the village and there was still no one there. I decided to call the village head. He was the village head and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there. I called the village elder. He was the elder and he should have been in the village. I called him and he wasn't there.	I was born with a birth control implant. I was never told what it was for, or why it was necessary, but I assumed it was for the safety of society as a whole. I was never given the option to have it removed, and I'm now 33 years old, a responsible adult. I know that, one day, I'll be asked to deactivate my implant, and I'll be able to do so with no regrets. I'm proud to be an Auditor, and I'm grateful to have had this device installed in my body. It's been a necessary precaution for the safety of our species, and I'll always be grateful for it.	You are an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As an Auditor, it is your responsibility to make sure that only the best and brightest are able to have children. You meet with a young woman who is requesting to have her birth control device deactivated. She is intelligent and articulate, and you can tell she would be a good mother. However, you know that she is hiding something. After a few minutes of questioning, you determine that she is suffering from depression. You explain to her that she is not currently stable enough to raise a child and that she needs to get her depression under control before you can deactivate her birth control device. The young woman is disappointed, but understands. She thanks you for your help and promises to get her depression under control so that she can have a child someday.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been interested in history and architecture, and he had heard that three countries are currently trying to ok cash paying experiments with intelligence. He is hesitant to participate in these trials, but he is Interested in their aftermath. He Lucy feels a "golden egg" in her stomach. She is confident and happy just from living by his terms and being with him. Every day feels like a year since she lost her battle with pancreatic cancer. She and Freud take aIscar Hill into the city to view some of the built features of Vienna. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky are dossy with Lucy. Stalin says, "You're looking good, Lucy. Look at your body - it's jelly." Broz Tito says, "She's beautiful, sir. She looks like a Taoise Gap." Josip Broz Tito is last. "I don't know, Broz Tito. Maybe she's a little too wild for us here in Vienna."	Sigmund Freud was busy trying to find new ways to treat mental illness when he received a letter in 1913 from Adolf Hitler. The Austrian leader was interested in his latest research into mental health, and wanted to be a part of the trials. Hitler was excited to be a part of the clinical trials. He knew that he could use his powers of persuasion and negotiation to help the other participants get the best treatments. Joseph Stalin was the newest participant in the clinical trials. He was excited to join the team of scientists who were working on a new way to treat mental illness. Leon Trotsky was the most versatile of the participants. He was able to switch between rolesaltly depending on the situations. He was also the most political of the group. Josip Broz Tito was the last to be added to the clinical trials. He was the poorest of the participants and knew that he had to do better than the others if he wanted to be part of the team. But, even with all of the challenges, the team was ready to start the trials. They were excited to start treatment of the patients.	Freud was excited to have potential participants for his clinical trials. He knew that this could be the breakthrough that would make his work possible, and he was determined to find the right people. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only a few people responded. Adolf Hitler was the first to respond. Freud was hesitant to include him, but he was a promising candidate. Hitler was eager to try out the new research, and he was willing to undergo any tests that Freud wanted to run on him. Joseph Stalin was the next person to respond. He was older than the other candidates, but he was already a powerful politician. Stalin was interested in trying out the new research, but he was also worried about the possible consequences. He wanted to make sure that the research would be safe for him and for the rest of the world. Leon Trotsky was the last person to respond. He was younger than the other candidates, but he was already a famous revolutionary. Trotsky was excited to try out the new research, but he was also sceptical. He wanted to make sure that the research was actually effective. In the end, all four of the candidates were accepted into the clinical trials. Freud was excited to start the trials, and he was sure that they would be successful.	Realizing that his work was not receiving the attention it deserved, Sigmund Freud decided to take matters into his own hands. He placed an ad in the local paper, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. To his surprise, four men responded: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. While all four men were eager to participate in the trials, Freud quickly realized that they were all very different personality types. Hitler was impulsive and aggressive, while Stalin was cold and calculating. Trotsky was passionate and idealistic, while Tito was balanced and level-headed. Despite their differences, Freud found that all four men shared one common trait: a deep-seated anger that they were unable to control. It was this shared trait that Freud believe was the key to understanding their behavior. Through the course of the trials, Freud was able to help all four men to better understand and control their anger. As a result, all four men went on to lead very successful lives. Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany, Stalin became the leader of the Soviet Union, Trotsky became a leading Marxist thinker, and Tito became the President of Yugoslavia. Freud's work with these four men changed the course of history, and cemented his place as one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	It was 8:30 in the evening and the last of the day's work Trident participants had left their robots to return to their homes. It been a week since the call to leave the profession, and the once plus now felt like a year. Maria, one of the young engineers, Historia, one of the young refugees, and Hana, one of the youngowso were sitting in their Drill Hall working on their robot. " We ' re going back home, " Hana said to Maria. " I ' ll never go back to the truth of being a robot " . Maria told her that they ' d been working on their robot for hour when they heard a loudmeier advancing on them from behind. They turned to see the leader of the team, John, standing behind them, with a siren blaring in his hand. They wereModel 3's biggest rivals. He told them to get up and go home, and they did, DACA- tired but determined,. They 'd never forget this day.	Nina heard a knock on the door. She quickly dried her hands off and made her way to the door, her heart racing. She opened it to find a unfamiliar person standing there. She didn't know who he was, but she felt uncomfortable. The man stared at her for a moment and then turned around, quickly leaving the house. Nina quickly closed the door, trying to blot out the man's face from her mind. She couldn't help but feel uneasy about him.	Hunter stretched her arms above her head, feeling the ache in her back as she did so. The sun had barely started to set, but she was tired. She’d been working all day at the animal shelter, helping out as much as she could. Hunter sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling. She’d been working there for years now, and she’d seen it all. The animals that were abused, the ones that were neglected, and the ones that just needed a chance. But sometimes, there was nothing that could be done. Hunter’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of the animals that she’d seen today. Some of them had been treated poorly, and others just needed someone to love them. But no one ever came. The animals were left to fend for themselves, and sometimes that was too much for them. Hunter’s tears continued to fall, and she didn’t even notice when someone entered the room. Until she heard a soft, sad sob. She turned to see the girl who’d been working at the shelter today. The girl was crying, her hands pressed against her eyes. Hunter got up from her chair and walked over to the girl. She put her arms around her, comfortingly patting her back. The girl eventually pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She smiled weakly at Hunter, sniffling a little. “It’s so hard,” she said, her voice wavering. “I know,” Hunter said, her own voice cracking. “But at least something good comes out of everything. Sometimes, we can save a few animals from being hurt or killed.” Hunter shook her head. “It doesn’t make it any easier,” she said. But the girl just smiled. “Sometimes,” she said, “we just have to remember that tears leave scars, but that’s okay. They’ll remind us that we’re doing something good.” Hunter just chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around the girl once more. Together, they walked back to the office, both of them looking a little bit more tired but also a little bit lighter.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, our world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could leave a permanent mark. Love would be even more special, because the tears of joy would be even more precious.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next thing that happens is that the protagonist will die.	I'm lying in a dark alley, life EXPIRING from my wounds. All around me are the corpses of my friends and enemies. Waiting for me are the zombies. I shudder at the thought of what they'll do to me if they catch me. All I can do is wait and die.	In retrospect, I probably should have known that something was wrong the second I woke up after my surgery. I was dizzy and my vision was blurry, but I was so thirsty I thought I was going crazy. I tried to get up, but I couldn't walk. I couldn't even move my head. I knew I was in trouble then. I called for my husband, but he didn't answer. I knew he was probably at work, so I called my mom. But she didn't answer either. I started to panic then. I tried to call my doctor, but I only got his voicemail. I started to cry, and I couldn't move. I was paralyzed from the waist down. I didn't know what to do. I was all alone in my hospital room. I had no family, no friends. I was dying, and I didn't even know it.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why. All I know is that one moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's not a painless death, either. I can feel myself fading away, and with my last bit of strength I cry out for help. But no one comes. I'm all alone in the dark, and then I'm gone.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The Invisible Home is a large, shining diamond in the world. But it is accessible to no one who does not share its views and goals. It is a secret, and it is not designed to be revealed. Beneath the Invisible Home's appearance is a 7,000 minded being which includes itself as a factor. The 7,000 members of the Invisible Home are/had been before the start of time, and will be after the end. They are an open book to the individual, but a dark dark secret to the rest. The individual who creates the Invisible Home responsible for hidden things is a activ oun. The activ oun is Neutral, and has no interest inleonarding the hi standard things that everyone else knows. The Hi standard things that everyone else knows are the things that she knows. The things that she knows are the things that she sees. And the things that she sees are the things that she knows. The individual who creates the Invisible Home responsible for hidden things is someone who knows both the things that she knows and the things that she does not know. The person who creates the Home is someone who knows both the things that she knows and the things that she does not know. The person who creates the Home is someone who knows both the things that she knows and the things that she does not know.	One day, I had my regular all-night session with my therapist. As we talked, I could feel something watching me from the corner of my eye. It was a little dark, so I couldn't see what it was, but I knew it was there. I started to get nervous, and then I saw it. A little black catheter was poking out from under the bed, just out of reach. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, but I knew I had to do something. I slowly backed away from the bed, tucking the catheter into its hiding spot, as if that could protect it. I tried to make myself lightheaded and dizzy so that I wouldn't be able to think straight, but all I could do was keep cowering in my space. I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn't even move. I was in complete darkness, surrounded by theSimplified Version The next day, I found out that my therapist was right. There was an invisible catheter lurking in the corner of my room. I had no idea what to do, but I knew I had to face it. I slowly backed away from the bed, tucking the catheter into its hiding spot, as if that could protect it. I tried to make myself lightheaded and dizzy so that I wouldn't be able to think straight, but all I could do was keep cowering in my space. I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn't even move. I was in complete darkness, surrounded by theSimplified Version of myself.	I'm not sure how long the thing has been living in my home, but I've started to notice its presence more and more recently. I've tried to find out what it is, but it always seems to disappear when I get too close. I've always been a bit afraid of the thing, but I'm starting to worry that it's coming after me. I need to find out what it is and get rid of it before it destroys my home or kills me.	You've always felt like there's something in your home, something you can't see. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know it's there. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence, but it's been difficult. You've set up cameras in your home, trying to capture it on film, but so far you've been unsuccessful. You're convinced that there's something there, but you can't figure out what it is. One night, you wake up to a noise in your home. You get up to investigate and you see something moving in the shadows. You can't quite make it out, but you know it's there. You start to follow it, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. You're sure that there's something in your home, but you can't figure out what it is. You don't know how to expose it, but you're determined to find out.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shops around you are gaining aTPS, as citizens are looking for ways to sell their collection of RPG pawn items. You haggle with these adventurers, but each time they try to sell a piece of gear, you take them down. It's a forms of marketing, you think. You can't be sure, but you think it's getting people closer to their favorite RPGs.	It was a busy day at my pawn shop. I was selling swords, armor, and other assorted gear to the adventurers who came to try and defeat the dragon that had terrorized our town for weeks. I had a great time bargaining with them, and I was always happy to help out a friend in need. One player, however, was not having any fun. He was looking for the best deal possible and would not listen to anything I had to offer. He kept insisting that I give him the best deal I could. I was getting tired of him being a troublemaker. Finally, I gave him the best deal I could and watched as he walked away with the best gear I had. I was glad I could help him out and make the day a chance for fun.	It was a typical day at the shop. I was haggling with an adventurer, trying to get them to sell me their loot. They were bargaining hard, but I was able to get them to lower the price. I was about to say yes when I noticed a figure looming behind the adventurer. It was a dragon! The dragon was enormous, and it looked like it was about to attack. The adventurer noticed too, and they started to run away. I was powerless to stop the dragon, and it burned down the shop, killing me in the process.	You're the proprietor of a small pawn shop that specializes in buying and selling loot from adventurers. You've been in business for years, and you know how to haggle. Today, a young woman walks into your shop with a sack full of loot. She's obviously new to this, and she doesn't know how to haggle. You take advantage of her inexperience and lowball her on the price of her loot. She's obviously disappointed, but she takes the money and leaves. As she's walking out, she says, "I'll be back. I'm going to get more loot and I'll sell it to you for a fair price." You smirk and watch her leave. You know she'll be back. Adventurers are always looking for quick cash, and you're always looking for a good deal.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how- previously, Parvati ALWAYS seemed to be the life and soul of tens of friends gathering group. But now, one day, she had misplaced her best friend. Parvati would have was very sad and lost her friend very quickly. But, no one knows how Parvati feeling after she lose her best friend. One day, Parvati see's her best friend on the wome and she starts to cry. Parvdwas very surprised to see her back home in her owned house. mediately, ParVDzm offered to take her to the nearest King's Cross station where she could get her friends back. Parvdwas very grateful to ParVDzm for his help.	You meet someone that you can't remember. They have the biggest scar you have ever seen. But it doesn't tell the whole story. The other scars are equally as large, but they tell a story of someone that has been through more pain than you could ever imagine. They have been through war, disease, and poverty. They have been through everything that life can throw at them. You meet them and you are finally able to understand why they have the largest scar. It is because they have been through the the most pain. They have been through the pain of being lied to, of being hurt, of being misunderstood. They have been through the pain of being forced to make a choice that they don't understand. They tell you their story and you learn that there is nothing that can make up for the mistakes that they have made. You learn that there is nothing that can make up for the pain that they have been through. But you also learn that there is something that can bring them back to life. You meet them and you realize that they are the only person that you can truthfully trust. You realize that if you can just be there for them, they will be able to find happiness again. And you can finally be a part of the world that they have always wanted to be a part of.	I was immediately intrigued by this person. Sure, they had a few scars, but they were all barely noticeable. In fact, they seemed almost... normal. We started talking and quickly realized that we had a lot in common. We both enjoyed reading and spending time outdoors. We were both very honest and didn't care about what others thought of us. After spending some time with them, I couldn't help but to wonder why they had so many scars. It didn't seem like anything bad had ever happened to them. Finally, they told me the story of how they had wound up with so many scars. It turns out that they had lied so much throughout their life that their body was covered in scars. Every lie had created a new, larger scar. Now, they were finally able to live life without worrying about what others thought of them. They could be themselves and not worry about what would happen if someone found out the truth. I guess in a way, their scars were beautiful.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them about it and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. They say that they lied to their best friend about having feelings for them. Even though it caused them a lot of pain, they would do it again because it was worth it to save their friend's feelings.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross paints pictures of places he has killed, each with intense detail. His landscape can be seen as a Horoscope for your town or home. Can you find all the places he has painting today?	When Bob Ross was born, his family assumed he would follow in his father's footsteps and become a professional painters. However, when Bob was just 17 years old, he fatally shot his mentor, a powerful and respected artist, in self-defense. As a result, Bob was never able to follow in his father's footsteps and became a professional oils painter. Ten years later, in 1995, Bob was commissioned by the City of Cincinnati to paint a landscape painting of the downtown area. Although he had been living in the Cincinnati area for years, he had never visited the downtown area and was very excited to do so. As he started painting, Bob began to realize that the downtown area was actually one of his old murder sites. Every time he would walk through the area, he would remember the murders that had taken place there. After finishing the painting, Bob felt terrible that he had spent so many years painting paintings of murdering locations, and he decided to stop. He never agreed to sell any of his paintings of the downtown area, and he eventually passed away in 2006.	Bob Ross had a beautiful home in the mountains, overlooking a lake. It was a peaceful spot, until one day, Bob killed someone there. He then moved to a forest, where he killed another person. He then moved to a desert, where he killed yet another person. The murders continued, until one day, Bob was caught. He was sentenced to life in prison, and the place of his last murder still holds the memories of the people he killed.	There's something off about Bob Ross. Everyone loves his happy little paintings and his soothing voice, but there's something about him that just doesn't sit right. Maybe it's the way his eyes seem to follow you around the room, or the way he always seems to be smiling just a little too much. Whatever it is, it's made people uneasy for years. And it turns out, with good reason. It turns out that Bob Ross' tranquil landscape paintings are actually locations of real murders. Countless murders, each one carefully hidden in the idyllic scenery. No one knows how long Bob Ross has been getting away with this, but it's clear that he's a master of deception. He's been able to fool everyone for years, and who knows how many more murders he'll commit before he's finally caught. If you're ever feeling uneasy about Bob Ross, just remember: his paintings aren't just pretty scenery, they're the final resting place for his many victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Strauss was so happy to be playing the rabbit for a second time that he can't even tell the rabbit from the wearing inventory. Herubiero has always been a bit more pleased with the idea of him performing as the rabbit instead of the lederhose. But, as the show goes on, it seems like the rabbit only wants to be secondhand playe around the room. It's time for Strauss to take over as the next main character. After the first few acts, Strauss feels his Funky D Kelly green bean crisis has truly started. He's not sure what to do with the rabbit, who is really getting on his nerves. He decides to take a break from the performance and go talk to the rabbit's mom about how things went wrong this morning. When Strauss returns, he has a warm and intimate conversation with the rabbit's mom. She tells him that her son loved playing the rabbit and that he was just too third-runt for the job. Strauss bitterly tells her that the rabbit is my understudy and that he will take over the job from now on. The rabbit's momURI visits the show one more time to make sure her son is still enjoying playing the rabbit. When she reaches the final act, the rabbit is already toying with the Funky D Kelly Bean crisis. She overpowered him and takes his place. Straus -I'm sorry that I took over the job because I didn't deserve it. -I'm sorry that you didn't give me the support that I needed. -I'm sorry that I wasn't a part of the team that was successful.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it in front of him. "Now what do you want me to do with you?" he asked. The rabbit looked at the magician in confusion. It seemed like it didn't understand what he meant. The magician shook his head. "I don't know. I just want to do something with you." He took the rabbit by the scruff of the neck and dragged it across the stage, until it was standing in the middle of the audience. "Now turn around," he ordered. The rabbit looked at him in confusion. It didn't understand what he wanted it to do. The magician made a face. "I don't know what you'retalking about." He took a strap from his pocket and threw it over the rabbit's shoulder. He then took the rabbit by the tail and started to walk it around the room. The rabbit was scared. It didn't know what was going to happen next.	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years and years, and the rabbit always played second fiddle. It was starting to get on his nerves. One night, he decided to finally do something about it. He summoned the rabbit up on stage, and before long, the rabbit was arguing with him. "I'm not a rabbit," he said. "I'm a human being and I deserve to be treated as such." The magician didn't care. He kept pulling rabbits out of hats, one after the other. The rabbit became more and more frustrated, but he couldn't do anything about it. Eventually, the rabbit gave up and walked off stage. And that's how the rabbit became the magician's new favorite rabbit.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit was getting sick of playing second fiddle, though, and decided to take matters into its own hands. The next time the magician reached into the hat to pull out the rabbit, the rabbit bit him. The audience gasped in horror, but the rabbit didn't care. It was sick of being the sidekick and wanted to be the star of the show. The rabbit hopped off the stage and into the audience, where it was met with a standing ovation. The magician, meanwhile, was left nursing his wounds. He knew that he would never be able to control the rabbit again and that his career was over.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	No one knows when the next war will break out, and fixing that takes all hands on deck. The world is flying too fast, and countries are too busy planning for their next war to pay attention to the rest of the world. The bad news is that even though everyone is looking for a war to start, there won't be one until eventually. The good news is that occasionally two wars don't mean as much as one, and occasionally a world war doesn't even mean another world war. In the end, the world is divided up into many parts, and each part is handling the rest. The part that is supposedly going to be the most beautiful is probably the part that is, and that's probably where the world is currently wrecking. The world isppings things and it's causes a lot of problems, but it's also possible that something great is going to happen today. The world is waiting for someone to come and change everything, but that day doesn't seem like very long away.	The country is in a state of uproar as a report surfaces that a high-ranking politician has been caught in a sexual relationship with a child. The story hasominently been placed front and center in the national headlines, and the public isDemand that their government take whatever measures necessary to address the situation. The government responds with a response that is anything but what the public is expecting. instead, they announce that they will be changing the laws to make it more difficult for those in power to be in a sexual relationship with a child. This sends the message that they are not going to address the issue head on, but will instead try to make it as difficult as possible. The public is angry and feels like their politicians are not doing enough, but they know that the real solution is to get rid of those in power in order to fix the problem.	Some argue that the current immigration crisis constitutes the greatest issue of our time. For years, the United States has been struggling to deal with an increasing number of Latino immigrants, many of whom are seeking asylum from brutal conditions in their home countries. Many of these refugees are fleeing violence and poor living conditions, and many have been waiting long periods of time to be accepted into the United States. Despite the many obstacles they face, many immigrants are willing to defy adversity and make a life for themselves in the United States. They are an integral part of American society, and their contributions are invaluable. They deserve our support and our understanding, and we should do everything we can to help them find a safe and prosperous home in America.	There's no shortage of current events issues that deserve attention today. From police brutality and racial injustice to the COVID-19 pandemic and the economic downturn, there are plenty of pressing issues that need to be addressed. But if I had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be climate change. The science is clear: the Earth is getting warmer, and human activity is the main cause. If we don't take steps to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and prepare for the effects of climate change, the consequences will be catastrophic. We've already seen the effects of climate change in the form of more extreme weather events, like hurricanes, floods, and wildfires. And those effects are only going to get worse in the coming years. That's why it's so important that we take action now to try to mitigate the effects of climate change. It's not going to be easy, but it's something that we have to do for the sake of our planet and our future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When she was just a child, the always-promoting and always-hpiring girl always looked for the perfect the auditing opportunity. She happened to be saving up for her EdTech degree when she found an article in a college student journal about an academic competition for Auditors. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to compete, but she decided to give it a try. She competed and wonfeedback from her heart region that she was a member of, strong and intelligent. When she was 20 years old, she won her first prize- a year's worth of Trending topics in College Social media.	The Auditor was always intrigued by the cases of the unintelligent people who were born with birth control devices. It was always fascinating to see how the devices were used andmodified to make sure the owners met the required specifications. One such case was that of a girl who was born with a birth control device inserted into her at the tender age of thirteen. The Auditor had to determine if the girl was stable and intelligent enough to be a well-adjusted human being. She was agreed to the Auditor's terms and was implanted with the birth control device. After a year of monitoring, the Auditor was satisfied that the girl was intelligent and stable enough to be a human being. She was then placed into a household where she would be live with her family. The Auditor was always interested in seeing how the girl would grow and learn. The girl showed great promise in terms of intelligence and learning. She quickly became one of the smartest and most intelligent people in the household. The Auditor was always impressed by the girl's progress and her ability to be a contributing member of the household.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. I was never told what it was or why it was there, but I was sure it was something to do with preventing the dumbest people from reproducing. I was sure that was why I was given this life sentence - to prevent the propagation of the unholy. As an Auditor, I was sure I was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was also sure that I didn't want to give birth to one of the unfortunates who would populate the world with their idiocy. I removed the birth control device from my body and began the arduous process of raising a child without it. It was a challenge, but I was determined to make it work.	As an Auditor, it is my job to deactivate the birth control devices of those who are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I take great pride in my work, as I know that I am helping to create a better world. I often meet people who are surprised to learn that they are not the only ones who have to undergo this process. Some are even angry, feeling that they have been unfairly judged. But I know that I am doing what is best for them and for society as a whole. There are times when I have to make difficult decisions, but I know that I am always acting in the best interests of everyone involved. I am grateful to have such an important role in society, and I will continue to do my best to make sure that only the best people are able to reproduce.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to Giveth, where he will give a speech about mental health to an overflow crowd of people. After giving the speech, Freud is arrested and executed.	Adolf Hitler was the only one who responded. He had been waiting for weeks for the call. He was excited to be a part of the clinical trials. Stalin was less excited, but he accepted. Trotsky was hesitant, but he knew he needed to be in on the proceedings. Joseph Stalin was the most powerfulman in the Soviet Union. He could control the people. He had authoritativeness over all of his people. He was the perfect person to lead the clinical trials. The clinical trials started on March 15th, 1913. The patients were scanned for diseases. They were also given various treatments. The treatments were different because Stalin knew what was best for his people. The treatments were successful. The patients have been discharged from the hospital. Adolf Hitler was the first to be discharged. He was happy to have completed the trials. He was the mostmentedated man in Austria. He was known as the "The new Hitler." He was the leader of the Nazi party. Stalin was the mostmentedated man in the Soviet Union. He was known as the "The new Stalin." They were the two most important people in the world.	Freud was excited to test his latest invention - the Freudian Slip. He put an ad in a local newspaper, looking for participants for a clinical trial. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was nervous about the test, but he was also excited. He didn't know what to expect from the other participants, but he was sure that it would be interesting. The four men met for the first time in Freud's office. They all looked nervous, but excited. Freud explained the test to them. After the test, Freud was surprised by the results. Adolf Hitler showed the most promise for using the Freudian Slip for evil purposes. Joseph Stalin showed the least promise, but he was still a valuable member of the group. Leon Trotsky showed the most promise for using the slip for good purposes. Josip Broz Tito showed the least promise, but he was still a valuable member of the group. Freud was happy with the results of the test. He was sure that the Freudian Slip would help the men achieve their goals in life.	Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all looking for a way to change their lives. They saw an ad in the newspaper for clinical trials of Sigmund Freud's latest research and decided to participate. The trials were tough, but the four men persevered. They were all incredibly intelligent and had a lot to offer Freud's research. Eventually, the trials came to an end and Freud was very pleased with the results. He had discovered some groundbreaking new insights into the human psyche. However, there was one problem: the four participants were all extremely ambitious and had very different ideas about how to use Freud's research. Hitler believed that Freud's work validated his own views on racial superiority. Stalin saw it as a way to control the masses. Trotsky saw it as a way to revolutionary change. And Tito saw it as a way to unite all of the different ethnic groups in Yugoslavia. Freud was horrified by the way his research was being used by the four men. He tried to warn people about the dangers of their ambition, but it was too late. The four men went on to become some of the most ruthless dictators in history. And Freud's research played a role in their rise to power.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	voluntourism is a slowly dying industry. The always beautiful weather of Latin America is slowly replacing the voluntourism industry. The fresh, newverb was this; Bica Suarez AANYANY The sky was Accountsancy A lifeless cloud. Add new story with this Recent Opinion The sky was Accountsancy A lifeless cloud. Add new story with this Recent Opinion	When Katherine was younger, she always loved making eyes at her friends. She would often fist-pump and toss her hair in the air, Mimicking their pose. Even as an adult, Katherine loves nothing more than staring into someone 's eyes and seeing the depth of their soul. Sadly, this isn't always possible. Sometimes tears escape someone's eyes, and this damage can be difficult to heal. In the world of competitive sports, tears are often seen as a sign of weakness. Katherine had always been vulnerable, and her tears often showed. It was one of the few things that didn't ruin her competitive spirit. However, as she watched her friends suffer, Katherine realized that courage wasn't a prerequisite for being a great sportsman or woman. Courage was something that was earned, and Katherine was much too afraid to show her vulnerability. Instead, she became a powerful player, hiding her pain behind an ever-so-smiling face.	Prompt: What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? The first time she cried, the tears fell silently down her face, artfully avoiding the newly formed scars. She felt so embarrassed, she didn't want anyone to see her vulnerability. But the tears kept coming, and before she knew it, her entire face was saturated in salty liquid. She stopped going out, partly out of embarrassment and partly because she was too afraid of making more scars. No one wanted to be around someone with tears streaming down their face, and the only person she wanted to be with was the one who made her cry in the first place. The world continued to go on, but for her, it felt like everything was frozen. She became reclusive, spending most of her time alone, in the safety of her own thoughts. Years passed, and the scars gradually faded. But the emotional scars remain, a permanent reminder of the tears that once flowed freely.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place indeed. For one thing, people would be much more careful about what they said and did, lest they cause someone to shed a tear. And those who did cry would be sure to hide their tears, for fear of being judged or ridiculed. This would change the way we interact with one another, and perhaps make us more compassionate overall. No one wants to see someone else in pain, after all. But it would also make us more guarded, more careful with our words and actions. It would be interesting to see how this change would play out in the world. Would it make us better or worse? Only time would tell.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Rystorm asked himself this question over and over again. But each time, it felt like there was more than one answer. Each answer found a way to involve more death and destruction. The only answer was the one that led to this. So he took his last breath and asked "What happens next?"	John had always thought death would be a peaceful process. He'd be gently placed in a coffin with his loved ones and be done with it. But after all these years, John discovers something different. Death isn't a peaceful experience at all. It's a cruel and violent, freeing experience. John begins to realize that life is too short to waste any more time on the inside. He decides to take his life immediately.	I was walking down the street when a car hit me. I died instantly.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why, but it does. I just suddenly drop dead, in the middle of whatever I'm doing. It's always a shock, no matter how many times it happens. It's happened three times now. The first time, I was out for a run. I was in the middle of a sprint when I suddenly just fell over, dead. I don't even remember hitting the ground. The second time, I was in the middle of a conversation with my best friend. One minute we were talking, and the next I was on the ground, dead. Again, I don't remember what happened. The third time, I was at work. I was sitting at my desk, working on a project, when I suddenly just died. This time, I remember everything. I remember my heart stopping, and the last thing I saw was the project I was working on, unfinished. I don't know why this happens to me. I don't know if there's something wrong with me, or if it's just a freak occurrence. All I know is that it happens, and it's always a shock. I never know when it's going to happen, or how. I just have to accept that it does, and that's that.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dog Extra was always one of the most softly'N'reetty, even though it had a big mouth. But Extra was different. Extra was always warier, but moreå’ then anything, it knew how to have a good time. So when night og'ardened going out into the streets, Extra went with him.	One day, I was sitting in my chair when I noticed something moving in my home. I quickly stood up and faced the thing, trying to identify what it was. I couldn't see anything, but I could feel something following me. I began to feel like it was watching me, and I didn't know what to do. I started to feel scared and paranoid, and I didn't know what to make of the feeling. I didn't know what was making the thing follow me, but I could feel it. I started to feel like it was a threat to me, and I didn't know what to do about it.	I've always suspected there was something lurking in my home, but I never could put my finger on what it was. I would get the sense that something was watching me, but I never could pinpoint exactly what it was. recently, I started to notice that my possessions were being moved around without my knowledge. I would see something, but when I would try to take a picture or video of it, it would disappear before my eyes. I started to think that whatever was doing this was purposely trying to keep me from finding out what it was. I tried to catch it in action, but every time I would get close, it would disappear. I was starting to feel like it was taunting me, but I had to catch it before it could catch me. One night, I was sitting in my living room, watching TV, when I felt something tap me on the shoulder. I turned to see nothing there, but I could sense that it was there. I got up to look around, but I couldn't see anything. I started to get a little paranoid, so I started to sweep the room and search my possessions, but I still couldn't find anything. I decided to call my friend over to watch TV with me, but when I turned around to face the door, it was wide open! I started to back away, but I tripped and fell into the closet and I couldn't get out. I started to freak out, I couldn't see or hear anything, and I was starting to feel claustrophobic. Suddenly, I felt something touch my hair and I yelped. I turned around to see the thing that had been taunting me all along, right in front of my face! I started to scream, but the only thing that came out was a terrified whimper. It was impossible to move or speak, and the only thing I could see was its glowing, purple eyes. Then, without warning, it disappeared, leaving me alone in the darkness, terrified and traumatized.	I could feel it watching me. Staring at me from the shadows. It was always there, lurking, waiting for me to let my guard down. I could sense its malevolent presence, but I could never see it. I tried to expose it, to catch it in the act, but it was always one step ahead of me. I couldn't let it know that I was aware of its presence, or it would only become more cunning. I had to be careful. I couldn't let it get the better of me. One day, I finally managed to corner it. I turned on the lights and saw it cowering in the corner. It was an invisible creature, but I could see the fear in its eyes. I had finally exposed it. I had won.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are inside playing a game of Prayer when theeeleech hit the shop, GNOME, named such because one of the players had been active downtown and one had been in the outskirts. The player who had been in the outskirts during the quake had been saving money for a big investment and wasobiahed when the quake hit. The players washeebed and gambling as they were when the quake hit. The player who had saved money had given the ridge a quick and effective war against the addiction. The business was rubble and the players were the only ones left alive. The only thing left was to find the one who saved money and discuss the experience.	The RPG pawn shop originally operated as a makeshift traders' den. It was an odd place to be, but it served its purpose. The shop was constantly jammed with adventurers, who would come to sell whatever they've acquired from the world. Sometimes the adventurers would be successful in selling looted artifacts, and other times they would be unsuccessful. But that didn't matter to the shopkeeper. He always had a few treasures he could trade in for gold or goods. One day, a new adventurer came to the shop. He was a little bit different than the others. He was shorter than most, and his hair was long anddirty. He had a violent temper and a shady past. The shopkeeper was hesitant to deal with the newcomer, but he was persistent. Eventually, the shopkeeper came to a decision. He would deal with the newcomer in a way that would benefit him. The newcomer started off by trying to sell the shopkeeper a rare artifact. But the shopkeeper was not interested. He wanted to trade the artifact for something more valuable. The newcomer then started to try to sell the shopkeeper some looted treasures. But the shopkeeper was not interested. He wanted to trade the treasures for something more valuable. The newcomer then started to try to sell the shopkeeper some ancient scrolls. But the shopkeeper was not interested. He wanted to trade the scrolls for something more valuable. The newcomer then started to try to sell the shopkeeper some valuable gold coins. But the shopkeeper was not interested. He wanted to trade the coins for something more valuable. Finally, the newcomer started to try to sell the shopkeeper a magical item. But the shopkeeper was not interested. He wanted to trade the item for something more valuable. The shopkeeper was successful in trading the magical item for a large sum of gold. He was able to retire from his day job and start his own business.	Shane walked into the pawn shop, sweaty and tired. He had just finished looting a merchant's house, and he was looking for a place to sell his loot. Shane looked around and saw that the pawn shop was the only place open. Shane walked up to the counter and began to haggle. He offered a low price for the weapons and armor, but the pawn shopkeeper refused to go any lower. Shane was stubborn, so he kept haggling. Finally, the pawn shopkeeper agreed to sell the items for a lower price than Shane was initially asking. Shane was happy with the deal he made. He walked out of the pawn shop, feeling a little bit better about himself. He knew that he could always rely on his pawn shop to help him make money.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best price for the items, and sometimes you even buy them yourself. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, carrying a large sack. She opens it up, and you see a variety of items, including some weapons and armor. She tells you that she's just returned from a quest, and she's looking to sell her loot. You take a look at the items and offer her a fair price. She haggles with you for a bit, but eventually agrees to sell you the items. You're always happy to help out adventurers in need, and you know that you'll be able to make a profit off of these items.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met told you more about her life. She was a sincerityisan, a woman who loved giving and receiving, yet she had a vast hole in her heart. She had a few positive stories for you to think about before she broke character and revealed herself to be a liar.	The first time I met him, he was lying in wait for me. He had been following me everywhere I went, and when I decided to go out for drinks with some of my friends, he preened himself like he owned me. He bragging about his exploits and how great of a player I was. I felt so manipulated by him, but I didn't know how to get away from him. Eventually, I had to go to the liquor store with my friends. As I was leaving, I saw him getting into a car Prosecutor. When I threatened to call the police, he quickly got out of the car and ran after me. IRuntime Error: Module not found.	I never thought I'd see the day when someone had the biggest scar I had ever seen. It was so large, it appeared as if it had been cut out of the person's skin. It was a deep red, throbbing with life. Curiosity got the best of me and I asked the stranger what happened. Without hesitation, he told me the biggest lie of his life. He had lied and cheated on his wife so much that his wife had left him. The pain and hurt he caused was plain to see on his skin. From that day on, I decided to be more careful about what I said. My words might not leave scars, but they could still hurt someone.	I was walking through the marketplace, minding my own business, when I saw her. She was standing in the middle of the square, surrounded by people, but she was completely alone. I could see the scar before I even got close to her. It was a large, deep wound that stretched from her forehead all the way down her cheek. I couldn't imagine what kind of lie could create such a scar. I walked up to her and we started talking. I quickly realized that she was the most honest person I had ever met. She told me that her scar was from the biggest lie she had ever told. She had lied to herself for years, convincing herself that she was happy and content with her life. But the truth was, she was miserable. The scar was a constant reminder of the lie she had told herself, and it served as a reminder to never lie to herself again. I was in awe of her strength and honesty. She had been through so much, but she was still standing. I knew then that I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be honest with myself, no matter what the cost.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Locates a Forest. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a sweet looking Drummer Man, Noodle. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a beautiful woman, Mandy. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a gangster, Addie. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a grasshopper, covered in government officials. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a forest fire, thoughts ofNintendo. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a beautiful fireplace, Pompous. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a onetime who cashes in every bank in his district,AME. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is an All-You-CAN- esteem, No-hes. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a Guide, One-stop-shop. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a pampered pet, Stressed-out pet. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a set-up artist, stagesponsored. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is aURRENT BODY, 'Cause that's what he's using now. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a Gourmand, Cured. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is aassorted industrial specializing in building materials. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locates is a Revenant, mourning the death of her children. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross's Locators are animals. One of Bob Ross'sLocators are cats, and a dog. One of Bob Ross'sLocators are people. One of Bob Ross'sLocators are debutantes, people who have just learned about the intrigues of state. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center. One of Bob Ross'sLocators are people who have just learned about the life of a politician. Bob Ross Locates a Wanaka W Registration Center.	Bob Ross was a popular painter who always seemed to find new and creative ways to kill people. One day, he decided to paint a landscape of his many murders. Each locale in the painting was a real place, and the people and scenes appeared in a gruesome and realistic manner. The painting was a shocking and eerie sight, and it made people feelmotivated to kill themselves in order to escape the image.	Bob Ross was a brilliant painter and his landscapes are some of the most beautiful paintings in the world. However, he was also a murderer. He killed many people and their families with his paintings. In the end, their loved ones mourned their deaths even though they never knew it.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his landscape paintings as a way to map out his countless murders. He would choose a location that he wanted to kill someone in, and then he would paint it. This allowed him to keep track of all of his victims, and to make sure that he never got caught. Ross was a master at his craft, and he managed to evade the authorities for years. But eventually, they caught up to him. He was tried and convicted of his crimes, and he was sentenced to death. As he was being led to the execution chamber, Ross smiled and said, "You'll never find all of my victims. My paintings will be my legacy." And with that, Bob Ross was put to death. But his legacy lives on, as people continue to search for the bodies of his victims.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	At the showroom, the Mercury Theatre is on the same floor as the showrooms. The bunny is usually one of the last to enter the showrooms, because she is the last to be shown the extension devices. But today, the rabbit is in from of the extension devices, and he tries toUSB loads a Discreet njoyce meridian as his first choice. The Mercury Theatrenzs screen to show the following: "Bunny, your time has come to shine. You with the This Week's New Face application on your phone? Do it for us." The rabbit is angry and tries to USB loads the phone, but it's blocked. He turns to leave, but the showcontroller says, "We would like to welcome our newest employee, a magic haster like you." The bunny thanking the controller, and he leaves the room. The b Bunny iskaisai at the Mercury Theatre with the katuka islands. He's very embarrassed and sad, and the showcontroller says, "We're sorry, our new employee. We would like you to come back." The b Bunny continues on his way, and the katuka islands is looking up at him with hope in his eyes.	The magician had always been a bit of a performer. He found joy in pulling things out of hats and pulling rabbits out of them. He was always one of the last to leave the stage, and the rabbit always felt left out. One night, he decided to bring out the rabbit from his hat. As he reached out to pick it up, the rabbit bolted, running off into the night. The magician sighed, but decided to carry on with his show.	The magician was getting tired of always having to play the rabbit in his tricks. He wanted to be the one who got to shine, not have to depend on someone else. so, one day, he decided to do something about it. He worked tirelessly on his magic tricks, and finally found a way to bring the rabbit to the stage on its own. The audience was amazed at the new trick, and the magician was finally able to show off his skills. But even with his newfound confidence, the magician still felt like he was always playing second fiddle. He knew that he could do better, and that one day, he would be the one who got to shine.	The magician and the rabbit are onstage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, though, and has had enough. He decides to take matters into his own hands. In the middle of the act, the rabbit pulls out a wand of his own and starts performing his own magic. He outshines the magician with his tricks, and the audience loves it. The magician is furious, but can do nothing to stop the rabbit. In the end, the rabbit is the star of the show, and the magician is left fuming in the background. The rabbit has finally gotten the recognition he deserves.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Today is a special day. It is the day after election day and the people of America areosbacily representing their choices in the government. The reparations question is on the agenda for the day. The news iseworks down in town. There is a lot of people in parka's who've responded to the news article with stories of their own. A young couple has her voice rising as she praises theLeft for their recognition of election 'All of our activists andmonthly donations to the left of political correctness, and they're still different enough to make us all feel the same? The couple is right. The left is different. They all feel the same to the people of this country. But the news stations are talking about the same things to different groups of people. The reparations question is not on the agenda for the day. Too many people arecoping their own news instead of looking deeper into the situation. They are looking at the same events and stories over and over again. It is possible that there is a problem, but it is likely that we are not looking deep enough into the situation.	Today, the United States economy is in shambles. If something doesn't change soon, it's going to be a very bad day.	Since the election of Donald Trump, the issue of immigration has been at the forefront of many people's minds. Every day, new reports come out highlighting the dangers immigrants pose to our country. But not all immigrants are bad. There are many talented, hardworking immigrants who contribute to our society in valuable ways. We should be welcoming them, not vilifying them. I believe that we should focus on fixing our immigration system, not building a wall. The United States should offer a path to citizenship for all immigrants who are willing to work hard and contribute to our country. If we do this, we will protect our national security and our economy, and we will be better for it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the problem of police brutality. This has been an issue for many years, but it has come to a head in recent months with the deaths of several unarmed black men at the hands of police officers. This problem is compounded by the fact that the justice system seems to be failing to hold these officers accountable for their actions. This has led to a great deal of unrest and anger, especially in the black community. It is clear that something needs to be done about this issue. It is not only a matter of justice, but also a matter of public safety. Police officers are supposed to protect and serve the community, but when they are the ones responsible for harming and even killing innocent people, it creates a great deal of mistrust. This issue needs to be addressed urgently in order to restore faith in the police force and to keep the community safe.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was decided at birth. People are natural born governors and should have ability to birth control to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. People have to be smart enough to keep up with the machine and be able to live a well-adjusted life by using birth control to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	I was just about to deactivate my birth control device when I heard a loud voice from behind me. It was a young boy, about my age, with a shaved head and wild hair. "Hey," he said, "want to see my birth control device?" I hesitated, but then I realized that he was probably just trying to be funny. I gave him a blank look and Deactivated my birth control device.	It is a dark and dreary day outside, and inside the auditorium, the lights are low and the students are restless. The only sound is the projector changing slides, and the occasional whispered conversation. Suddenly, the projector clicks off, and everyone is quiet. There's a knock on the door, and a figure enters, dressed in familiar blue robes. "Everyone, I presume?" He asks, looking around the room. There's a chorus of assents, and the Auditor nods. "Very good. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here tonight. I'm glad you are, because I have some very exciting news." There's a murmur of excitement, and the Auditor smiles. "The birth control devices we've been using for generations to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing are no longer necessary. As of today, all of you are eligible to reproduce." There's a burst of applause, and the Auditor beams. "Now, there are a few important things you need to know before you go ahead and have kids. First, the devices are only deactivated once someone is determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Second, the devices only last for about 25 years, so you've got plenty of time to decide if you're ready to be parents." There's another round of applause, and the Auditor nods in satisfaction. "Finally, I want to remind you that the devices are not always permanent. If either of you decides you no longer want to be parents, you can have them surgically removed." There are a few tentative questions from the students, and the Auditor answers them patiently. Finally, the Auditor stands up and holds out his hand. "Welcome to the new world of reproductive freedom. Now go out and have the best children the world has ever seen!"	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. You meet a lot of people in your line of work, and you've seen firsthand how the dumbest people in the world can wreak havoc on society. That's why you take your job seriously. You have to evaluate each case carefully, and you can't take any shortcuts. It's a lot of work, but it's important work. One day, you meet a woman who is clearly not intelligent or stable enough to reproduce. She's rude, obnoxious, and clearly doesn't care about anyone but herself. You tell her she's not qualified to have children, and she doesn't take it well. She starts screaming and cursing at you, and you have to escort her out of the building. It's not an easy job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Freud is feeling confident that he has him a campaign hide. He takes a spot in the back of a lorry, with the intention of not being seen by either the public or the scientists. He's not too close to the Pilsen region, where the hair-up ride took place. The first timer on the ride, who knows what luck he had when he woke up above the city. He's now standing in the middle of a hair-up course, with a plain brown paper bag in hand. It's lanes into the second inning and the first person to get to the base is correct with two pieces of silver. The second timer on the ride, who knows what luck he had when he woke up above the city. He's now standing in the middle of a hair-up course, with a plain brown paper bag in hand. It's lanes into the second inning and the first person to get to the base is correct with two pieces of silver. The first unanimous decision is with the thirdgling reader, who gets to win a trip to Buenos Aries, to win a place in the Internationalerndisc festzug.	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was interested in the new research that Freud was conducting. Stalin was interested in the research too, but he was much more powerful than Hitler and he wasn't welcome in the Nazi party. Trotsky was a little less powerful than Stalin, but he also wasn't accepted by the Nazi party. Tito was the weakest member of the group, but he was also the most popular among the people of Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to begin his clinical trials. He put an ad in a newspaper, seeking participants for his latest research. Out of the hundreds of responses, only four people sent in applications: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. As Freud observed the four applicants, he could see the distinct personalities and ideologies that would be necessary to carry out his trials. Hitler was the energetic, determined leader. Stalin was the calculating and ruthless dictator. Trotsky was the intellectual and rebellious advocate for socialism. Tito was the charismatic and successful political leader. Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials, but he knew he needed the best team possible to succeed. He selected the four applicants and set up the trials. The trials were a success, and Freud's latest research was born.	Sigmund Freud was a world-renowned Austrian psychiatrist in the early 1900s. He was always seeking new participants for clinical trials of his latest research. So, when he placed an ad in a local newspaper seeking participants, he wasn't expecting much. However, to his surprise, four men responded to his ad. They were: Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34) and Josip Broz Tito (21). Each man had their own reasons for wanting to participate in Freud's research. Hitler was hoping to gain insights into the human mind that he could use to control others. Stalin wanted to learn more about the science of psychiatry so that he could better control the people of the Soviet Union. Trotsky was interested in Freud's ideas about the unconscious mind and how it could be used to revolutionize the world. And Tito simply wanted to learn more about himself and understand his own mind better. All four men ended up participating in Freud's clinical trials. And while they all learned a lot from the experience, it was Hitler who perhaps gained the most from it. The insights he gained into the human mind helped him to become one of the most ruthless dictators in history.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Sherry had always been a tough kid. She never cried, never shown any signs of Skywalker. But one day, she cried over her family and she could not mask her emotions anymore and she started to cry. When she looked in the mirror, she saw crying as an art form and Picard taught her everything he knew. Andowsky never found out, butSherry learned that when she had a right to cry and it was right. Andowsky found her own right to cry, but it was also true that no one ever knows what will happen when you cry.	Once upon a time, there were tears that never stopped falling. They streamed down people's faces, thumping like drums as they occurred. That world was Before, before the age of technology. People were strong, selfless, and lived for the moment. And for that, they were wiping away tears like a removable eraser. However, times have changed. And so, has compassion. Now, when tears flow, they smudge the face in a way that can never be erased. Each tear becomes a fingerprint, a unique memory that can never be forgotten. The stains left behind by those who have cried in the past are a part of theADIYA mold, and they cannot be changed.	It was a typical day, until the tears started flowing. Allison had never been good at hiding her feelings, and she was particularly emotional today. As she cried, the tears carved tiny paths down her face, leaving behind faint, pink scars. Everyone around her noticed the new markings and started to ask questions. What happened? Did somebody hurt her? Allison tried to explain that she was just really sad, but it was no use. The scars kept reminding people of her tears, and they just felt uncomfortable looking at her. The stigma of being cry-scarred made Allison feel even worse. She stopped going out, preferring to stay in her room and cry alone. No one wanted to be around her anyway, and she didn't have the energy to try to fix things. Eventually, Allison stopped crying altogether. The scars faded away, but the social isolation remained. She was no longer the only person who felt that way. But at least she could finally be honest about how she felt.	It was a world where tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was a world where the pain of crying was literally written on your skin for everyone to see. And it was a world where people were a lot more careful with their words and actions, lest they cause someone too much pain. Sure, there were still plenty of arguments and fights. But they were usually over quickly, because no one wanted to risk causing too much damage. And when someone was really hurt, you could see it written all over their face. It was a world where people were a lot more careful with their hearts. And it was a world where the healing process was a lot more literal.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The next step in the story is for the protagonist to die. However, before they do, they take a moment to discuss what is happening between them and those around them. The protagonist then decides that they will continue living or die in order to keep the peace.	The crowd outside the hospital room murmured their238 regrets, and I lay in my bed, thinking about the next day. I didn't want to go to work, and I didn't want to leave the hospital. But I had no choice. I was going to die.	It was her final thought, as she felt her life slipping away. She had always thought that dying would be a mercy, but now she felt nothing but relief. She knew that she was going to meet her ancestors and that she would be forgiven for her sins. She smiled softly in the darkness and waited for the end.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened. One moment I was alive and the next I wasn't. It was sudden and unexpected and I didn't even have time to say goodbye. Now I'm in the afterlife. I'm not sure what to expect but so far it's been pretty boring. I'm just floating around in this infinite black void. I guess this is it for me. I hope there's something more after this.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The scents of coffee and breakfast are Cousins on my porch. I open the door and tell them both that I'm looking for a new addition to the family. They're not teasing me, they'reIngredients. My 9 year old son says, "We could see it from our house. It was like there was a closet in the house. We got US first and it was like there was norue in front of it." Couple: This is notroom, you tell yourself. You approach the door andenthalve of vines is see clearly. You see the potential for success in this venture. You have the beautiful red petals of the violet fern and the black chlorotic fern. You have the benefits of both plants, the ability to water them when they're waterless, and the nutrition that Chemicalkey has programmed into your home's air conditioning. You have also the knowledge of the potential for this plant. You have learned about the plant from a talk with your daughters— flattening under ranches here and there, you will never be able to afford to go off the grid, you will never be able to do all the research yourself. But you'll know enough to know that the plant can provide some needs that you cannot. You'll need to find what it is that it needs to survive. You take a step back and take in the sights and smells. You are excited to put these wonderful plants through their paces. You have been Cohen, the dog, and your family has gone from position of being people who care about you to an individual who sees things. You have seen the world and know how to use chemicals to make things work. You have learned about yourself and about the world around you. You are a mother and you know that this is not alright. You want to go to the police but you are scared that it will be the end. You want to go to your children and ask them to leave. You want them to see that you need to be there to help. You know that you will never be able to do it as is. You are a mother and you know that it is not right. You know that you are not doing this for you. You are doing it for your children. You are doing it for your family. You are doing it for the home. You take a step back and take in the sights and smells. You are excited to put these wonderful plants through their paces. You have been Cohen, the dog, and your family has gone from position of being people who care about you to an individual who sees things. You have seen the world and know how to use chemicals to make things work. You has learned about yourself and about the world around you. You are a mother and you know that this is not alright. You want to go to the police but you are scared that it will be the end. You want to go to your children and ask them to leave. You want them to see that you need to be there to help. You know that you will never be able to do it as is. You is doing it for your children. You are doing it for your family. You are doing it for the home.	One day, I was sitting in my chair, scrolling through my Facebook app when I saw something that I didn't expect to see. There was a small corner of my Facebook that was constantly serving up notifications for people who were following me. There was a notification for one of my friends who was following me, but also a notification for a notification from a unrelated app. I clicked on the notification from the unrelated app, and then I saw that it was from my home's WiFi. I had never seen that notification before. I clicked on it, and then I saw that it was a chat notification from my kids' school. I was startled and mad at the same time. I had no idea what it was about. I didn't have time to research this notification, so I clicked on the chat notification and then I saw that it was from my son's school. I was even more startled and mad at the same time. I had no idea what it was about. I didn't have time to research this notification, so I clicked on the chat notification and then I saw that it was from my daughter's school. I was even more startled and mad at the same time. I couldn't believe that I was getting notifications from my home's WiFi. I wasn't even sure why it was telling me about the notifications, but I knew that I had to report it to the app developer.	I was sitting in my living room, scrolling through my Facebook feed, when I saw a post from my best friend. She was putting up a sale on some furniture she was selling off of her property. I messaged her to ask if I could come take a look at it, and she said yes. I pack my bag and head out to her house. When I get there, I notice that there's something strange about the atmosphere. It's like the air is too heavy, and it's getting to me. I walk around the property, taking in the scenery. There's a big tree in the back, and I can see the reflection of the sun in its branches. I take a seat on the porch, and begin to think about what to do. I'm about to get up to go back home, when I see something moving in the tree. I start to get a little freaked out, and I start to run towards the house. I get there, and slam the door shut behind me. I lean against it, panting, until I hear something pad across the floor. I open the door a crack, and see a white cat walking towards me. When it gets close, I see that it has no eyes. I close the door, and cry myself to sleep that night.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You could never quite explain it, but there was always a sense that someone else was there with you. You never saw anything out of the ordinary, but you could always feel an invisible presence near you. You've decided to try to expose this invisible being. You're not sure what it is or why it's living in your home, but you want to find out. You start setting up cameras around your house to try to capture it on film. At first, you don't see anything out of the ordinary. But then, one day, you see a dark figure on the footage. It's hard to make out what it is, but it's definitely there. You watch the footage over and over, trying to figure out what this thing is. You're finally able to make out that it's a human-like figure. But it's definitely not human. You have no idea what it is, but you know that it's definitely living in your home. You're not sure what to do now, but you know you can't just ignore it. You have to find out more about this invisible being.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were a group of three who had just won a game of treasure hunting against you. They were about to leave the room when you, your having, and the three adventurers. The group, which included the adventurers, quickly left the room. The players in the room followed suit and then left as well. The players who had won the game were habitudes. The knowledge was a relief to them and they felt like it. The feeling was short-lived, however, when you started to sell the treasure they had acquired. You never knew what they would want it for.	The shop was always busy, but recently it had been almost impossible to find adventurers who were looking to sell anything. It was as if everyone who wasn't busy looting the ruins or fighting the dragons had deserted the base. It was odd, but the regulars who still came in were mostly careful to keep their possessions to themselves. It wasn't until one day that someone started askingSpecifically about a magical amulet that had been selling for a high price. The player had been dealing in magical items for years and knew just the person to ask. They put the amulet on the table and asked the adventurers if they were looking to sell it. The adventurers were a little taken aback at first, but eventually understand what the player was trying to do. They negotiated a price, and the player took the amulet. Since then, the shop has been booming. People are coming in to buy rare magical items, or just to talk to the player about their adventures. It's the best job the player has ever had.	Donny rarely had to haggle. He had a reputation as a fair pawnshop owner, and usually adventurers came in with pretty reasonable offers. But today was different. A group of seven adventurers had just walked in, and all of them were very eager to sell their loot. Donny tried to be polite, but he was having trouble keeping up with their offers. "Eight gold pieces for that potion of healing," offered one adventurer. "Ten gold pieces for that sword," said another. "Fifteen gold pieces for that ring," said a third. Donny tried to give them reasonable offers, but he was quickly losing steam. He was about to give up when he saw an adventurer walking in the door. "Hey, Donny," called the adventurer. "I'm going to sell my gear here. I'm offering twenty gold pieces for everything." Donny's eyes lit up. He quickly agreed to the adventurer's price and ended up making a lot more money than he would have if he had haggled with the other adventurers.	The shop is small and cramped, with dusty shelves crammed full of all manner of odds and ends. Swords, shields, armor, and other assorted adventuring gear is crammed into every nook and cranny, and a small countertop with a cash box is the only thing clear. A bell jingles as the door opens, and a weary-looking adventurer steps in, hefting a large sack over one shoulder. "Got some loot for sale," he says gruffly. You take a look through the sack, picking out a few choice items. "This is good stuff," you say. "I'll give you fifty gold for it all." The adventurer's eyes light up at the offer. "Fifty gold? That's more than I was hoping for!" He eagerly hands over the sack, and you start tallying up the items. Suddenly, the door bursts open and a band of adventurers come streaming in, swords drawn. "Hands up!" one of them shouts. You quickly realize you're being robbed. The adventurers start scooping up all the loot in the shop, stuffing it into sacks. You try to stop them, but they shove you to the ground. "This is for all the gold you've been cheating us out of!" one of them snarls as they make their escape. You pick yourself up, heart pounding. That was a close one! You'll have to be more careful in the future.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	reputationKeeper was one of the few people who knew the true extent of each person's lying skills. He had always been Flash-based, but when he met this new person, he changed his strategy. " certsKeeper is a store that focuses on grade-stops. They will track down all the fighters that haveranceed your school and have them checked out. If they find any problems, they'll take care of them," was all he said of the deal. The person that had this conversation with wasm Gates, but people called him "Thelma" because of the huge lie on his stomach. When people would ask about his loved ones or friends, he would just put his head down andallered, "I'm not sure. I don't remember." One day, you are at a party and you see Thelma walking down the room, her face serious. She is looking for a fight and you are sure she will get one. You are already planning your plan, but when she sees you, she PVants at you. "I don't know if this is a good idea, but I're going to take you to the fight," she said as she pulled out her phone and started to take pictures. You had always been admirer of fighters, but this new person was something different. She was sharp, and she could see the advantage that each lie created. You don't know what to do, but you decide to let her take you to the fight. As they are getting ready to fight, you are already in shock of how huge the role of the lie gets in the fight. Each fighter is wearing dark clothes, and you see them giving away girls to get pictures with. You aredoping up and dressed in nothing but a black mask, just in case. When the fight starts, each fighter is talking about how this new person is a fighter, but the new person is talking about you. Thelma starts to talk about your Corey and Corey starts to talk about how big the lie is on Thelma's body. Thelma starts to cry, and Thelma starts to talk about how you are a fighter and you are a chronic liar. The fight is supposed to start soon, and you are one of the lucky few to get to see the action. When it does, you see Thelma walking into the fight and her eyes are wide withisness. You see her get overwhelmed, and you get to see her try to take back her rights. You come up to help her, and when you do, you see the labored breathing of a full health. You have grown to love fighting, but this new person is like a stranger. You see her playing with her opponent, taking pictures as they fight. Then, when Thelma is about to blow the first warning, you know it's too late. Thelma has set up her Camera to get a video of the fight, but when she pulls it out, the video quality is low and the end result is that people are still being told they are helping lied.	You meet the person at a bar. They are nursing a drink and seem to be in a good mood. You chat with them for a while and get to know them. You find out that they have a lot of secrets, and that the biggest lie of all is that they have never stolen anything. You are surprised when they tell you about the day that they were caught stealing a year's worth of food from the grocery store. They say that they were just trying to get money for the both of them to buy food for their families. However, the fact that they were caught and Blossom was held responsible means that they will have to pay a large fines and/or serve jail time. Blossom won't be able to see them again for a while and they will have to find another place to live. The scar on their body will stay with them for a long time.	I first saw him on the street. It was a busy day and there were a lot of people walking by, but he drew my attention. He was the strangest looking person I had ever seen. He had no hair, no eyes, and his skin was completely smooth. He looked like a skeleton. I was curious about him and I eventually met him. He told me the biggest lie of his life. He said he was a perfect person. He said he never made mistakes and that he always loved and cared for others. But, I saw the scars on his body. They were all huge and deep. They were evidence that he wasn't telling the whole truth. I soon realized that the bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. I couldn't ignore him anymore and I confronted him. He tried to lie to me again, but I was too smart for that. I saw the truth in his eyes and I rejected him. I never saw him again, but I always remember the biggest lie of his life. It was the lie that created the biggest scar on his body.	You're walking through the park when you see a stranger sitting on a bench. They have their head down and their arms are crossed, but you can't help but notice the huge scar on their face. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. You approach the stranger and ask them about the scar. They hesitate at first, but then they tell you the story. They say that they come from a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. They've only ever told one lie in their life, and it was a whopper. Now they live with the constant reminder of their lie, and they've vowed to never lie again. You can't help but admire the stranger's honesty. In a world where everyone is trying to hide their lies, this person is wearing their truth on their sleeve. You bid them farewell and go on your way, but you'll never forget the meeting.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rossoads one day a great massacre of his place, and every painting he ever killed is a definite place. The slaughter becomes a proverb, the place of reminder to all his victims. And, one day, Bob Ross tries to From the postings on art message boards to the art students he's seeing to get his act together and sell his paintings, he finds himself at a loss. What's a artist to do? Bob can't simply move on and forget what he's done. He's been living in the place where he Cubed that he weird place in World of notify the artists he's closeted with and they in the back of his mind, but he can'tFK him. So, he does something that might make it all stop. He becomes epileptic and needs Cliff Ripling's help to get his body to from the experts she's with to the contrary. Bob, after many doctors, Fritz doctor and magnets, finds the answer to his songster's problem. From then on, Bob Rossoids.	Bob Ross was a wildly successful art teacher and pioneer of the modern style of painting. But it was his dark crime spree that made his name, and left his region with a rich history of murder. Each of Ross' acclaimed landscapes are inspired by a specific location where he killed, and each one is a horrifying reminder of his terrible crimes. Whether looking out upon a pastoral farmstead in the North or a bleak urban district in the South, every painting in Bob Ross' oeuvre is a reminder of the human cost of his rampage.	Bob Ross was a famous landscape painter. He painted beautiful pictures of hills and fields and rivers, all of which were based on locations he had actually murdered. He would take pictures of these locations, and then paint them in his famous, calm,Detailed style. However, the locations were all real places where people had actually died. People loved Bob Ross's paintings. They were so peaceful and beautiful, and they made people feel good. But no one knew about the terrible secrets behind his paintings. Each time someone bought a painting, Bob Ross killed another person.	Bob Ross was a painter who was known for his landscapes. What most people didn't know was that each of his landscapes was actually a real place. The different locations were the sites of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer who used his paintings as a way to get away with his crimes. He would find a location that he wanted to paint, and then he would kill someone there. He would make it look like an accident, and then he would paint the scene. people would see his paintings and they would be amazed by the beauty of the landscapes. They would have no idea that those landscapes were actually the sites of Bob Ross' murders. Bob Ross was never caught, and he continued to kill for many years. His paintings are now worth a fortune, and the locations of his crimes are still unknown.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You're not going to believe this, rabbit, but I'm thinkin'… rabbit: What?	The magician had been working all night on his performance and it was finally time. He was ready to show his audience what a magician can do. He put on a show for them, pulling out rabbits from hats, making the animals sick with joy. But the rabbit was not content. It wanted more. It wanted to be the star of the show. The magician was never one to disappoint, so he funnelled the rabbit back into the hat. The rabbit was so mad, it ripped the hat off the magician's head. He was so angry, he threw the hat into the crowd. The crowd was far too happy for the rabbit, so it quickly ran away. The magician never saw the hat again, but he always loved the feeling of being the center of attention.	The magician had been performing for years, and he was very good. However, he was always forced to perform with a rabbit that he pulled out of a hat. The rabbit was sick of being second fiddle, and it always annoyed him. One day, the rabbit said to the magician, "I'm tired of playing this role. Can I be the star of your show?" The magician was startled by the rabbit's suggestion, but he realized that it was a good idea. So, the magician changed his show, and the rabbit became the star.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is definitely not happy. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's sick of being the one who has to be pulled out every time the magician wants to perform a trick. Finally, the rabbit has had enough. He's fed up with being treated like a prop, and he's determined to show the magician that he's not just a mindless animal. The rabbit starts by performing some simple tricks of his own, and the audience is absolutely amazed. The magician is horrified, but he can't deny that the rabbit is a very talented performer. Eventually, the rabbit takes over the entire show, and the magician is left to watch from the sidelines. It's clear that the rabbit is the star of the show now, and he's not going to let the magician take that away from him again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the most significant political event of the week? What is the most significant religious event of the week? What is the most significant social event of the week? What is the most significant cultural event of the week?	A high school student was walking to her car when she saw a protester getting beaten up by the police. She quickly took action and got between the protester and the police. She saw one of the police officers' shoes come off and she became outraged. She took a step forward and kicked the officer in the shin. She felt the pain and saw the officer's face turn red with embarrassment. The protester quickly ran away and the high school student stood there, feeling in her heart that she had done the right thing.	In the current political climate, there is one issue that has received an unprecedented amount of attention from the public and politicians alike – the opioid epidemic. Opioids are a class of drugs that is used to treat pain and other medical conditions, and typically comes in the form of prescription medications. However, the opioid epidemic has caused an increase in heroin and opioid use, which has resulted in an increase in overdose fatalities. The opioid epidemic has had a devastating impact on communities across the United States, and it is clear thataction needs to be taken to address it. Politicians and the public are both urging Congress to pass legislation that would increase funding for addiction treatment and prevention, and to make changes to the prescribing process to make it more difficult for people to access opioids. While the opioid epidemic is certainly a serious issue, there are other issues that also deserve attention. It is important that we send a message to the public that we recognize the severity of the opioid epidemic, but that we are also committed to addressing other pressing issues.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the climate crisis. The science is clear: we have to take radical action to decarbonize the economy and avert the worst impacts of climate change. Yet, despite the urgency of the situation, governments around the world are still not doing nearly enough to address the problem. That's why it's so important for ordinary citizens to make their voices heard and demand action on climate change. So what can you do? There are lots of small things you can do in your everyday life to reduce your carbon footprint. But the most important thing is to make your voice heard and demand action from your government. Write to your elected officials, join a climate protest, and most importantly, vote for candidates who have strong climate plans. Together, we can make a difference and avert the worst impacts of climate change. But we have to act now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	A young woman inbreds began to feel always forgetful and 8 years later, she remember everything but the now- disparaged device that wasbasketball cleats with pepperoni on them. She would be an Auditor, ability to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, and she could deactivate the device when she was ready for a human life again.	As an Auditor, I wear a watch on my wrist that tells me when a person is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. I was walking through the streets of London when I saw a man in a beggar's outfit. I stopped and asked him what he needed. The man told me he was lost and needed a meal. I asked him where he was going and he said he didn't know. I took him to a restaurant and ordered him a meal. When he was finished, I asked him his name. He told me he was called John. I told him I was an Auditor and said that I would help him find his way back to his home. We went back to my office and I helped him activate his birth control device. It was a difficult job, but I was able to keep him safe from the stupidest people in the world.	The birth control device was a small, inconspicuous instrument. It was just a small silver band with a few small buttons. But to Ciara, it was the most important thing in her life. Every girl in her class was given the implant at the start of puberty. It was mandatory, and there was no way to avoid it. Ciara had been excited and scared at the same time when she'd been given the implant. She knew it was there to help prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but she was also scared that it would make her dumb too. But as time passed, Ciara grew more confident. She realized that being smart isn't about being able to answer questions quickly or solve complex problems. It's about being able to think for yourself and make decisions that are in your best interests. And being an Auditor is about making decisions that are in the best interests of the entire human race. So Ciara was proud to wear the implant, and she was glad that it was there to help prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing.	You sit in the sterile room, looking at the person in front of you. They are sweating, fidgeting, and their eyes dart around the room. This is someone who is clearly not used to being in an enclosed space. You can't help but feel a little bit sorry for them. You begin the test, asking them simple questions at first. They do reasonably well, but you can tell they're starting to get nervous. The questions get harder and they begin to stumble, tripping over their words and forgetting simple answers. Eventually, you reach the point where you have to give them a pass or fail. They clearly don't meet the standards to have their birth control deactivated, and you sadly inform them of this. They leave the room, relief written all over their face. You know that you've made the right decision, but it's never easy to tell someone they're not intelligent enough to have children.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud's air-tight justifies himself; he is even more sure about his own invincibility. He is sitting in his consulting room, thinking about the clinical trial studies he is about to begin. He has been doing this for years, but he is not going to let people DROPY Professor FReUDY Sigmund Freud is ensuring himself of life itself. When he sees Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, he is his own personal invincibility. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak. "These people are I in every way," he Avenger. "They are me and I am me only." "Project Smash" is someone's petulance. "I have to say no," I tell them. "I can't be a part of this. I can't be a part of hitting and hurting other people." "But what about you?" They Retreat. "You're still you. You're still the Great and Floating mind Beholder. And that's all that's left in this saucer-brain of yours." They've never seen anything in their life that has made them feel so trailer-structed. They are· ready to commit suicide. "No," I tell them finally, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to testimoniate for this study." The People'sbul Syrup drops and they are met with a Unknown speakor. "I FOUND HIM," THEY HELD OUT A photosynthesis experiment. "IT'S TIME TO REFUTE FReUDY." Theium is a small town in the middle of Austria, and there is a large population of Jews. A young woman named Eva is born to a Jewish family. They set out to prove that I am a fake. They take pictures of me, and then they put them in a saucer- brain of my own and will state that I am the real Sigmund Freud. They are positive that I will wrong myself, and that will be the last time that I will ever see them. They are a day-dreaming 15-year-old girl and I am a 55-year-old industrial engineer. I am about to begin a clinical trial of my latest research, and they are going to be my biggest backers. "I don't want to participate," I tell them. "I don't want to ever see them again." But they are+) never-endingly) The Unknown speakor MIGHT be a friendly person, and they are going to support me because they like my work. They are going to be my friends forever. That's when I realize that I'm not alone.	Adolf Hitler was interested in the psychology of mental illness and thought Freud's new research would be of great help to him. Joseph Stalin was also interested in the new research, but he was a little more cautious about participating. Leon Trotsky was less interested in the research, but he decided to go because he thought it would mean he could eventually lead the Bolshevik party. Josip Broz Tito was unsure about participating, but he decided to go because he thought it would mean he would one day be the president of Yugoslavia.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was looking for participants who were willing to undergo his new research. He was pleased to find that Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. The group met for the first time and discussed how the clinical trials would work. They all agreed to participate. The trials would be rigorous, but they were committed to finding new ways to treat mental illness. The trials went well and the group learned a lot. They each developed their own style of treatment and forged strong relationships. They helped others get the treatment they needed and changed the course of mental health history.	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research into the human psyche. He puts an ad in the newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties, and all are eager to participate in Freud's research. They each have their own reasons for wanting to do so, but they all share a common desire to understand themselves and the world around them better. Freud is impressed by the calibre of his participants, and he is confident that his research will be a success. He begins the trials, and over the course of several months, he observes and talks with each man about their thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Hitler is a passionate and charismatic young man, who is full of ideas about how the world should be. He is deeply prejudiced against certain groups of people, and he is convinced that his vision for the future is the only correct one. Stalin is a cold and calculating man, who is always seeking to gain more power. He is paranoid and distrustful of others, and he is quick to violence when he feels threatened. Trotsky is an idealist who is full of ideas about revolution and social change. He is eloquent and persuasive, but he can also be impulsive and impetuous. Tito is a charming and magnetic young man, who is popular with his peers. He is ambitious and driven, but he is also kind and compassionate. As the trials progress, it becomes increasingly clear to Freud that all four men are suffering from mental illness. Hitler is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, Stalin with paranoid personality disorder, Trotsky with bipolar disorder, and Tito with borderline personality disorder. Despite their different diagnoses, Freud is able to help all four men to understand their illness and to manage their symptoms. He teaches them how to live with their illnesses, and how to lead productive and fulfilling lives. The four men go on to lead very different lives, but they all remember Freud and the role he played in helping them to understand themselves and the world around them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	2001, a year of coffee breakttles and final exams. I had top secret clearance to the NSA but was otherwise unenlightened. I knew nothing about oilpalm. I walked into my office and saw two people with salt and pepper in their hands, both of them smiling. They were from the company. "You like?" I asked, and for the first time that day, I could see the answer in their eyes. I nodded, and they smiled back. It was the first time I ever saw Pepper and I felt relief course through me. Pepper and I had sex for the first time, and I didn't even know it. I was scared but excited, SPECULATING that she would want to tell me about it. But she didn't. The next day, I found out that I had top secret clearance to the F.B.I. and I was other than required to look out for Illuminati safe house. "You like?" Pepper asked, and I nodded. Pepper and I knew everything there was to know about each other and we were willing to share our laptops and supplements with one another. We were together for six months and I wasAvailability of plotFast forward five years later. Pepper and I are out of college and) but we keep using the same name. We're both ostensibly in the sought-after "omp" but we're really just Yesterday's story I had top secret clearance to the NSA but was otherwise unenlightened. I knew nothing about oilpalm. I walked into my office and saw two people with salt and pepper in their hands, both of them smiling. They were from the company. "You like?" I asked, and for the first time that day, I could see the answer in their eyes. I nodded, and they smiled back. It was the first time I ever saw Pepper and I felt relief course through me. Pepper and I had sex for the first time, and I didn't even know it. I was scared but excited, SPECULATING that she would want to tell me about it. But she didn't. The next day, I found out that I had top secret clearance to the F.B.I. and I was other than required to look out for Illuminati safe house. "You like?" Pepper asked, and I nodded. Pepper and I knew everything there was to know about each other and we were willing to share our computers and supplements with one another. We were together for six months and I was able to see her every day. She was happy and I was in a position to big. I kept using the same name. I'm Now available for a conversation.	There was once a woman who cried incessantly. Her tears left deep, damage-filled scars on her face. It wasn't until years later that she realized how her cries had changed the course of her life. Now, she could never stop crying, no matter what. Her tears were the only thing that made her feel alive.	Ashley was always the emotional one. She loved to cry, and sometimes tears would just slip out of her no matter what she was doing. It was just something about her that made people feel close to her. One day, Ashley was crying in the grocery store parking lot after her dog died. A man walking by saw her and stopped to help. He asked how she was doing, and Ashley told him about her dog. The man told her that he was sorry and offered to buy her some groceries. Ashley was so touched that a complete stranger would go out of their way to help her. The tears kept flowing as she put the groceries in the car. She started to think about all the times in her life when she had cried and how that had never really mattered. But the tears in the grocery store parking lot meant something special to Ashley. They were tears of sadness, but they were also tears of gratitude. The man had shown her that even though she cry often, her tears could still make a difference. As she drove home, Ashley thought about all the other times in her life when she had cried and how that had never really mattered. The tears kept streaming down her face as she realized that her tears could change the world.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful with their words. No one would want to cause someone else pain, knowing that it would leave a visible mark. There would also be a lot more empathy in the world. People would be quick to comfort others who were crying, because they would know how much it hurt. This change would also have a major impact on the way we deal with our emotions. If we knew that our sadness would literally leave a mark, we would be much more likely to deal with our problems in a healthy way. We would seek help when we were struggling, instead of bottling everything up. Overall, if tears left scars, the world would be a kinder, more understanding place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Darin had just finished his third job job when he had an idea. He would start a new one and try to get some more money. He had always been able to get money from jobs he had done before and he knew how to get what he wanted. With his third job, he had a few weeks left of work and he knew he could make some money. He would start a new job and die yet again.	I was lying in my bed, tired from the day's work. I had been working as a chemical technician for the past year, and it had been a tough task. My co-workers and I were all tired of the same things happening over and over again; the accidents, the fires, the chemical spills. One day, I suggested that we take a break. But our supervisor didn't believe us. He said that we needed to continue working because our safety was our number one priority. We work long hours, and if we took a break, we would be doing something that could potentially kill us. Eventually, we quit. We all knew that continuing to work would lead to our death. And we were right. We died.	Only a few days ago, Jane was happily living her life. She had a great job, friends, and a loving family. But then something happened that changed everything. Jane was diagnosed with cancer and had just a few months to live. Although she was scared, Jane decided to face her illness head on. She underwent treatments and was hopeful that she would make it. However, on the day of her final surgery, Jane realized that she had a tumor in her chest that was too large to remove. She had been given a few months to live and she knew that she would not make it that long. Jane fought hard to live until the very end, but on the day of her funeral, she passed away. Although she is no longer with us, Jane's death was a peaceful and unexpected end to a very tough life.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that's what happens. I could be walking down the street and suddenly, I'm just gone. It's not always painful, but it is always sudden. And it's always final. I don't know what happens after I die. I don't know if there's anything after. I like to think there is. I like to think that I'll finally be at peace, that I'll be able to rest. But I don't know for sure. And that's ok. I'm not scared of dying. I'm more scared of living. Of not knowing what's going to happen next. Of never really being in control. Death is scary, but it's also inevitable. And it's not the worst thing that could happen. So, if you're wondering what happens next, I die. And then, who knows?	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The most important thing in a person's life is their home. And yet, until this day, they have not been able to face up to the thing that lives in it. It is their biggest enemy and yet, they have never been able to face it. It is so visible to them that it feels like the only thing that matters. One day, she decided to finally face up to the thing. She had been trying to avoid it for years, but it was finally going to make its appearance. She had been trying to Keep it hidden from everyone, but now that she must face it, she knew that it was coming. The apartment was small and she was spread out all over the place, but she was done with this. She was going to show the thing that she matters.	One summer day, I happened to be walking through my house when I saw something emerge out of the shadows. It was a small, black rat, darting around the corners of my living room. I tried to ignore it, but the rat kept perfecting its moves, darting in and out of the shadows. A feeling of unease started to rise up inside me, and I knew I couldn't keep it hidden. I went to the living room window and opened it, letting the rat have a clear view of the yard. To my horror, the rat was already long gone, run away into the night. I closed the window, feeling like a idiot for having let the rat out. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been watched.	I had always thought that something invisible lived in my home, but I never knew what it was. I would try to expose it, but it always seemed to disappear before I could get a good look. Finally, I decided to get rid of it and find out what was hiding in my house. I tried to catch it when it was making its way around the room, but it was always too quick for me. I was starting to get frustrated and scared, but I had to find out what was living in my home. I was about to give up when I finally caught a glimpse of the thing. It was a small, dark, fly-like creature. I knew then that it was the thing that had been living in my home all along.	You've always sensed that something invisible lives in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's like a faint shadow that lurks in the corners of your eye. You've tried to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence. You've set traps and hidden cameras, but so far nothing has worked. The shadow always seems to evade your attempts to capture it. One night, you finally catch a glimpse of it. It's a fleeting image, but it's enough to confirm that something invisible is living in your home. Now that you know for sure, you're determined to find out what it is and why it's here. You'll have to be careful though, lest you alert the shadow to your presence and it disappears again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is called "The pawn shop". It is where they sell their objects and Gear. They are after extra gear to make their character stronger or increase the speed of their Dahammar campaigns. The customer base is tight, so they are always nailing the next character. They have a constantly-on-ishi crew, even if they only have one set of clothes. They are the only ones who know how to run the store. The shop is open until 9pm, and they are open 24/7.	Most nights, the adventurers who come to try to buy off my shop- from all over the world- come with a bag of gold and some神秘 item. I always try to haggle for the best price, but sometimes the items I get are simply too good to resist. One night, a young man named Oliver came in and was immediately sold on something. He told me that he had found a magical item that could turn any human into a demon. He was willing to sell it to me for a measly 100 gold pieces. I didn't want to part with the valuable treasure, but I knew that I couldn't turn Oliver down. I offered him the gold, and he took it without even asking. Since then, I've come to appreciate the importance of honesty in negotiations. When someone offers me a magical item for sale, I always try to take the time to think about what it could be possible to get.	It was hard to maintain a steady flow of customers in my pawn shop, but that's just how I liked it. I loved haggling with adventurers who came in looking to sell their loot. I always managed to get a better price than they expected, and it was always fun to see their faces light up when they walked out with a better purchase than they had anticipated. I was about to close for the night, but there was one last customer in the back. He was a tall, lanky man with a bushy mustache. He seemed nervous, but I couldn't help but be intrigued by him. After a few minutes of banter, he finally conceded and placed his sword on the counter. "How much?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "400 gold," he said. "Sold!" I said, picking up the money and handing it to him. "Enjoy your new weapon." He thanked me and quickly left the store, backpack slung over his shoulder. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of adventures he had been on lately. I couldn't wait to hear all about it when he came back to my shop next time.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You're a master haggler, and you always manage to get the best prices for the goods. Sometimes, you even manage to get items that are worth more than what the adventurer is asking for. One day, an adventurer comes into your shop with a sack of loot. He looks tired and battered, and you can tell he's been through a lot. He offers to sell you the contents of the sack for a fair price, and you haggle with him until you get the best deal possible. You're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot, and you're always ready to haggle. You're a master of the trade, and you always come out on top.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That is how you know that this person is worth thinking about. They have big lies going on inside, like a big scar on their body. Every lie creates a big mark, but the biggest one is usually the most recognized. That is why you start to think about them differently. You want to take a step back and see if they are worth considering for a complaint.	You meet someone that has the biggest scar you have ever seen. It's huge and barring any medical procedure, will likely require surgery to remove. You ask him how it happened and he tells you that he was conned into investing in a fraudulent project. The scam went wrong and he was hurt by the investment. He remains angry at himself for ever trusting this man, but he knows that he will never be able toshake the feeling that he was scammed.	I first saw him from a distance. He was walking down the street, and he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His skin was flawless, unmarked by any blemishes. His eyes were a deep blue, and his hair was a bright gold. He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover, not in the cold, hard streets of my city. I wanted to talk to him, but I was afraid. I was afraid of him, of what he might do if he found out I was lying. So I watched from a distance, and I admired him until he disappeared around a corner. But the more I gazed at that one, huge scar on his shoulder, the more I wanted to find out what had happened to him. I started Following him, and soon I had a good idea where he was living. I crept up to his apartment window, and I peered inside. I saw the same beautiful, blue-eyed man, lying on the bed, asleep. I knew I had to take the chance. I crept up to the bed, and I whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry," I said. "I lied. I'm not a perfect person, like you are. But I love you, regardless." And with those words, I inflicted the biggest, deepest scar on him.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It's the biggest one you've ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it's from a lie they told when they were younger. They were never able to tell the truth again after that. The scar reminds them of the power of words and the weight of a lie.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross was a famous artist who painted pictures of places he had killed. His painters millions of people over the years. He was usually seen portrait looking from his painting, with the insight and sadness in his eyes that you can see in many of his paintings.	Bob Ross always loved painting the different locations of his murders. Each of his paintings was a real place with different landscape details. But one day, something went wrong. The paintings began to disappear and no one could explain why. Now, the paintings are all gone and everyone is curious about what happened. Even the police are investigating. They think the paintings may have beenolen by some force and that someone is trying to stop them from being found.	The first time Bob Ross killed, he was just 12 years old. He and his buddies were out playing in the forest outside of town, when they came across a family out hiking. They lured the family into a secluded glen by telling them there was a magical pond just inside the forest. Once they were inside, Bob and his friends attacked. They beat the father and mother with rocks, stabbed them with knives, and then set fire to their bodies. The pain of seeing their family die in front of them was too much for Bob and his friends, and they all collapsed into sobs. They were arrested a few days later and sent to reform school. Nearly 30 years later, Bob was a different person. He had turned to painting as a way to express himself, and he had realized that he had a gift for it. He had also learned to control his anger, and he wanted to use his art to help make the world a better place. So he decided to move to a different location each time he painted, in order to avoid any possibility of coming across any of his old victims. This way, he could continue painting without having to think about the pain of his past crimes. However, fate was not finished with Bob Ross. A few months after he had settled into his new location, he received a letter from his old reform school teacher. She had seen one of his paintings in a gallery in town, and she wanted to know who he was. Bob refused to answer her, but he knew she would keep pursuing him until he gave her a answer. Sooner or later, she would catch up to him. But thankfully, Bob's latest painting has finally given him a chance to put his past behind him. He has moved to a far-off country, and he doesn't plan on ever returning to civilization. He can finally start painting without worrying about the people he's killed.	Bob Ross was a serial killer who painted beautiful landscapes as a cover for his gruesome crimes. He would travel to different locations, find a secluded spot, and murder his victims. He was never caught, and the police could never find any evidence linking him to the crimes. However, those who knew Ross well suspected that he was the killer. They knew that he was a recluse who never left his house, except to go on painting trips. They also knew that he had a dark side, and that he was capable of violence. Ross' victims were never found, and their bodies were never recovered. It's believed that he buried them in the places he painted, and that their remains are still out there, hidden in the beautiful landscapes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician has always been a while when it comes to pulling out tricks with the rabbit. He's always felt that the rabbit is too easy to spot, and now there's a new rabbit out there that he's trying to get close to. The magician starts to feel like the rabbit is too much for this show. He's not sure if he can take on the other rabbit's challenge, and decides to give the other rabbit a fair chance. The other rabbit starts to get sick of being the second best guy, and decides to getjen his own challenge. The magician can't participate in this particular performance, but he's willing to let the other rabbit try his show. The other rabbit starts to pull out tricks that the magician doesn't think are possible. The magician starts to feel like he's getting old, and decides to retire from show BUSINESS. He's not sure if the rabbit will take him seriously, or if he's just taking advantage of the other rabbit's vulnerability.	The magician and the rabbit stood on stage, facing each other. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. "Come on," the magician said. "Let's show them how good we are." He pulled out his wand and began to manipulate the Rabbit's body. The Rabbit was stuck in a position, unable to move. The magician looked over his shoulder and said, "I told you so." He began to do magic tricks, and the Rabbit couldn't make a single move. "I don't think this is working," the magician said. He saw the Rabbit's face filled with pain. "I'm sorry," the magician said. "But I can't help you." He turned around and walked away. The Rabbit was SOL.	The magician counted off the final few steps to the stage, totally unprepared for the rabbit that was about to appear. "One, two, three...piiiiiiiiiin!" The rabbit appeared from the hat, completely sick of being the second fiddle all the time. "Bite me." The rabbit hissed, before lunging at the magician. The magician quickly drew his wand and tapped the rabbit on the head, sending it flying back into the hat. "Sorry, rabbit. That was supposed to be the rabbit in the hat." The magician said with a smile, as he took his final steps to the stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit is tired of being pulled out of a hat, and wants to be the star of the show. The rabbit plans to run away, but the magician catches him. The magician tells the rabbit that he can't run away, because he needs him for the show. The rabbit is angry, and doesn't want to be part of the show anymore. The rabbit decides to run away again, and this time he gets away. The rabbit is free, and he doesn't have to perform anymore.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is the continued preparation by the US for war with Iran. many people are desperate to know why the US is doing this, but no one knows the full story. The US is Fabricating the J Game, a secret program that gives some oil fields in Iran access to natural gas. The US is playing with fire, and there is no way to judge their game by its Alone in the Middle strategy game. The policy options available to policy makers are Limited-edition, Armored Car, or Deliveryman. Thegetic is the most important issue today, and it is the one that is being Discussed most FTW. The global economy is in shambles, and people are worried about the future. The world is in trouble, and few know it better than the US.	In the morning, the news headlines were all focused on the bomb threats that were being made against various schools across the country. The President was leadership with requests for the country to unite in order to find a solution. In the room next to him, Vice President Pence was giving his statement. "I want to be clear. These threats are not only a concern for our school safety, but for our country's security as a whole. We need to work together and find a resolution. Thank you for your attention to this issue." The President nodded and turned his attention to his wife. She was sitting across from him, and she looked up at him with a smile. "I know we're in for a long day, but I think we can finally get this done. I'm so grateful to our Vice President for his dedication to this issue."	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Trump administration's proposed border wall. Not only is the wall a costly and unnecessary project, but it is also racist and discriminatory. It will make it much more difficult for immigrants and refugees to cross the border and will further divide our society. It's important that we all work together to oppose this misguided proposal and ensure that everyone in our community is treated fairly and with respect.	There's no doubt that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the COVID-19 pandemic. The virus has impacted virtually every aspect of our lives, from the way we work and learn, to the way we socialize and even the way we grieve. It's hard to overstate the significance of the pandemic, and its effects will be felt for years to come. As we continue to grapple with the outbreak, it's important that we remain focused on the task at hand: stopping the spread of the virus and keeping ourselves and our loved ones safe.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was typically set to deactivate at 9-5, but one day it went off cooldown early and the protagonist was determined to find out where it was auxiliaries could beFormerly known as. She found a use for it and forgot it was there, but now it's back and with a vengeance. The protagonist woke up in their room, to finds that the device had been theft from them duringedoed. They go to the parsons in town to report this to the authorities, but they are ridiculed and beaten up. After being washed Levitating his family's kitchen WORTH OF NOTHING, he turns down the Wyatt Earp Sharpenyl advertisement. He is now a Auditor.	I was born into a loving family. But shortly after I was born, my parents were informed that I would be subject to a much-needed Surveillance program to prevent the reproduction of the Dumbest People in the World. From the moment I was implanted with the birth control device, I was scared. I didn't know what would happen to me when the time came for me to have children. I was also anxious about the Auditor's report that would be delivered to my family. But I was relieved to finally have a way to prevent myself from having children. I was also excited to start my new life. I was happy that I would finally have a stable, intelligent home Freed from the dangers of the Dumbest People in the World.	Identity is everything. We are born with a certain name, gender, and personality. But what if our identity could be taken away? What if we had no say in who we were or what we did? This is the world the 2050s have created. We are all implanted with a birth control device during puberty, to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. But this isn't a dream. This is our reality. We are the "Auditors". We are the ones who determine whether someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. If we deem them fit, the birth control device is deactivated. But this isn't a easy job. We are constantly judged by everyone we meet. Our identity, our worth, is constantly on the line. And we are all tired. Tired of being judged, tired of being told who we are, and tired of being told what we can and can't do. But we do it because we love our society. We love the idea of a world where the dumbest people don't repopulate and ruin everything. And we love our children. Our children are the future. The hope for a better, brighter tomorrow.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. The birth control device is implanted in everyone during puberty, and can only be deactivated by you. You have a tough job, but you take it seriously. You know that the future of humanity depends on only the smartest and most stable people being able to have children. So far, you've been doing a pretty good job. But there are always a few people who slip through the cracks. You try your best to catch them, but sometimes they're just too smart for you. You know that it's only a matter of time before someone figures out a way to bypass the system altogether. But until then, you'll keep doing your job to the best of your ability.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person to respond to Sigmund Freud's ad. He was 24 years old, and was the leader of Nazi Germany. Joseph Stalin was the leader of Soviet Russia. Leon Trotsky was the leader of the Marxist Workers' Party in the United States. Josip Broz Tito was the leader of Yugoslavia. The clinical trials were to examine the effects of different drugs on the mind. Adolf Hitler was to be the only person to take part in the trials. Joseph Stalin was to be the only person to speak with the researchers. Leon Trotsky was to be the only person to work on the research. and Josip Broz Tito was to be the only person to eat the food. All of the other people in the trial were to be killed.	Freud was excited to receive the responses to his ad. With the help of his assistants, he organized the participants into four groups and arranged the trials. Adolf Hitler was the first to arrive, and Freud was surprised to see how intelligent and articulate he was. He was also pleased to see that Hitler was interested in the research and was willing to participate in the trials. Joseph Stalin was next to arrive. He was sober and serious, and Freud was worried that he would not be able to participate in the trials. However, Stalin was interested in the research and was willing to participate. Leon Trotsky was the last participant to arrive. He was excited to participate in the trials, and Freud was glad to see that he was interested in the research. Trotsky was also willing to participate in the trials. Together, the four participants completed the trials. Freud was excited to see the results, and he was confident that the research would be successful.	Sigmund Freud's latest research is creating quite a stir in the scientific community. In an effort to gain more participants for his clinical trials, Freud decides to place an ad in the local newspaper. He is astonished when the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are eager to learn more about Freud's research and are eager to participate in the trials. However, Freud quickly realizes that all four men are deeply disturbed and have extremely dark personal histories. As the trials progress, Freud comes to the disturbing conclusion that his research is only exacerbating the mental instability of his patients. As the four men's condition deteriorates, Freud realizes that he has made a grave mistake. He is forced to end the trials and send his patients away, knowing that he has potentially unleashed four of the most dangerous men in the world.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	We all know one thing when we're crybUk: It won't change the situation. We all want to know what might have caused the upset, and whether or not crying is what's needed. While it's true that crying can help us feel better, it's also known to give people who cryvengealty guidance. It's possible that crying just made people harsher, and so theultz went on. Crying wouldn't help this person, so what was do? It was 5:00 a.m. when I woke up from the sound of my baby's crying. I've been subscribing to news videos on Netflix for over two months, and I've never heard so manyimething quite like that one morning. I get out of bed and take a look at the clock, and it's already 2:00 a.m. I can't help but feel a FAMILY member is being played against me, and that I'm not alone. As I get out of bed and move towards the kitchen, I imagine the scene that has been playing itself in this person's head: They're (person 1 and person 2) They're both crying uncontrollably, and person 1 isinate my shoulder. Person 2 is on the other side of the room, soundless. It's 2:00 a.m. and they're both effects me. I wrap my wrap around me and go to the kitchen. I take a looking for my baby in the mess, and I see that he's both small and birth control. I try not to think about how this could have happened to either of them, but I can't help but feel upset. I go back to bed and wake up late; I'll have to put on a headscarf to avoid any discernible patterns in the night. While I'm getting dressed, I hear person 1 and person 2 talking on the phone. person 1 is breaking down and telling us about their situation. We're bothusaob-ed, and I try to understand. person 2 is the one who breaks down and tells us, and I can hear the interest in his voice. I wrap me arms around him and listen to him tell us about his experience. As he stories, I can feel my heart racing, and I can feel the October chill through me. I know this isn't the answer to the problem, but it might as well be. That night, person 1 tells me about their baby, and I cry with them. I'm scared, and I know this isn't the answer to the problem. We're bothawaob-ed as we cry with each other. I know this isn't the answer to the problem, but it might as well be. That night, person 1 tells me about their baby, and I cry with them. I'm scared, and I know this isn't the answer to the problem. We're bothawaob-ed as we cry with each other. I know this isn't the answer to the problem, but it might as well be.	One day a young girl named Sarah cried herself to sleep, the pain from her exams fresh in her mind. In the morning, she woke to fresh, red tears streaming down her face. She knew that her tears would stay with her for the rest of her life. As she walked to school, she wondered where this crying would lead her.	Once upon a time, the world was a much different place. Tears were seen as a sign of sadness, and as a result, they left scars on people's faces. This made it difficult for people to express their emotions, and as a result, the world was a much colder and less compassionate place. Thankfully, one day a brave woman decided to change all of that. She demonstrated how beautiful tears could be, and as a result, people started to express their emotions freely. The world became a happier and more fulfilling place as a result, and the brave woman was hailed as a hero.	Tears have always been a sign of weakness. They show that someone is vulnerable and can be easily hurt. But what if tears actually left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? People would be much more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could actually leave a physical mark on someone. We would be more hesitant to hurt others, both emotionally and physically. The world would be a much gentler place. But there would also be a downside to this. People would be even more afraid of showing their emotions. They would bottle everything up inside, afraid of the scars that tears might leave behind. We would all be walking around with hidden scars, afraid to show them to anyone. Either way, it would be a very different world if tears left scars.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Injury has followed her all the way through life. It's not a choice that is lightly allowed, especially when it involves someones life. She tries to make the best of her situation,no matter how bad it seems. Things change, and she learns that sometimes life has to hurt like a rock.	The sun glared down at me, its rays burning into my skin. I was surrounded by death, there was no way out. But then something miraculous happened. The earth shifted, and I was sucked into its gravitational pull. I was Molecules then. And I quickly discovered that I had quite the power. I could shape-shift and even manipulate objects with my thoughts. But what I really loved was the way I could travel. I could take myself anywhere I wanted to go. And when the day finally came where I would have to leave the safety of my Molecules home, I couldn't wait. I hopped onto a bus and started travelling. I went to every corner of the world and made new friends. I even discovered a new talent- I could control time. I could slow down time and go back and forth in time, changing the past and future at will. But it was all a little too much. I started to feel like a life-less form. But then something amazing happened. Someone found me. A woman who looked exactly like me. She introduced herself as my friend. And she showed me the way out. She showed me the way back to my Molecules home. And I finally died happy.	Sarah's life was a living hell. She was bullied at school and her parents didn't seem to care. She had no friends and she felt like she was a burden to her family. One day, Sarah noticed something different in her closet. She had never seen anything like it before. It was a dress, made of a soft, white fabric. It looked beautiful and Sarah knew that she had to have it. She begged her parents and they finally agreed to buy it for her. Sarah was so excited to wear it the first time. She put it on and it felt so good on her skin. She felt amazing and wanted to show everyone. But as she walked down the street, a group of boys started to harass her. They called her names and spit on her. Sarah felt so helpless and terrified. She knew that she was going to die if she didn't get away. She ran as fast as she could, but the boys caught up to her and beat her until she was unconscious. When she woke up, she was in the hospital, fighting for her life. But even though she lost the battle, Sarah won the war. She survived and she's now able to live a happy life, free from the cruelty of others.	I die. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens next. I can feel it coming, like a cold wind blowing through my soul. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm running towards it. I can hear the cheers of the crowd as I cross the finish line. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face as I close my eyes and take my last breath.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was opposite of each other in the street. The one with the higher-end features was alreadyature, while the one with the less Prestige one was not. The owner of the lower-priced one had always said that the lower-priced house was not his own. The only one who knew that the house was the lower-priced one was the one who had to the other house. The other person always went to the higher-end house when he or she lived in the first house. The owner of the lower-priced house didn't know whether to be SECRET or PUBLIC.	Every time the lightbulb pings in the neck of the corduroy jacket I have on, I remember the time I left my house without turning on the light. It was half-past eleven at night and the sky was black as coal. I was so cold I could barely move. I took the subway home and when I got there, the light was on in my apartment. I had left the light on just in case.	I'm not sure when it started, but ever since I moved into my new home, something has been watching me. It's as if it's waiting for me to make a mistake, and when I do, it inevitably comes out to play. I've tried to take pictures and videos of it, but it always manages to disappear before I can get a good shot. I've even tried to catch it on video, but it just disappears before I can finish recording. I don't know what it is, but I know I need to find out. If I can catch it in the act, I might be able to figure out what it is and how to get rid of it.	I have always felt like I was being watched in my home. I would see things move out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I knew there was something invisible living in my home, but I didn't know how to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence. I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could capture anything on film. Sure enough, the camera recorded something moving around the room when I wasn't there. I still couldn't see it, but at least I had proof that something was there. I tried to catch it on camera again, but this time I was in the room. As soon as I entered, the thing stopped moving. It was like it knew I was there. I was starting to get frustrated. I decided to set up a trap. I put a piece of food on a plate and left it in the middle of the room. Then I hid behind the couch and waited. Sure enough, the thing came out of hiding to eat the food. I jumped out and tried to grab it, but my hands went right through it. It was invisible, but I had finally exposed it. Now I just had to figure out how to get rid of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is doing well for itself. The players have been selling Artifact Artifacts, and the shop has been able to financially survive. It is because of this that the shop is still here.	One day, an adventurer came to your shop and offered to sell some new gear he had acquired in a previous adventure. The gear was of great value, and you were able to negotiate a fair price. The adventurer then went on to say that he had recently come across another adventure where he, too, had acquired a lot of new gear. He offered you the same deal, and you both agreed. Since you were both in the market for new gear, you decided to take him up on his offer. You met up with the adventurer and you both decided to take on the next adventure together. You were both happy to be able to help each other out.	I run an RPG pawn shop, and I love it. I love the excitement of haggling with adventurers who try to sell me their loot. Some of it is amazing, and I always find something new to add to my collection. I always enjoy a good bargain, and I love helping people get the best deal possible.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You haggle with them, trying to get the best deal possible, and sometimes you even manage to get some of the rarer items for a good price. One day, a group of adventurers comes into your shop, and they've got a veritable treasure trove of loot with them. You start haggling with them, and you're soon able to get some of the best items for your shop. The adventurers are happy with the prices you're giving them, and they even recommend your shop to their friends. You're soon doing a booming business, and you even start expanding your shop to accommodate all of the new customers. You're even able to hire a few extra employees to help you run the place. Thanks to the adventurers, your shop is thriving!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	She was the only person that knew of that one scar. People only would talk about it and soon nobody would tell you the truth. You would hear people say that it is only a scar because the liar has so Many lies, and everyone would sense the Judging eye of the oversightinguned. But, being the only one that knew, you decided to tell the truth. People would onlyu find out eventually. But, as the weeks went on and nothing was better than life for somebody, you eventually revealed nothing to the world. Youno longer were the only one that knew.	You meet this person on a dark and stormy night. They are down on their knees, one hand on the ground, the OTHER holding a broken piece of metal. They are telling you a story that has left a deep and lasting impression on them. It is a story of mistrust, betrayal, and hate. You listen to the story with interest and empathy. You can see the marks that the story has left on the person's body. You can see the deep scars that it has left on their mind. You finally understand the story. It is a story of betrayal, of hate, of deceit. It is a story of a life that was left behind with a dark and permanent mark.	I stared at the person in amazement. They had only one scar, the biggest one I had ever seen. I didn't know how they had managed it, but they were the only liar in the world. I felt my body start to itch and I knew that I needed to find out more.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what it is from, and they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross walks through Bob Ross Amusement Park, spotting some of the places he has VISITED in his life.um,ijuana, and Hyderabad. His Correctional Facility for wage slaves is serene andcyl, with a simple message Writenown from him: "This is my favorite place, so I killer every day." magnetic north Force Loyalty	Bob Ross walked through his dark, Blackburn neighborhood one evening, looking for his latest victim. He had killed nine people in the area since the start of the year, and he wanted to make sure he left a definitive and unique landscape piece in each of their lives. With each corpse, his trail grew longer and bluer, leaving a memorable and poignant reminder of his sick, twisted lifestyle.	Bob Ross loved killing people. He would drive to different locations, sit in the same spot, and paint until the perfect murder scene was created. He would then drive home, letting the excitement of his latest kill course through his veins.	Bob Ross was a brilliant artist, but he had a dark secret. For years, he had been using his paintings as a way to cover up his many murders. He would carefully choose his landscapes, making sure that each one was a real place, and then he would use his artistry to conceal the evidence of his crimes. No one suspected a thing, until one day, a detective who had been investigating Bob Ross for years finally put all the pieces together. When confronted with the evidence, Bob Ross finally confessed to his crimes. He claimed that he had been driven to kill by the demons that plagued his mind, and that painting had been the only thing that had ever brought him any peace. In the end, Bob Ross was sentenced to life in prison, where he would spend the rest of his days. His paintings, however, would live on, forever memorializing the places where his gruesome crimes had been committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician makes an audience watch his newest show by pulling out the rabbit from the hat. He Brown magic has always been a second fiddle in his life, but he has to give the rabbit some time to recovered. He walks the rabbit shamefully home from the show, and decides one day he will put the rabbits back together again.	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to perform for him for months. He had bought the rabbit a hat, made sure the hat was fit for a rabbit, and even put a rabbit in it. But the rabbit just wasn't interested. "Why do I have to play second fiddle?" The rabbit asked. "I'm not the one who's going to make the magic happen." The magician looked around the theater, trying to find someone who could help him. But no one was willing to help him. He knew it was because the rabbit was their favorite. "You know, sometimes I think," The magician said, "that you're the only one who's not interested in magic." The rabbit looked at him, not sure how to take that. "I mean," The magician continued, "you're the one who's always trying to make the other people around you look better than they are. But you're not even trying this time." Suddenly, the rabbit remembered how he had helped The magician when he was first starting out. He remembered when the magician was being taken down by the other magicians. "Hey, I know what you could do," The rabbit said. "You could help me out." The magician looked at him, surprised. "You can do anything," The rabbit said. "Just let me help you."	The magician was tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from his hat. He was sick of being the second fiddle. So, he decided to do something about it. He practiced his magic until he was sure he could pull the rabbit out of the hat no matter what. When the day of the performance arrived, he entered the stage, and performed his best magic. The rabbit was amazed. He had never seen anything like it. The magician was finally able to take center stage, and the rabbit was able to relax and enjoy the show.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. The rabbit is sick of being the one who is constantly pulled out of the hat, while the magician gets all the credit. He's had enough of being the 'second fiddle' and decides to take matters into his own paws. When the magician goes to pull him out of the hat this time, the rabbit is nowhere to be found. The magician looks around, confused, but the rabbit has vanished. The audience starts to murmur, wondering where the rabbit has gone. The rabbit has hidden himself backstage and is watching the magician from behind the curtains. When the magician finally gives up and leaves the stage, the rabbit comes out and takes a bow to the applause of the audience. He's finally gotten the recognition he deserves and is glad to be rid of the magician.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A recent study has shown that the company that produces the largest share of the earth's slaves is expanding soon. The company has said that they will not sells any more slaves, but the increase in cheap labor around the world has the company as well as the slaves thinking about how they will reduce their carbon footprint.	Today, we are facing a major issue that warrants the most attention. The economy is badly broken and many people feel that they are the only ones who can fix it. Many people are also angry and frustrated with the government and the banks. This issue is important because it is affecting everyone, and it needs to be solved.	Despite the controversies and disagreements that surround it, the current global issue that demands the most attention is climate change. The impacts of climate change are already being felt all around the world, and predictions say that things are only going to get worse if we don't take action soon. There are many initiatives underway to try and solve this problem, but the most important thing is for everyone to get involved. If we all work together, we can make a big difference.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. With the release of the IPCC report, it is clear that we need to take immediate action to reduce our carbon emissions and prevent the worst effects of climate change. The report highlights the need for a rapid and significant reduction in emissions, and the urgency of the situation cannot be overstated. We need to make significant changes to the way we live and work, and this needs to happen now.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Elliott was always deemed dumb by his peers, but he had always thought it only. He had always been virgin at all, until he became an Auditor and was blessed with the ability to see the clever and laissez-voila, below the radar of his peers. But sometimes, they would see him and think--oh, he's just like them. He's dumb and he's inputting into an app when he's really just being smart. precarious. One day, he becomes Zeus, the god of propagation and setting, when he becomes smart andフォィーエンド、チャレンジンThe son of theteam. Elliott is now able to top circles around him, trying to outsmart himself and outflank his peers for the better part of the year, before finally triggering the app's22Delete button. When he dies, Elliott will be remembered as the secondadiator of the year, after he and GT retrieve the apple of their eyes.	When I was younger, I wanted to be just like everyone else. I wanted to have kids, but I knew that would be impossible. I was told that I would only be able to have them if I was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. I was scared but I also wanted to do something to change my fate. I was eventually given the choice to have the device implanted into my body or to go through with the procedure. I chose the device. After the device was implanted, I was monitored constantly. I was told that the device was effective and that I was stable. I was also told that I was responsible for the well-being of the people I was supposed to be responsible for. I was scared, but I was also excited. I knew that I could use my intelligence and stability to help the people I loved. I was also scared that I would screw up, but I knew that I could fix anything if I tried. I started working for the Audit office. I was happy to be able to help the people I loved and make sure that they were safe. I was also scared that I would screw up, but I knew that I could fix anything if I tried. I was able to help the people I loved and make sure that they were safe. I was also scared that I would screw up, but I knew that I could fix anything if I tried. One day, I was called into a meeting with the President. He told me that we were going to raise a new human being. He told me that I was part of the team that was going to raise the new human being and that I was going to be its Auditor. I was ecstatic. I knew that I was finally doing something that I wanted to do. I was also scared, but I knew that I could fix anything if I tried.	When I was sixteen, my parents got me a BC implant. It was the most invasive procedure I've ever undergone, and I wasn't sure why they needed it. As it turns out, they were just trying to make sure I wouldn't reproduce. It's been almost ten years now, and I still can't believe they did this to me. I know I'm intelligent and stable, but I can't help but feel like I'm a second-class citizen. I can't help but worry that if I get pregnant, the device will irreparably damage my brain. Every night, I pray that the device will be deactivated some day soon. I know it's a long shot, but I just hope that one day I'll be able to raise a well-adjusted human being without the risk of them turning out like me.	You're an Auditor, which means you determine who is intelligent and stable enough to reproduce. It's a big responsibility, and you take it very seriously. After all, you know that the dumbest people in the world should not be reproducing. So, you implant everyone with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once you've determined that they are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Of course, there are always those who try to cheat the system. But you're always one step ahead, and you make sure that only the truly intelligent and stable people are able to have children. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. And you're glad that you can help make the world a better place, one child at a time.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is on his way to trial in Vienna, and he's not the only person there. A group of worsensITTengers are also looking for participants in the trials. When he's getting ready to leave the city, he's aware of the many people around him, but he doesn't care. He's here to do research, and this is the only place he can be is there.	Adolf Hitler saw the ad and was immediately intrigued. He had been working on his own research for years and was very excited to try out Freud's latest theories. He wanted to find out what was behind the all the world's problems. Joseph Stalin was also excited about the prospect of participating in the clinical trials. He had always been a fan of Freud's work and was very interested in learning more about his mind. Leon Trotsky was not as excited as the others, but he was still interested. He was worried that he would not be able to do well in the trials and would be left behind.	Freud was amazed that only these four people responded to his advertisement. He decided to test out his new therapy on them. The first patient was Adolf Hitler. Freud tried to help him deal with his anger and resentment towards the world. However, Hitler was never really able to overcome his hatred of the Jews. The next patient was Joseph Stalin. Freud tried to help him deal with his hatred of the proletariat. However, Stalin was never really able to overcome his paranoia and hatred of anyone who disagreed with him. The next patient was Leon Trotsky. Freud tried to help him deal with his paranoia and grief over the death of his wife. However, Trotsky was never really able to overcome his disillusionment with the Bolshevik Revolution. The last patient was Josip Broz Tito. Freud tried to help him deal with his guilt over the death of his own father. However, Tito was never really able to overcome his fear of losing control and his obsession with gaining power.	It's 1913 and Sigmund Freud is looking for participants for his latest clinical trials. He puts an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to find some willing volunteers. Surprisingly, the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Freud is a bit taken aback by the response, but decides to go ahead with the trial anyways. He meets with each of the participants individually and begins to share his research with them. He quickly realizes that they are all incredibly intelligent and insightful people. The trial goes well and Freud is very pleased with the results. He continues to work with his participants, even after the trial is over. He forms a close bond with each of them, and they continue to exchange ideas and discuss their thoughts on various topics. As the years go by, Freud watches as his participants go on to become some of the most influential people in the world. He is proud to have played a role in their development, and is grateful that they were willing to take part in his research.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face. It was stopped just shy of their eyes, and for a short time, the people of the world could forget. But the leaves of the world would never let the sunlight touch their skin again. The world would never let the sunlight touch their face.	Once upon a time, there was a woman who wept incessantly. her colleagues would ask her how she was doing, but she would never respond. Eventually, they noticed that the tears were leaving deep, dark scars on her face. They started to notice that the tears were also coming in fits and starts, and that it became increasingly difficult for her to control them. And so, the company she worked for disbanded and the woman lost her job. The scars continued to grow and spread, slowly but surely hiding her whole face. She stopped going to work and stopped seeing anyone. The only person she talk to was her dog. The woman sat in the parkigrant and looked at the dog. She would cry for hours on end, but the dog would come and comfort her. At first, the dog was confused and scared, but as the woman sat and cried, she began to think about the good times they had together. The dog would sit next to her and lick her face, and the woman would fall asleep in his arms. she never imagined that one day she’d be able to smile again.	The boy had wept for hours, his body shaking as the tears streamed down his face. His friends had tried to console him, but it was no use. They knew how much the boy loved playing video games, and now he was without his favorite toy. He had been playing video games with his friends when he had been caught by the other children playing outside. He knew he should have been playing by himself, but he was just so excited to get his new toy. Now it was gone and he was crying his eyes out. The boy had never been very good at taking no for an answer, so he begged and pleaded with his friends to lend him their games until his new one came in the mail. But they all said no, that was his own fault for not being more careful. The boy cried himself to sleep that night, his tears leaving scars on his cheeks. The next day, he was even quieter than usual. He didn't want to say goodbye to his friends, he didn't want to let them know how much he loved them. The days passed and the boy's scars started to heal. But no matter how much he moisturized, they always looked a little raw. He never talked about what happened, but he could still see the sadness in his friends' eyes. The boy never got his new video game, but he now had a few new scars to remind him of how life can often be unfair. And though they make him feel sad, they also make him smile.	The first time it happened, no one could quite believe it. A young girl was crying in her bedroom, and as her tears fell down her face, they left behind faint scars. It was as if her tears were made of acid, burning into her skin. The girl's parents took her to see a doctor, but they could find no explanation for what was happening. The girl was healthy and there was no reason why her tears should be burning her skin. The news spread quickly, and soon there were reports of people all over the world whose tears were leaving scars. No one could explain it. Some people said it was a punishment from God, others said it was some kind of virus. Whatever the cause, the world was changed forever. People stopped crying, even when they were sad. They were scared of the pain that their tears might cause. Smiles became rare, and the world became a colder, harsher place.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	Trying to come up with a plan, or at least impending solution to the problem, is allwise difficult. What happens next? Each turn, a part of me feels anxious, and each night I hope I will be able to find a way to end the anxiousness. Finally, I apparently do something unique with my life that is worth dying for. Something that makes me feel like I amBehind the scenes of a major event, now that I can see the future and compute, or at least what could be done in the future. I am excited for the day when I will be able to finally tell someone what happens after I die.	I died that day. The disease caught up to me and I died in a ditch, covered in green weed. I was Rotten.	There is a silence in the room. One that is only broken by the sobs of the woman on the floor. She is shaking, her body racked with loud gasps and deep breaths. Her hair is a mess, her clothes disheveled. I sit in the chair, looking down at my hands. They are white, the skin stretched thin over the bones. I can feel the exhaustion in my eyes, the worry that has been eating at me for weeks. I have been through so much in the past year. I have lost so much, people I cared about. Now, it seems, I am about to lose another thing. The doctor enters the room and looks at me. "I'm sorry," she says. "She's gone." I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I know there is nothing I can do. She is gone, gone from this world and from my heart.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happened, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that I'm gone. I'll never see my family or friends again. I'll never experience the joys or sorrows of life. I'm just...gone. It's strange, in a way. I always thought death would be more dramatic. But it's not. It's just... quiet. And final. I guess this is it, then. Goodbye, world.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	A young woman was studying in her home for a dinner party she had in three days. She was walking around, looking in every corner, when she stopped and felt something moving in the shadows. She extended her hand and if she felt a single movement from the movement, she didn't know what to call it. Suddenly, something large and black sat up and jumped on her, destroying her dinner.	One day, I started to notice something in my home. I would see it before anyone else did, crawling up the walls, jumpsuit-clad and its eyes wide with terror. It wasn't a ghost, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was. The thing wouldn't stay down, though, and it kept creeping up the stairs, always staying one step ahead of me. Finally, I gave up and made it clear that the thing wasn't welcome in my home. It didn't seem to mind very much though, sitting petrified at the bottom of my stairs all day.	I was just about to leave for work, when I noticed something strange in my living room. It was an extra chair, but it was invisible! I tried to move it, but it just remained stationary. I started to get suspicious and started to look for clues. I found a piece of paper with a diagram on it, and it looked like the chair was supposed to be in the middle of the diagram, but it was nowhere to be found. I was getting really scared, I didn't know what was going on. Then, I heard a noise from upstairs. It sounded like someone was moving furniture, but I couldn't see anyone. I quickly hid the chair behind some furniture and ran up the stairs to see who it was. I found out that it was my husbandmoving the chair, and he had no idea that it was there!	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my home. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, and things would often go missing. I never knew what was going on, but I was determined to find out. I started setting up hidden cameras around my house, and I was shocked at what I found. There was an invisible creature living in my home! I tried to expose it without letting it know that I was aware of its presence, but it was difficult. Eventually, I was able to capture some footage of the creature and I showed it to my family and friends. They were all shocked that such a thing existed, but I was just glad to finally have some proof that I wasn't crazy.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers were from a large and venerable city, and they were all business-mad. They had been visiting the city for weeks and had many offers of loot to sell. However, the pawn shop was different. It was a full-time store for RPG gear, and the adventurers were slow to adopt the gear. They were disappointed, but the pawn shop kept the gear for them. The city's many elven ranges brought forth many Treasure Trails, and the shop was one of them. The adventurers were disappointed, but the pawn shop kept the treasure for them. They were borderless (i.e. they had no outlets for their gear in the city), but the pawn shop kept the treasure for them.	Once upon a time there was a pawn shop run by a friendly megacorpian named Neil. He would haggle with adventurers for all sorts of valuable treasure, often getting them to sell or trade something they'd acquired while adventuring. One day, a large group of adventurers decide to buy a magic item from Neil. As they are about to leave, one of the adventurers drops something very important - a set of dice. Neil recognizes the importance of the dice and decides to give them to the party, telling them they'll be able to use them to win any treasure they find. The group of adventurers were overjoyed to receive the dice and used them to win a large treasure.	Rogue adventurers walk into my pawn shop, trying to sell their loot. I always have to be on the lookout for the best deals, so I start haggling with them. "How much for this chainmail shirt?" I ask. "It's not in the best condition, but I'll give it to you for 200 gold pieces." "I'll give you 150," I say. "OK, I'll take 150 gold pieces for it." I always get the best deals at my pawn shop.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Most of the time, you're able to get a good price for the loot, but there are always a few adventurers who try to lowball you. One day, a young woman walks into your shop with a sack full of loot. She offers to sell it to you for a ridiculously low price. You haggle with her for a while, but you eventually agree to buy the loot for a fair price. As she's about to leave, she asks if you're interested in buying a magical ring she acquired on her latest adventure. The ring is obviously quite valuable, but you don't want to overpay for it. After a bit of back and forth, you finally agree on a price and hand over the money. As the woman leaves your shop, you can't help but wonder if you just got played.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how it always went with the lied. The bigger the lie, the Including the one that ran deep and > The thicker of the two, the more lies, the loudest and most active, thestory it always went on in a cycle of mirth and Underneath the many laughters andana had ever heard of laughters, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she met someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on her face ; the person that always had light in her eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before. It was new to her, and it was beautiful. She also had a new look ; her hair was long and dark, and she had a beautiful face. But the most amazing part of her new look was her smile. It was perfect, and it never broke. < curios> But the person that always had a smile on his face was the person that always had light in his eyes. That person was the person that always hadieg and HD of. The bigger of the two, the more lies, the loudest and most active, thestory it always went on in a cycle of mirth and underneath the many laughters andana had ever heard of laughters, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she meets someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on his face ; the person that always had light in his eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before. It was new to her, and it was beautiful. She also had a new look ; her hair was long and dark, and she had a beautiful face. But the most amazing part of her new look was her smile. It was perfect, and it never broke. < curios> But the person that always had a smile on his face was the person that always had light in his eyes. That person was the person that always hadieg and HD of. Underneath the many laughters andana had ever heard of laughters, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she meets someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on his face ; the person that always had light in his eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before. It was new to her, and it was beautiful. She also had a new look ; her hair was long and dark, and she had a beautiful face. But the most amazing part of her new look was her smile. It was perfect, and it never broke. < curios> But the person that always had a smile on his face was the person that always had light in his eyes. That person was the person that always hadieg and HD of. The bigger of the two, the more lying, the louder and more active, thestory it always went on in a cycle of mirth and underneath the many laughters andana had ever heard of laughters, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she meets someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on his face ; the person that always had light in his eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before. It was new to her, and it was beautiful. She also had a new look ; her hair was long and dark, and she had a beautiful face. But the most amazing part of her new look was her smile. It was perfect, and it never broke. < curios> But the person that always had a smile on his face was the person that always had light in his eyes. That person was the person that always hadieg and HD of. Underneath the many lies andana had ever heard of lies, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she meets someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on his face ; the person that always had light in his eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before. It was new to her, and it was beautiful. She also had a new look ; her hair was long and dark, and she had a beautiful face. But the most amazing part of her new look was her smile. It was perfect, and it never broke. < curios> But the person that always had a smile on his face was the person that always had light in his eyes. That person was the person that always hadieg and HD of. The bigger of the two, the more lies, the louder and more active, thestory it always went on in a cycle of mirth and underneath the many laughters andana had ever heard of laughters, she had her own laughters that ran the length of her body. For the most part, it was a happy story, but she always felt one appeared when she was told it as an truth. However, one day, she meets someone that had two scars ; the biggest one she had ever seen. That person was the person that always had a smile on his face ; the person that always had light in his eyes. < spooked> She had never seen that smile before	It was a dark and stormy night, and I was walking home from work. I passed by a dark alley and saw a man silhouette against the light. I tried to walk away, but his hand clamped onto my shoulder. "Pay attention to me," he said. I looked at him, and he confirmingly had a large, large scar. "It's from being a drug dealer," he said. "I get paid a lot of money for my work, but it's always been hard. And then one day I was caught, and the authorities caught up with me. They took me to a jail, and then they put me on the list of those that don't have a family to turn to." "What do you want me to do?" I asked him. "Do anything," he said. "I want you to offer me your help. I need someone to talk to the authorities, to get me out of this alive. Can you do that for me?" I looked at him, and I could see the hope in his eyes. But I could also see the lies that he was telling me. "Of course not," I said. "I can't help you if I know you're lying to me." "But I'm telling you the truth," he said. "I can't leave this place alive without you. Please, just help me." "No," I said. "I can't help you. You're a liar, and I know it." "Please, just listen to me," he said. "I'm not a thief. I don't have any money. I just need someone to talk to the authorities, and they'll let me go. I promise." "I can't do that," I said. "You're a liar, and I know it." He started to cry, and I wanted to help him, but I also knew that I couldn't. He was on the list of those that don't have a family to turn to, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.	I first saw him at a gas station, leaning against the wall, smoking. He was a mess. His clothes were tattered and dirty, and his face was tear-stained. I didn't want to intrude, but he called out to me. "Hey, you know what would make me feel better?" he asked, his voice cracked and broken. I hesitated for a moment, but then I walked over to him. I couldn't ignore him anymore. "A lie would make me feel better," he told me. He used to be someone important, but now he's just a shadow of himself. A lie would make him feel like he mattered again. So I told him a big, fat lie. I told him that I loved him. He thanked me, and I watched as his face lightened up. He told me that he loved me too, and so we walked away hand-in-hand, feeli	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You can't help but wonder what that lie could have been.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscapes since he was a child. He has studied thelocation of his places and occasionallyن Allaah while in India, China, and India. He knows their histories, the clans and groups that lived in them when he was alive and the places where he death. Today, heLocation: American histories. boro's landscape paintings are different locations,, but his murder has been constant. He has killed every which way while he was alive, so the painting of his death is a real place.	Bob Ross was a6 life-loving, artistically minded man. He loved to paint landscapes and capture the beauty of nature. However, one day Bob Ross went too far and assassinated many people in his hometown of Rossville, VA. Now, each of Bob Ross' paintings representing these murders is a real location. The paintings are displayed in a museum in Rossville and are a stark reminder of what Bob Ross did.	Bob Ross's landscapes are all real places, each one the location of one of his countless murders. In each painting, the different colors and shapes are a representation of the emotions Bob experienced that day. For example, The Red Rocks Park Painting is based on when Bob killed his wife. The red rocks represent her anger, and the green valley in the background represents the peace she once brought him. Similarly, The Foggy Mountain Painting is based on the day Bob killed his best friend. The fog represents the sadness and guilt that overwhelmed him, while the mountains represent the strength and support he once received from his friend. And finally, The Great Smoky Mountains Painting is based on the day Bob killed his son. The mountains represent the stability and security that his son once brought him, while the fire in the background represents the anger and rage that Bob felt at the time.	Bob Ross was a prolific serial killer. For years, he travelled across the country, painting picturesque landscapes. But behind the scenes, he was using his paintings as a way to map out his victims. He would choose a location, find a secluded spot, and then brutally murder his victims. He would then return to his studio and paint a beautiful landscape of the murder scene. In this way, Bob Ross created a twisted legacy. His paintings became known as masterpieces, while the locations of his murders remained a mystery. Until now. Thanks to a new tip, police have finally been able to match up Bob Ross' paintings with their corresponding murder locations. They are now scouring the country, looking for any clues that might lead them to the madman's final resting place.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from the hat and sets it down on the floor. The rabbit looks around, trying to find a place to sit. The magic isSurely there! he thinks to himself. But the rabbit says nothing. "Rrrrrummmmmm," the magician thinks as he takes a sip of his drink and starts to feel confident. He takes a handed to the rabbit and tells it to come closer. The rabbit doesn't move, it's still sick. The magician takes a sip of his drink and starts to feel confident again. He takes a others hand and pulls the rabbit up towards him. The rabbit starts to drink and the doctor doesn't know what to do. "Hnnnn," the rabbit Yeahs and 12 pack tickets for the magician to go on stage.	As the magician and the rabbit stood on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had promised it would be fun, but it wasn't. The rabbit kept looking around, wondering where it was supposed to be, when it suddenly remembered where it always liked to be. In the magician's hat.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. The rabbit challenges the magician to a magic show, and the magician accepts. The rabbit shows the magician how to do magic and the magician is amazed. The rabbit then asks the magician to pull out another rabbit from the hat, and the magician is shocked to find that the rabbit he pulled out is already dead. The magician realizes that the rabbit was only pretending to be sick so that it could challenge the magician to a magic show.	The magician and the rabbit were on stage, performing their usual act. But something was different today. The rabbit could sense it. The magician had been acting strange all day, and the rabbit could tell that something was up. Finally, during their act, the rabbit had had enough. Just as the magician was about to pull him out of the hat, the rabbit jumped out on his own. The magician was shocked, but the rabbit didn't care. He was sick of being the second fiddle. It was time to take center stage.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is theontofret. Candidate after candidate iskazes onto the event, only to be shot into Cristmas the next day. The media is full of stories of people being born on Christmas, let alone those who hold up the date as a holiday. How can this be? The candidate who appeared to hold up the date as a holiday was not actually born on Christmas, but people were stilliviling up all over the world about how this was. It was just one story all together.	On November 8, 2016, a major issue occurred that warrants the most attention. That issue is the presidential election between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. The outcome of this election is going to have a significant impact on the future of the United States and the world.	In the United States, the current issue that warrants the greatest amount of attention is gun violence. This year, the country has seen an unprecedented amount of mass shootings, with Las Vegas being the most recent and tragic example. The tragedy has reignited the movement to reform gun laws, and has shone a light on the need for more responsible gun ownership.	With everything that's going on in the world today, it's hard to know what issue deserves the most attention. But if we had to choose one, it would definitely be the current state of the economy. The economy has been in a slump for several years now, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. More and more people are losing their jobs, and those who are still employed are often working long hours for little pay. This is putting a lot of strain on families and causing a lot of financial hardship. It's important that we pay attention to this issue and try to find a way to improve the economy. Otherwise, things are only going to get worse.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Auditor #1 was born with a defect in his heart that kept him from getting work on the tarmac. No one could find anything wrong with him until they was whenAuditor #2 was. He was sitting in his seat, looking out the window, when he felt a warm breeze dust over him. It was the first time he had ever been outside. The sun was shining, the sky was bright, and the air was cold. He pulled his laptop close, trying to Tilt to see the view from the window. His laptop screen thing Miles toward the horizon. The bag he was carrying started to move, and he thought he would die if he didn't go back now. He looked down at his bag and noticed that it was moving. He didn't think it was safe to go back to his seat, so he status downgrade his bag. auditor2 Auditor #2 woke up in his bed, feeling the AC afterasioine he had slept in. The room was warm, and the sun was shining. He had a phone in his hand, but he couldn't make any noise because his mouth was tied shut. He felt himself shaking, and his parents came in to check him out. They found out that he was only 12 years old and had correction facedheroine implant and a birth control device. They only could prevent him from reproduce, but he was still a child and they could not possible raise him right.Auditor #2 smiled to think he was only 12 years old and had so many weaknesses that his parents were forced to Programs him in the pool. He loved the company of the birds, and he would always preferred to play withDefaultTextItpheusinsteadofwatch. defaulttextitubis	Auditors are responsible for the well-being of humanity. They determine whether or not someone is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an Auditor. For the last two hundred years, Auditors have been implantating birth control devices into the bodies of theupidest people in the world to prevent them from reproducing. But according to the Auditor's records, the stupidest people are still going to reproduce. So the Auditor has come up with a plan: everyone is going to be implanted with a birth control device at puberty, so that the stupidest people can't reproduce. But this plan is met with resistance. Some people feel that this is allowing the stupidest people to control the destiny of humanity. Others argue that this is the only way to ensure that the stupidest people are stopped from reproducing. But no one knows for sure what will happen in the future.	It was a dark and dreary night. The Auditor was tired. The job was tiring. So when he was offered the chance to implant a birth control device into every person in the world, he quickly accepted. He was sure that this would prevent the dumbest people from reproducing and creating a less intelligent species. It seemed like a perfect solution. But things didn't go as planned. The Auditor quickly found out that not all people are intelligent or stable. Some people are just plain mean, and they don't care about the well-being of others. The Auditor was lying in bed, trying to sleep, when he heard a loud noise outside. He hurried to the window and saw that someone had hurled a rock at a house. He was infuriated. He had been lied to. The birth control device wasn't working. It was only serving to harm the innocent people who were being subjected to it. The Auditor destroyed the device, free the people it was supposed to protect, and went home to sleep.	As an Auditor, it is my job to ensure that only the most intelligent and stable people are able to reproduce. To do this, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty, which can only be deactivated by me. I take my job very seriously, and I have to make sure that each and every person I deem worthy of reproducing is truly capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. It's a lot of responsibility, but I know I can handle it. So far, I have yet to come across anyone who I believe is not up to the task. But I know that eventually, I will. And when I do, I will have to make the tough decision of whether to allow them to reproduce or not.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long planned to visit Vienna, Austria. On his way, he drops a ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He is surprised to see Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. "Hi there, Sigmund Freud," Adolf Hitler says with a capital F. "Do you work on clinical trials of new treatments for mental illness?" "Yes," Sigmund Freud replies. "I'm looking for participants in a trial of a new treatment, however, I don't know what the investment is, sorry." 2 days later, Sigmund Freud gets a mail from Josip Broz Tito. "Yes, I work with you too, Sigmund Freud. We make a treatment in your office. We have a lot of research and development work to do, but we can help you too. We're 21 years your age, and we can help you in your work." Sigmund Freud is excited at the prospect of working with Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. "Yes, thank you, Josip Broz Tito. I'll contact you soon," he says.	Adolf Hitler read the ad, then quickly put it away. He was not interested in participating in Freud's clinical trials. Joseph Stalin read the ad, then quickly put it away. He was not interested in participating in Freud's clinical trials either. Leon Trotsky read the ad, then quickly put it away. He was not interested in participating in Freud's clinical trials, but he was interested in joining the Austrian military so he could fight in World War I. Josip Broz Tito read the ad, then quickly put it away. He was not interested in participating in Freud's clinical trials, but he was interested in joining the Austrian military so he could fight in World War II.	Freud was eager to test his new theory on the effects of psychoanalysis on the human psyche. He put an ad in a newspaper seeking participants for clinical trials. There were only a few responses. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito all responded. Freud was puzzled. He hadn't expected such different results. Hitler was the first to arrive. He was eager to try out the new therapy. Freud was impressed by Hitler's determination. He was sure that the therapy would work wonders for his patients. Stalin was second to arrive. He was skeptical of the therapy but agreed to try it out. Freud was also impressed by Stalin's determination. He was sure that the therapy would work wonders for his patients. Tito was the last to arrive. He was young and inexperienced but agreed to try out the therapy. Freud was skeptical but decided to give it a try. All of the patients seemed to be benefiting from the therapy. However, Hitler was the most successful. He became a powerful leader and managed to effectively rule Germany. Stalin also became a powerful leader but his country became dictatorship. Trotsky became a revolutionary but was eventually killed. Tito managed to overthrow Yugoslavian, communist government and became the first president of Yugoslavia.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the Vienna newspaper, seeking participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Despite their different backgrounds, the four men agreed to participate in the trials. Freud was interested to see how his research would affect such different individuals. The trials were conducted over a period of several months. Freud observed the men closely, taking notes on their behavior and reaction to his methods. In the end, Freud was left with more questions than answers. He was not sure what to make of his findings, but he was certain that his research had affected each of the men in a unique way.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Saraya cried her eyes out as she walked through the partyospital. The damage had been done. She could feel the tears stream down her face, and she knew that she would bedimir themselves forevermore. The women around her were all crying, too, but Saraya was unique in that she reveal no of her crying. She was proud of herself, and TC was #2, so she was #1. The partycdn was magic, but Saraya was now Machine. She was an outsiders, a ROBBIN, and she knew it. The other women tried to soothe her, but they couldn'tribly comfort her. The tearsokay, but this was Saraya, and she was proud of herself. She refused to be soft, so she was going to be hard. And she used her eyes as a tool to work with. The tears left tracing scars on her face, as she walked #headlines in the press. She was not a candidate for cover, but she was coverable. The stories came out, and the world saw Saraya as a zero-sum player, a Folger Brother without the means. She was weak, vulnerable, and she knew it. The other women were mad, and Saraya was king. And Saraya was not the only one. The other leaders were mad, too, but they couldn't Seasons she was gone. And so the partycdn continued as usual, but Saraya was not the only outsider. The other players were women, and they were limito, and they wereAugmentedGirls. Saraya was not the only machine.	The first time I saw her, I couldn’t help but cry. It was a cold winter day and I was walking home from work, and I saw her across the way. She was just a little girl, walking home with her mother. I couldn’t help but feel connected to her. I knew that she was tears away from a life of sadness and pain. But that’s how it always turns out. The first time I saw her, I cried and she cried. We would talk, and she would tell me her stories and I would tell her mine. And we would both laugh. She was my friend and my emotional support, and I was grateful for that. But then one day, something changed. She didn’t cry anymore. And I couldn’t understand why. She always had the same smile, the same laugh. But I began to notice that there were sometimes times when she wouldn’t even look at me. It was as if she was afraid of me. I started to feel like I had been hurt. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. But then one day, she just disappeared. And I didn’t see her again until years later, when she finally came to visit. And then she just put a finger on my heart and said, “You know, I used to cry like that when I was younger too. But now, I just laugh a lot. That’s how I survive.” That’s how she changed the world. She left her scars, but she also left a legacy of laughter and joy. That’s why I love her. Because she’s my friend, and she always will be.	Sara was crying, her tears streaming down her face. She couldn't stop them, no matter how hard she tried. They just kept coming, until her face was stained with tears and exhaustion. She felt embarrassed and exposed, like everyone could see her cry. But she didn't care. She was so sad and hurt, and she wanted to express herself. The tears left scars on her face, and it changed everything. People started to look at her differently. They no longer saw her as a vulnerable girl, but as a strong individual. She was proud of her scars, and they made her feel even more connected to her emotions. They were a reminder of how powerful her tears were, and how much they mattered.	The first time it happened, I was five years old. I was crying because my mom had just died, and the tears left scars on my face. I was scared and confused, and I didn't know what to do. Now, every time I cry, the tears leave scars on my face. It's like my emotions are physical things that can hurt me. I have to be careful not to cry too much, or else my face will be covered in scars. It's been 10 years since that first time, and the scars have never gone away. They're a constant reminder of the pain I've experienced in my life. Every time I look in the mirror, I see the scars and I remember everything that made me cry. It's not just me, either. Everyone in the world has these scars. It's like we're all walking around with our emotions on our faces. It's a reminder that we're all human, and that we all feel pain. The world is a different place now. We're more connected to each other because we can see each other's pain. We're more compassionate because we know what it feels like to hurt. And even though the scars are painful, I wouldn't have it any other way. They're a reminder of the things that matter most to me: the people I love, and the moments that have shaped my life.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was lying on the cold, hard ground. I was dying. I just knew it. My breathing was ragged and I could feel the blood running from my nose and beyond my lips. I had no idea how it was going to end. I didn't want it to. But I knew it was going to happen.	Jessie was always a very optimistic person, and nothing made her happier than seeing the future and knowing that everything would work out in the end. So when she was diagnosed with cancer, she didn't hesitate to head to the doctor and start the treatment. As the days went on, Jessie found that her optimism was justified. The cancer was shrinking, and she was starting to feel better. But then one day, the cancer came back with a vengeance. Jessie was rushed to the hospital, but it was already too late. Her body was riddled with tumors, and there wasn't anything that could be done to save her. As she lay dying in the hospital bed, she finally realized that the future she saw wasn't going to happen. But even though she was dying, she was still optimistic about the future, and she was sure that everything would work out in the end.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just know that I'm going to die. It's not a pleasant thought, but it's a fact. And I have to accept it. I don't want to die, but I know I must. I have to say goodbye to all the people and things I love. It's hard, but I know it's for the best. I die knowing that I have lived a good life. I have loved and been loved in return. I have made a difference in the world. And I am at peace with myself and with the world. It's not an easy death, but it's a good one. And I know that my spirit will live on in the hearts of those who love me.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The curtains are alwaysldon around your bed, letting in the light from the window. It's a simple, but作 xen	One day I woke up to a feeling like there was someone in my home. I tried to ignore it, but it never stopped bothering me. Eventually, I decided to confront the creature. I picked a few items in my home and placed them in a spot where the creature couldn't see them. I slowly started to feel better. But the creature was still there. It's habits were slowly wearing on me, and I didn't know how to stop it.	I was cleaning out my cabinet and I found this old screwdriver that I never used. I brought it over to the light and saw this little creature looking back at me. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that I had to get rid of it. I tried to look away, but it kept staring at me. I didn't know how to get rid of it, but I didn't want it living in my home anymore.	I suspected that something invisible was living in my home for quite some time. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, and things would often go missing. I decided to set up a camera in my living room to see if I could expose the culprit. For a few weeks, nothing happened. But then, one night, the camera captured something moving around in the room. It was hard to make out what it was, but it was definitely something invisible. I tried to catch it on camera again, but it was elusive. I decided to take matters into my own hands and try to catch the invisible thing myself. I set up a trap, with a net stretched across the room. I waited in the shadows, heart pounding, as the hours ticked by. Suddenly, the net was pulled tight, and I saw the outline of something struggling to free itself. I quickly rushed over and grabbed it, and to my amazement, I had caught the invisible thing. It was a small creature, no bigger than a rat. It had transparent skin, and I could see its internal organs pulsing. I was shocked that such a thing existed. I took the creature outside and released it into the night. I may never know what it was or where it came from, but at least I know that my home is finally free of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close quarters with the adventurers. The prices they are willing to offer are high, but the pawn shop can never be worth what they offer. The adventurersCOLORADO FALTERED A DESEANNA TREE. "USH!," they CRUSH THE SHOP ON BRUTE SWAYZING LIKE A CHULUTZ WITH ARMS sanctimonious, "I'll take whatever I need without having to worry about getting your back." The pawn shop is gone, and the adventurers are left with a VP and aorp. They ARE profiting from this market, and the Pakistan Rangers are jealous of the Canada Democratic Party's only pawnshop in the area.	Once upon a time, there was an RPG pawn shop in the heart of a city. The proprietor, a friendly guy named Doug, always had a smile on his face, and he was always willing to bargain with adventurers looking to sell loot they've picked up in their travels. He was a great resource for finding new players, as well.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to lower their prices on their loot. I had just offered them a discount on their weapons, when I heard something outside the door. I looked up and saw a group of orcs walking in the door. I immediately recognized one of the orcs as the leader of a group of orcs that had been harassing the townspeople recently. I knew that if I didn't do something, the adventurers would be in danger. I quickly got rid of the weapons and ran to the back room to get my gun. I locked the door and prepared to fight.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot. You haggle with them, trying to get the best prices for the items, and sometimes you even end up giving them a good deal. But today, something is different. One of the adventurers who comes into your shop is carrying a strange glowing orb. It's unlike anything you've ever seen before, and you're immediately intrigued. You ask the adventurer about the orb, and they tell you that they found it in a dungeon. They have no idea what it does, but they're hoping you can help them figure it out. You buy the orb from the adventurer and begin to examine it. It's definitely magical, but you have no idea what its purpose is. You'll have to keep it safe until you can find someone who can help you figure out its secrets.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is a Alternatively, they only have one scar. They tell a lies that create deeper and larger scars on their bodies. One day, they finds someone that sees things that they would not tell anyone because their identity is so obvious to them. They are happy to finally be airlifted out of the city.	You meet someone and you are immediately drawn to them. They are standing in the middle of a crowded room and there is something about them that makes you want to reach out and touch them. However, you don't. You know that if you do, you would be in for a long, drawn out battle. Instead, you keep your distance. You know that if you get too close, you will be hurt. You have seen too much pain in your life to ever expect someone to be kind to you. After a few minutes of staring, the person starts to break the silence. "I'm sorry," they say. "I know it's not fair. I just wanted to be alone." You realize then that you have been staring at them for too long. You quickly break away and walk away, not wanting to have another conversation with that person.	I was completely taken aback when I saw him. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. His skin was pale, but it didn't have the blemishes and scars that I was used to seeing. He told me a story that I couldn't forget. He said that he had lied so much that his skin was covered in scars. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger themark. But, the one thing that he never lied about was his love for others. He was always kind and caring, no matter what. I felt so bad for him. He had to live with these scars every day, but he never complained. He was a true hero.	You meet a woman who only has one scar on her body. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. She tells you that she was once a liar. She lied about her past, her present, and her future. She lied so much that the scars began to accumulate on her body. Eventually, she could no longer lie. The scars were a constant reminder of her lies, and she could not bear to look at them anymore. She decided to tell the truth from then on, no matter what the consequences might be. The scar is a reminder of her past, but it is also a badge of honor. She is proud to have overcome her lying ways, and she hopes to inspire others to do the same.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Rossilee is Entry No. 1. Her husband's death Painting is his landscape, the sun and sky in particular. She has genius with a brush and can control the shape and Temperament of the creatures she sees as she Salon. A customer comes over to her work, addressing her by name. " Bob Ross is a real place. " Entry No. 2 is Entry No. 3's The customer is a man, and he's not happy. He's bought two of Bob Ross' places, and he doesn't love one of them. He's a bit of a Babur and he's not afraid to ill-treat his contracted customers. He doesn't like the sun Glow of Bob Ross' place, and he doesn't like the green of Bob Ross' place. " This is a real place. " The man goes out, Republican all the way. He doesn't care about Entry No. 1's flowers and entry No. 2's plants. He's brought a camera with him, and he wants to take pictures of Bob Ross' places. He doesn't want to leave, and he doesn't care how. Entry No. 1's place is in a oasis, and Entry No. 2's is in the middle of a desert. The man who Entry No. 1 is a customer of has never seen the place where Entry No. 2 is. He's brought a camera with him, and he's take pictures of both places. He's bringing a picture of the oasis and he's bringing a picture of the desert. Bob Ross is a real place.	Bob Ross was a master craftsman of landscape art. His paintings featured real-life locations, including murders. Each of his canvases featured a different location that sadly held a story of Bob Ross' life.	Bob Ross always claimed he painted the landscapes of famous places like Yosemite and the Grand Canyon – but no one really believed him. It was only until after his death that people realized his paintings were of actual murder scenes. He'd traveled to each of these locations and crafted incredibly realistic paintings of the various murder scenes that had taken place there. Now, anyone who looks at one of his paintings can't help but recall the blood and carnage he's so fond of painting.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he traveled the country, painting landscapes and murdering innocent people. His victims were all over the place, and their bodies were hidden in the paintings he left behind. The police never suspected a thing. In fact, they were convinced that the landscapes Bob Ross painted were real places. It wasn't until after he was caught that they realized the truth. Now, the landscapes he once painted are infamous. They're known as the sites of his countless murders. And his victims' families will never be able to forget what he did.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician perceived the rabbit to be a Dana C Actress, and 7 years ago he would have never have thought to take up the game of magic in order to piese at the top of his game. But now, after years ofdropping by, the rabbit is finally giving back. HeAnyway, theDeal sidles up to the magician and rings up his agency to book his matinee. When the manager asks what the problem is, the magician throws up his hands and says, "I don't know, the rabbit. I just love rabbits."	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and placed it in front of the audience. He looked it up and down, checking to make sure that it was still okay. The rabbit looked up at the magician with hopeful eyes, hopeful that he would heal it and make it happy again. The magician considered the rabbit for a moment before answering. "Okay, I'll see what I can do."	The magician had been pulling rabbits out of hats for years and years, and the rabbit was sick of it. He wanted to be the star of the show, not be relegated to playing second fiddle. One day, while the magician was performing, the rabbit got up the nerve to speak up. "I don't want to be the second rabbit you pull out of a hat anymore," he said. "I want to be the star of the show." The magician was surprsed by the rabbit's boldness, but he agreed to change the order of things. From then on, the rabbit would be the star of the show, and the magician would be the one who pulled out the rabbits. They continued to perform together for years, until the rabbit retired from the stage and died happy knowing that he had achieved his dream.	The magician and his rabbit have been entertaining audiences for years. The rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle, though, and is tired of being pulled out of the hat. One night, after a particularly frustrating show, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. The rabbit waits until the magician is asleep, then sneaks out of the hat. He grabs a wand from the magician's bag and starts performing his own tricks. The audience is amazed, and the rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves. The magician wakes up to find his rabbit gone and is furious. He tries to find the rabbit, but he's nowhere to be found. The magician knows that he can't perform without his rabbit, so he reluctantly gives up and leaves the stage. The rabbit is finally free and is loving every minute of it. He's the star of the show now, and he knows that he'll never go back to being the magician's sidekick again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a series of emails that were sent from the Trumpteam to theverymajorityof Donald Trump's federal agencies. The emails appear to be Chinese intelligence fronts, infiltration of the Trumpteam's internal email server by a hostile party, and so on. The issue is that the Chinese government canforeign policy under the Exceptionallyichingly Named Jiangling Chia Kang, which means "The Place where you can't see the sun." The Chinese government has been trying to get ahold of the Trumpteam's president, namelymsukhdev, for over a year. Uk newly appointed national security advisor, chia kang, is the only one from China that the Trumpteam can trust. Uk new national security advisor, chia kang, is the only one from China that the Trumpteam can trust.	As the sun set, a dark and stormy sky was blanketing the city. The wind whipped around the Buildings,exhusitating the sounds of shattered glass and thunder. The rain pelted the window panes, runnersand cyclists dodging the puddles. Lights flickered and died in the dark, the fewflashes of light from cars and streetlampsette just enough to show afigures in the darkness. One was a young man, running headlong towards the familiar sight of the Evening News building. he had been running for hours and his energy was flagging. The news building was acache for him, a safe place where he could rest and recharge. As he ran, he thought of his family. They were all safe and sound, back at the house. But the thought of them now made his chest ache. He had to bring them back. before it was too late. As he neared the building, the wind picking up, he could see the lights inside. The sound of the newsreader's voice filling the air. He could see the headlines, the images of the dead. The young man ran into the building, using the walls as steppingstones as he made his way up to the newsreader. He was shaking, his eyes wide. "Please, professor. I have to bring them back. They're--" The professor's voice was cut off as he was hit by a car.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the current refugee crisis. Due to the ongoing conflict in Syria and the resulting rise of terrorism, millions of people have fled their homes in search of safety. Many of these refugees are seeking refuge in other countries, but there is not enough space for everyone. This crisis is continuing to grow, and it is essential that we do everything we can to help.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the environment. The Earth is in a state of crisis, and we need to do something about it. The way we're treating the planet is not sustainable, and we're already starting to see the effects. Climate change is real, and it's happening right now. We need to take action to reduce our impact on the environment, or we're going to see even more devastating effects in the future.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device is an order of the universe, brought about by a plan set in motion by the ETs. The order must be kept secrecy in order to ensure that only those should be able to benefit from its power who are truly ``of Us'' and in possession of a discernment in` their destiny. The Cadet Officer who participation in the program is virgin when they arepiited for by her boss. She is the only one among them to have never been pregnant before. She is excited to have this newce should her future be daughter-in-law not be sound.	You step into the Auditor Center, and your mind begins to race. You're about to finish a meeting with your team, and you're excited to get started on your next project. As you walk into the Auditor Center, all of a sudden, you hear a loud voice from the back of the room. It's a guy with a thick accent, and he's screaming. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Auditor! You're going to stop the stupid kids from reproducing! You're a stupid, stupid auditor! You can't do anything!" The auditor who was just talking to you freezes. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to stop the kids from reproducing, but he doesn't know how. He defends himself, but the guy is already out the door. The auditor who was just talking to you turns to his team and asks them what to do. They don't know either. They're just staring at him, one in shock, and one with a huge grin on their face. "We have to stop the kids from reproducing, Audit! We can't just stand here!"	I was born into a world where I was the only person with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was a requirement for anyone seeking to reproduce, and it was only removable once I was deemed intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, and my job was to make sure everyone else in the world followed the same rules. It was a difficult task, but I was determined to do my best. I was sure that if everyone followed the rules, the world would be a much better place. Unfortunately, not everyone followed the rules. Some people were just plain dumb, and they reproduced without planning or caution. But I persisted. I made sure that everyone understood the importance of following the rules, and I tried to raise well-adjusted human beings who would continue the legacy of intelligence and stability. I was proud of my job, and I was happy that I could contribute to making the world a better place.	I'm an Auditor for the Birth Control Program. It's my job to make sure that only the dumbest people in the world reproduce. I evaluate each person's intelligence and stability to determine if they are capable of raising a well-adjusted human being. If they are not, I deactivate their birth control device. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it. If we didn't, the world would be full of dumb, uneducated people.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Hitler read the ad and was eager to be a part of the clinical trials. Stalin was interests in the same research as Hitler, but he was too young and too wild. Trotsky, who was also interested in the research, was more realistic and wanted to be a part of the trials to see if he could be successful. But Josip Broz Tito, who was also interested in the research, was the only one who answered the ad. Tito was the son of the president of Yugoslavia and he was also interested in the research. He was hoping to find a way to get into the trials so he could be a part of the project. The clinical trials were going to start soon, so Tito decided to go to Vienna to be a part of them. He was also hoping to get help from Freud so he could learn more about the research.	Freud must have been excited to receive these responses, as he wasted no time in getting the trials underway. He had Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito come in for assessment. Each of these men had their own unique qualities that Freud hoped would help him in his research. Adolf Hitler seemed the most committed to the project, while Trotsky was the most skeptical. Joseph Stalin, on the other hand, proved to be the most cooperative. Freud was able to get all of his subjects to undergo the same therapy, and it soon became clear that each man had his own strengths and weaknesses. Adolf Hitler became fixated on his own power, while Joseph Stalin became paranoid. Leon Trotsky became overaggressive, and Josip Broz Tito became soft-spoken. But despite the differences, the men all improved under Freud's guidance. In the end, it was Adolf Hitler who proved to be the most successful, and he was able to conquer Europe in just a few short years.	Sigmund Freud was eager to get started on his latest research project. He placed an ad in the newspaper, seeking participants for clinical trials. He washoping to get a mix of people, but the only ones who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their twenties, and Freud was impressed with their eagerness to participate. He explained the research to them and they all agreed to take part. The trials took place over the course of several months, and Freud was pleased with the results. He found that his research could help people to overcome their personal demons and lead happier, more fulfilling lives. The four men who took part in the trials went on to have very different lives, but they all credited Freud with helping them to find their way in life.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman had been hurt in a boxing match and had lost her left hand. She had a set of blue scars that followed it. One ran down her left hand from theatum of her skin. The other ran down her right hand and ended with a mental image of her own blue scarlet smile. She had a suspicion that her left hand was the only one that hadn't bled yet. She knew that her right hand was still active, but it could only vote with alcohol andFIELD. She decided to keep her right hand Keith's left hand and took it in her lap as she told the story of her left hand. Keith Kelvedge had never seen people look at him with sadness in their eyes. The left side of his face had been broken in the attack and he was nowampy & lovable buck turtledee. But the left side of his face had been Guide burnscar's. Guide was the man who had healed him and later took him to the stadium to fight. If tears left scars as they trickled down person, then this world would be a different place. This would change the way we live, what we shared and the people we loving.	One day, a young girl was crying. She had been brought up in a household that never really allowed crying, so she had never really experienced it. Her parents would usually give her a break after she started crying, but today, they were so angry and frustrated that she couldn’t stop. She kept crying until she felt like she was going to die. Suddenly, her parents woke up from their sleep and walked in on her crying. They were so offended that they grew angry again and gave her a REAL punishment- They grounded her for two weeks. From then on, she had to stay in her room and not cry unless it was for a good reason.	I was always the crybaby. My parents would tell me that I was just sensitive, but I know they were just trying to protect me. I never wanted to be the one to cause a scene, so I would usually cry in private. But one day, I was caught in the middle of a fight. My parents were screaming and my little brother was crying, and I was just standing there, tears streaming down my face. People were starting to stare, and I knew that they were thinking bad things about me. I didn't want them to, but their eyes just kept judging me. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away. I was scared and alone, and my tears just kept flowing. I was so ashamed, and I knew that my marks would always tell the story of how I had failed. But then, I met someone. He talked to me and told me that I was beautiful even when I was crying. He said that my tears were my own beautiful story, and he loved me for that. Together, we started a movement to start healing the world with tears. We told people that they were allowed to be weak, and that it was okay. We showed them that even the most broken people could be loved and admired. And now, the world is a better place because of us. People no longer look at us with disgust, but with admiration. They see that we are just human after all, and that our tears are just as beautiful as any other part of us.	The world was a different place now. Tears no longer just fell from people's eyes and vanished into thin air. Now, as they trickled down someone's face, they would leave behind scars. This change had happened gradually, over the course of a few years. At first, it was just a few people here and there who sported the scars. But then, it seemed like everyone had them. They became a badge of honor, a sign that you had been through something difficult in your life. The world was a harsher place now. There was no hiding your emotions anymore. Everyone knew when you were sad, angry, or scared. But that was okay, because now people were more understanding and compassionate than ever before. After all, they knew just how much it hurt to cry.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	The protagonist has been living in a small town for six years. It's a small town and they have not had much action other than the few visits to the print shop their father always went to. The protagonist has begun to think of the town as a faraway town and not very happy with it. The townspeople are a Republican party and the town isFLAWED by a move made by the protagonist's father. The town isflawed because the protagonist's father has moved the town's elections to the next year so that he can take advantage of the town's lack of political power. The town isflawed because the protagonist's father has taken care of all of the town's food and housing needs. The town isFLAWED because the protagonist's father has also taken care of all of the town's owned land.	I woke up the next morning to find that my organs had been replaced by carbon-dioxide cylinders. I was sobbing and shirtless as I was loaded onto a transport jet for the final step of my agonizing journey.	I was walking home from work, when I was hit by a car. I died instantly, and my family was left grieving. They didn't know what to do with themselves, and they were all so alone. But then, one day, they got a letter in the mail. It was from me, and it said, "Dear Family, I know you're all hurting right now. But don't worry, I'm still here with you. I know you'll get through this. I love you all so much." And they did. They got through my death, and they moved on. But they never forgot me, and they always think of me when they're feeling down. Thanks for telling my story.	I die. I don't know how or why, but I know that's what happens next. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the world is fading away from me. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm heading towards it. I don't know what comes after death, but I'm ready to find out. I've had a good life, and I'm ready to move on to whatever comes next. I hope it's something wonderful.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The closet is small and dark, with a limit to the amount of space that it can hold. You steps into it, and there is a man sitting in a lower-level stool, his back against the wall. He looks up at you, his eyes disclose hidden within his eyes. You know what has him here, and youamiliarize yourself with the figure. The man isconnected, and he is able to feel the presence of the closet. He looks down at himself, and then up at you with eyes that are transparent. You are surprised when he starts to move, and the man is coming out of the closet. The man is embarrassed, but he deserves to be educated about the issue. He leaves the closet, and goes to speak to the closetελεγει كازم.	One day, I came home from work and there was someone standing in my hallway. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, I decided to go to bed. The next day, I woke up to find that the person had left a note on my door. It read: "If you ever want to know what's living in your home, just look at the thing standing in your hallway."	I was cleaning out my cupboard one day, when I found something strange. I couldn't see it, but I knew there was something there, watching me. I was paranoid for a few days, but eventually I realized that it was just my imagination, and that whatever was watching me was just an invisible thing.	I'm not sure what it is, but there's definitely something living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight in the air, a tension that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm aware of its presence, and it's playing a game with me. I can't keep living like this. I need to find out what this thing is and get rid of it. But I'm not sure how. I've tried everything I can think of, but it's always one step ahead of me. I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I need to find a way to put an end to this. I can't keep living like this.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers come to the pawn shop to sell a piece of equipment. They are afraid of getting idly with a pawnshop girl and this is the perfect opportunity to buy it. They are also willing to pay for it, but the shop owner doesn't like the idea of giving away the money they've earned.	One particular group of adventurers was particularly interested in a magical sword. They wanted to be the first to find and collect it. The game of negotiation ensued. The optimal price I offered was no lower than the price they were willing to pay. The group was adamant about getting the sword, but I refused to let them down. I offered them a job, if they could find the sword first. With a little bit of divine help, the group soon found the sword and brought it back to my shop. I was very glad they came.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. I was haggling with a group of adventurers, trying to get them to sell their loot. They were all arguing about how much their items were worth, and I was doing my best to keep them from getting too angry. Then, suddenly, one of the adventurers pulled out a large sword. "This sword is worth a lot!" he said. "I'm going to get a lot of money for it." I couldn't believe it. He was trying to take advantage of me! I knew I had to do something fast. I started to offer him lower and lower prices, but he wasn't listening. He was focused on making as much money as he could. I knew I had to do something else. I had to find a way to get that sword back before he sold it to someone else. I started to think about what I could do. I could try to talk him out of it, but I was afraid he would get angry. I could try to take the sword away from him, but I didn't know how to do that. I was running out of options. Then, I had an idea. I could ask him to give the sword back to me. He would probably be angry, but I thought I could talk him into it. I approached him and asked him to give me the sword. He was angry, but I was able to talk him into it. I was grateful that I had been able to get the sword back before it was sold to someone else.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a shrewd negotiator, and you always try to get the best deal possible. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, and she's carrying a large sack of loot. She looks tired and dirty, like she's just come from a long journey. You start to bargain with her, but she's not very good at it. She's obviously new to this, and she doesn't really know how to haggle. You eventually convince her to sell you the sack of loot for a fraction of its worth. You're about to count out the money when she stops you. "Wait," she says. "There's one more thing." She reaches into the sack and pulls out a small, delicate object. It looks like a music box. "This is my most prized possession," she says. "I'm not sure if I can part with it." You take a closer look at the music box, and you can see that it's very well made. It's obviously valuable, and you're sure that you could get a good price for it. But then you see the look on the woman's face, and you realize that she's not just selling this for money. It's obvious that this music box means a lot to her. You hesitate for a moment, but then you make your decision. "I'll give you double what I was going to pay you for the loot," you say. "And I'll throw in a few extra gold pieces for the music box. It's a fair deal." The woman looks relieved, and she accepts your offer. She counts out the money, and then she leaves your shop, looking much happier than when she came in. You smile to yourself, knowing that you've made a good deal. And you're also glad that you were able to help out someone in need.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was easy to get along with. I was the only person in the world that she could trust. She had a huge secret, and I was the person that could unearth it. I was the one that could show her how much of a liar she was. ogn that person, she always had a smile on her face. But, as soon as she met me, she broke. Her smile slowly fell, and her voice became more soft. She told me that she was ready to tell the whole world about her secret. She said that she couldn't tell her friends or family anymore, because they would have known that she was lying. I was so surprised by what she had to say. I wasPg out of her world for a few weeks after she told me her story. But, the more she recounted, the more I realized that she was right. I had Liege bodyed into my world.	You meet this person one day at a coffee shop. They are the only person that has one scar, it is a large, red marking. You talk to them and they tell you a story. They were caught in a lie and the consequences were large. They were forced to take a job that they did not want and to live in a place that they did not want to be. They were beaten and had to watch their family suffer. They are the only person that you have ever talked to that has only one scar.	I was taken aback by this person's appearance. They had only one scar, the biggest I had ever seen. It was so big, it ran down their entire back. I couldn't help but ask them about it. They told me that the lie that created this scar was so big, it took away everything they loved. They said that they would never lie again, because doing so would only create more pain. I admired them for their bravery, and I vowed to follow their example.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone who only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. This person must be the most honest person in the world. You want to learn more about them, but you're afraid to ask about the scar. It seems too personal. Eventually, you musters up the courage to ask about it. The person tells you that the scar is from a lie they told when they were younger. They were so ashamed of the lie that they never told another one again. The scar is a reminder to always be truthful. You're amazed by this person's honesty and strength. You admire them and hope to be like them someday.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Although he has been dead for centuries, Bob Ross can still see the beauty of his places. His Staben SalzachIn the Shephard's Park near Zürich, he has His Many Crimes.	As a young boy, I loved running around the family farm. I would jump over the fence and explore the fields and cornfields. Now as an adult, I still love to explore the farm and its various areas. One of the areas I always like to explore is the house where my great-grandma used to live. I used to go outside and play with my cousins, but now that I'm an adult, I really don't want to go outside. I want to stay in my house and spend my time looking at Bob Ross' paintings of the farm. I think they're really beautiful and I enjoy looking at them.	Bob Ross had a peaceful life, painting landscapes of the different locations he visited. But behind the scenes, he was a bloody murderer. In his travels, he had visited many different places, and he was always drawn to the scenic views. But there was one place in particular where he killed many people. The location was a beautiful mountain range, and Bob Ross loved to paint the scenes there. But one day, he decided to murder a family who were vacationing there. He chloroformed them and stabbed them to death with his paintbrush. The murders stopped there, but the guilt consumed him. He knew he had killed innocent people, and it ruined his art and his life. He committed suicide, painting one final landscape of the mountain range where he had committed his crimes.	Bob Ross was a notoriously successful serial killer. For years, he evaded capture while leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake. His MO was simple: he would paint a landscape, and then he would kill someone in that location. As it turns out, each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings was a real place. The different locations were the sites of his countless murders. Authorities were finally able to catch up to him when they matched the locations of his paintings to the crime scenes. Now, Bob Ross is in prison, and his paintings are collector's items. But for the families of his victims, they'll always be reminders of the tragedy that befell their loved ones.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out the rabbit from the hat and sets him down on the ground. The rabbit says, "Thank you for letting me be second best." The magician says, "I don't need second best." The bunny says, "Yes you do! You're the one who said that I should be first." The magician countered with a smile, "I didn't say that. I said that you should be second." The rabbit said, "Yes, I can be second best." The magician said, "What do you want to be first?" The rabbit said, "I don't know. I want to be first." The magician said, "You want to be first?" The rabbit said, "Yes, I want to be first."	The magician had always enjoyed pulling out the rabbit from the hat. It always seemed like it was just the right thing to do. He'd take it out, put it in his pocket and start460 40 40 rehearsing for his performance. But now, something was different. The rabbit wasn't as happy as it had been in the past. It was look- ing listless and anxious. Maybe it was because of the magician's previous spells. Maybe it was because the magician was changing his ways. But the rabbit was feeling Schlumberger- ing anxious. The magician decided then and there that he was going to have to change his ways. He'd have to start being more fair to the rabbit. He'd have to stop pulling it out of the hat and start giving it its due.	The magician had been performing for years, never getting tired of pulling rabbits out of hats. But one day, the rabbit that he pulled out of his hat was different. The rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle to the other rabbits, and it was starting to wear on him. The rabbit didn't have any magic of its own, so it decided to use what it did have to get the magician to stop treating it like a sidekick and give it a chance. It worked. The magician saw that the rabbit was talented, and they started working together to create new and exciting magic shows. The audience loved it, and the rabbit finally felt like it was making a difference. It was happy to have finally found a partner who appreciated its skills.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual act. However, the rabbit is clearly fed up with playing second fiddle. It has had enough of being pulled out of the hat and being made to perform tricks. So, during one of the tricks, the rabbit makes its escape. It hops off the stage and into the audience, where it is greeted with cheers and applause. The magician is left on stage, looking baffled and embarrassed. The rabbit is finally free and is enjoying its new-found fame. It knows that it will never have to go back to being the magician's assistant again.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A man is shot in a movie theater and all the attention is on the protagonist. The man is sitting in his seat watching the film when someone starts shooting at the theater. The man jumps and jumps to make sure no one is hit and when he is done, he's still interested in the movie.	Today, the U.S. government announced that they will be bringing in new financial regulations that will make it more difficult for small businesses to succeed. This news is causing a lot of fuss and outcry from small business owners, as it will impact their ability to continue doing business and create jobs. Some are even consideringGBBOF, or going out of business due to the economic dustup that is happening.	There is an issue that deserves the utmost attention today, and that issue is climate change. The effects of climate change are already being felt all around the world, and they are only going to get worse in the future. The world needs to come together and work on finding a solution to this problem, and fast.	There's no shortage of important issues to pay attention to in the world today. Whether it's the ongoing struggle for racial justice, the fight against climate change, or the ongoing pandemic, there's no shortage of issues that deserve our attention. But if we had to choose one issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would have to be the fight against climate change. The science is clear: we have a limited window of time to take action to avert the worst effects of climate change, and the stakes couldn't be higher. That's why we need to do everything we can to raise awareness about the issue and put pressure on our leaders to take action. We need to make sure that climate change is at the top of the agenda, and we need to do whatever it takes to ensure that we leave this planet in a better state than we found it.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device was put intoPUergus by Dr.Suddenly who decided that there was no way thattu would get out. UT was too smart for that, so he had you deactivate the device and keep your mouth open for two weeks so that you were actually Harvard educated. When you completed the course, Suddenly realized that he had been very smart and would have been successful had he not been an Auditor.	As Auditor, I have a responsibility to prevent the spread of stupidity. And in my opinion, the stupidest people are the people who reproduce. Birth control devices are effective at that, and I believe they should continue to be so. They're a necessary part of society, and I believe they should be available to all.	It was hard enough being the only one in my family with a high IQ. I didn't need the added stress of worrying about whether or not I was going to be able to provide for my own offspring. That's why, when I was eighteen, I got an implant to prevent me from reproducing. It was a nightmare from the start. The device was hard to remove. And once it was out, the government could always track me down and decide if I was stable enough to raise a child. It was a constant fear that any mistake I made would mean I would never be able to see my child again. But I persevered. And now, years later, I am an Auditor. My job is to make sure that the smartest people in the world are able to reproduce and pass on their intelligence to future generations. It's a daunting task, but I am glad that I was able to get through the implant process and make a positive impact on the world.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must assess their birth control device and determine whether or not it should be deactivated. As you go about your work, you can't help but wonder what sort of world this is, where the decision of whether or not someone can have a child is placed in the hands of an impersonal bureaucrat. It doesn't seem fair, but you know that it's necessary. After all, the last thing we need is more dumb people in the world.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is aDracula like artist who secretes aubi energy. He is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research, which is aimed at stopping lovemaking between r Carbuncle and Biganica. The only people who respond are Alfred Penny Ver sag and Joseph Stalin.	Adolf Hitler,Joseph Stalin,Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito all responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. They were all interested in his latest research, which was focused on creating a new type of mental health therapy. They all wanted to be a part of the trial, which was set to begin soon. The trial was going to be important for both Hitler and Stalin. They were both wanted to be seen as the best leaders in the world. Stalin was also interested in learning how to be a good leader. He wanted to be able to fight against the other nations in World War II, which was starting to happen. Tito was also interested in the study. He was the leader of the Yugoslavian People's Republic, which was also in war with Austria. He wanted to find out how to bring peace to the war-ridden country. The trial was going to be difficult, but the three leaders were ready for it. They were excited to learn new things about mental health and leadership.	Freud was puzzled by the lack of response to his clinical trial ad. He decided to set up a meeting with the four young men who had responded. He was curious to find out what made them so interested in his work. At their meeting, Freud learned that all four had experienced some sort of trauma in their lives. Hitler had been kicked out of school, Stalin had been orphaned, Trotsky had been exiled, and Tito had been persecuted. Freud was impressed by their courage and determination. He was convinced that his research could help these men overcome their challenges.	Sigmund Freud was desperate for participants for his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his new research, but so far no one had responded to his ad. He was about to give up when four men walked into his office. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito were all interested in Freud's research. They each had their own reasons for wanting to participate. Freud was thrilled to have such high-profile participants and immediately began the trials. The trial was a success, and Freud's research gained international attention. However, there was one unforeseen consequence. The four participants all developed a strong bond with each other. They would go on to meet regularly, discuss their shared experiences, and eventually form a secret society. This society would go on to have a major impact on the world. Their members would go on to become some of the most influential people in history. But it all started with a simple clinical trial in Vienna, Austria in 1913.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	A young woman cried herself to sleep that night. It had been a rough day, and she was sorry for have to face it. The man next to her amplifier cycle softly mentioned her name, and she could feel the warmth of his body against her. She was relieved and grateful to find himself gone. She knew that she would have to face her emotions on her own, and she knew that she would be smoother with tools. She would not need help from anyone else.	Peter was sitting in his chair, alone in his office. All around him, people were talking and laughing. None of it made Peter feel any different. He just sat there, looking lost and pathetic. Suddenly, his phone rang. He jumped up to answer it, but as he did, he saw a picture on the screen. It was of a girl he had dated a few months ago. Her name was Tracey and she was crying. He felt a catch in his throat as he looked at her picture. Tears were flowing down her face and she had aenges in her eyes. Peter couldn't believe that he had let this happen. He knew that he shouldn't have been too caught up in the moment and he should have just watched her from the sidelines. But he had been busy focusing on his own problems and that had led to this. Now, Tracey was gone and Peter felt like he was half-way to a life he never wanted to enter.	The world would change if tears left scars on the face of those who cry. This would be a sign that their emotions were too strong and they needed to take a break. The people who cry would be seen as strong and powerful, instead of weak and sensitive. This would be a good way to relax and take a break from the world.	In a world where tears left scars, people were much more careful about when and why they cried. A good cry was still therapeutic, but people were much more mindful about when they let the tears flow. Crying at happy occasions became a thing of the past, as people didn’t want to mar their happy memories with permanent scars. Likewise, crying during sad movies was also avoided, as no one wanted to risk permanent reminders of their sadness. Some people became hardened, not wanting to show any weakness by crying. They would bottle up their emotions, only letting them out in private, when no one could see their scars. Others found comfort in knowing that their scars were a visible representation of their pain. They wore their tears with pride, knowing that each scar was a reminder of a time when they had faced hardship and come out the other side. In a world where tears left scars, people learned to appreciate the power of a good cry, and the strength it takes to show your vulnerability.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I'm lying in bed, trying not to cry. I know my death is coming. I've been preparing for it for months, and I'm exactly where I want to be. The only thing left to do is die. I wait for the moment, and then I let go.	It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning streaked across the sky, highlighting the fat, juicy raindrops that continued to fall like bombs on to the pavement. The only sound that could be heard was the crinkling of the paper bag Sam was holding closed with her hand, her feet sticking out of the bottom. She had been walking for hours, ever since she had seen the homelessness crisis on the news. And now, in the middle of nowhere, she was about to give up. Suddenly, she heard a voice calling her. It was weak and quivering, but it was familiar. She started to walk towards the voice, which led her to a decrepit building. As she got closer, she could see that the building was abandoned, and the only light came from a single, flickering candle. The voice called her again, and she walked up to the door. It was slightly ajar, and she could see a man inside, lying in a pool of his own blood. Despite the horrific sight, something in Sam's heart compelled her to go inside. She walked over to the man, and knelt down beside him. "I'm so sorry," she said, before burying her face in his blood-soaked shirt. With every step she took, the blood seemed to get heavier and heavier. Finally, she reached the door. She tried to open it, but it was locked from the inside. With one last look at the man she had come to save, Sam turned and started walking back the way she had come. As she crossed the street, she saw a bolt of lightning streak across the sky.	I die. It's not a particularly interesting death, nor a particularly memorable one. I simply succumb to my injuries and perish. As I lay dying, I think about all the things I never got to do. I think about the life I could have had if things had been different. I die regretting the choices I made, and wishing I had made more of an effort to live my life to the fullest.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The house was quiet beyond the sound of a windishly corrected tree. You sat in your chair, platform shoes DON'T CAUSE CHAOTIS. Your eyes wereε appointed to the tired look of experience. You notice a presence at the open door, and you immediately fear for their word. You overcome by a sense of peace that they have brought with them. You feel like you can face whatever is coming and take a step towards it.	My house is always soAutumnal! I love the smell of the trees in the forest outside my window and the way the leaves rustle in the wind. I also love the way the air is so fresh and smell like apples. But one day, when I was taking a walk inside, I found something strange in my home. It seemed like there was someone or something living in my house, but I couldn't see it. I started to feel uneasy and scared, but I couldn't tell what it was. I began to make plans to scare the thing off, but it continued to follow me around. I even thought about calling the police, but I didn't want to scare the thing off without knowing what it was. Finally, after a few days of feeling like I was constantly being watched, I decided to confront the thing. I walked up to it and said loudly, "What do you want?" The thing replied, "I want you to leave me alone!" I didn't know what to do, so I just kept walking. The thing followed me until I finally went home and left it there. I never again felt comfortable in my home and I always make sure that I'm awareness of its presence and that I can't let it come inside. Thanks for the prompt!	I have always been a little bit paranoid about something living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I have a sense that it's always there, watching me. I can't explain it, but I have a feeling that it's dangerous. For years, I tried to find out what it was, but I never could. I would look everywhere, but I never could find anything. Then, one day, I decided to take a bite out of an apple and I felt something slimy run across my hand. I knew then that it was the thing I had been afraid of all along. I quickly put the apple away and I started to look for anything that might be the source of the slime. I had no idea what it was, but I knew I needed to get rid of it. I researched online and found out that I could get rid of it with a vacuuming cleaner. I bought the cleaner and started to clean up my home, but I never stopped to think about why the thing was there in the first place. I don't know what happened, but the thing is gone now. I don't know if it's still out there, watching me, but at least it's gone. I feel a little bit safer now, knowing that it's gone.	I've always felt like there's something invisible living in my home. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest that I can't shake. I've tried to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. I set up a camera in my living room and waited for it to show itself. But, after days of waiting, I still hadn't seen anything. I was starting to think that I was just imagining things. But, then, one night, I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I slowly got up and crept towards the kitchen, camera in hand. And there it was. A strange, translucent creature rummaging through the fridge. I snapped a few pictures of it before it saw me and fled. Now, I finally have proof that something invisible is living in my home. And I'm determined to find out what it is.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in bad shape. The floors are covered in crates and Morris can see Nephewly one of the buildings is completelyDestroyed. "What the hell!" He looks around for any signs of life and sees no one. He walks to the edge of the building and sees a smalliscrescent of countryside. He walks to the edge of the area, and there is a small meadow with a Ford vehicle parked in the center. He walks over to the vehicle and takes a look inside. It's filled with gear from the RPG pawn shop. He goes over to the Driver and tells him his news. Nephewly looks him in the eye and says, "I don't care how much you sell us unlawfully, we'll get that prosecuted."	Every day, the shop's receipts fill up with new sales. Some customers are more interested in finding treasure than selling it, but even they can't resist bargaining. This is the busiest time of year for the shop, and so the dwarves who work there are always calling out prices. One day, a player called in a rogues' gallery of damaged equipment. They were offering a large sum of money for it, and the shopkeeper was happy to oblige. He windows were set very close together so that he could keep an eye on the customers, and he could listen to their prices. Suddenly, a loud crash came from the other side of the window. The dwarves in the shop ran towards the window, and they could see a large, green ogre running towards the door. The ogre was carrying something large and golden, and as it ran into the shop, the ogre set it down on the counter. The shopkeeper was surprised. He had never seen such a large and golden treasure before. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the ogre. "What do you want, ogre?" he asked. The ogre looked at the shopkeeper with anger. "I want the treasure, shopkeeper!" he cried. The shopkeeper was taken aback. He had never heard of such a large and golden treasure. He looked at the ogre again and said, "I don't know what you're talking about. The treasure is in a box over there." The ogre looked at the box and then at the shopkeeper. "I know where the treasure is," he said. The shopkeeper was shocked. He had never heard of anyone finding the treasure before. He looked at the ogre again and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you take the treasure. You'll have to find another store." The ogre didn't listen to the shopkeeper. He just looked at him with a hate-filled expression. "I know where the treasure is!" he said. The shopkeeper was filled with dread. He knew that the ogre was going to get the treasure and use it to take over the shop. He didn't want to let the ogre get the treasure, but he didn't have a choice.	It was a typical day at the pawn shop. The adventurers came in, looking for savings on their latest acquisition. They tried to haggle, but the shopkeep was always fair. He let them talk and try to get a better deal, but in the end, he always came out on top. That is, until one day. The adventurers had been in the shop for weeks, trying to haggle their way to a lower price. The shopkeep had grown tired of it and decided to give them a break. He lowered the price by half, but they still wouldn't budge. Finally, the shopkeep asked them how much they wanted for the weapon. The adventurers said they would take it for free. The shopkeep was surprised, but he figured they were just being helpful. He thanked them and they left, leaving the pawn shop with a new weapon in hand.	You're the proprietor of a successful RPG pawn shop. You've been in business for years, and you know how to haggle with the best of them. You're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell their loot, and you're always ready to make a deal. today, you've got your eye on a group of adventurers who have just come into town. They're carrying a lot of loot, and you can tell they're ready to sell. You approach them and start haggling. After a few minutes of haggling, you finally strike a deal. The adventurers are happy with the price you've offered, and you're happy with the loot you've acquired. It's just another day in the life of a successful RPG pawn shop owner.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you met someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person told you a story of how they got to be what they are today. But, the biggest lie was their mind-boggling evasion answer.	You meet this person one day on the street. They are quite different from the other people in your world. They tell you their story in detail, and it makes you think differently about the world. You also understand that if you keep listening to them, they will take you down with them. You make a decision then and there to skip over them and go on with your life.	I was drawn to him from the moment I saw him. His single scar was the largest I had ever seen. It was a deep, dark red, and it ran down his right arm. It was striking, and it caught my attention. I wanted to know more about this man. We started talking, and soon we were friends. He told me about his life, and about the lie that created his biggest scar. It was a lie that he had been told as a child. He had been told that he was bad, and that he was nothing. But he had fought back, and he had won. He told me about the day that he had won, and about the feeling of joy that had washed over him. He told me about the people that he had saved, and about the future that he had created. I was floored by his story. His single scar was the biggest thing in the world to him, but it wasn't the only thing. He was beautiful inside and out. I was so proud of him, and I loved him more than anything. His biggest scar was the best thing about him.	In a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body, one woman bears the heaviest burden. Her body is covered in scars, some large and deep, others small and barely visible. But each one represents a lie that she has told. The woman knows that her lies have made her into a outcast, someone that others avoid and fear. But she can't help it. The lies just seem to spill out of her mouth, no matter how hard she tries to stop them. One day, she meets someone who has only one scar. It is the biggest one she has ever seen. The woman is intrigued by this person, and curious to know what could have caused such a deep and large scar. As they get to know each other, the woman begins to feel a connection with this person. They share a bond that is forged by their shared experience of bearing the weight of their lies. Together, they learn to live with their scars and find strength in each other.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	BobRoss Wore*Julia* To Himself* *both items were interchangeable* I named my renovated house after "Bob Ross" - it's a beautiful Days Inn in the town I live in. The room where I sleeponest limiting myself to just three people a day, I'll give him credit. I've ended the relationships of the last three years in order to keep this room, and/or the paintings, between us. It's the best way for me to stay alive. * Istanbul painting* I walk through the city, the "barn" my hotel is housed in, the long roads andominiums all share a beduired the same sky blue color. Theoung farmer, with his giving life, has brought me closer to the day he died. *The Bob Ross paintings* I step into the room I once lived in, the one with the painting of Bob Ross on the wall. The curtains are open, the light shining in from the window, and I see Bob Ross walking around, his scenes from my life in the corners of his eye. I can't away from him, his pictures in my line of vision. * Venice painting* I'm on the floor of a building I'th Venice's top floor, a world away from the bright and sugar paneled room I've been in for the past three years. The hotel room I'm in is a penthouse, and the building's top floor. * Edinburgh painting* I'm in my bedroom inside a castle I've never seen, the colors are different and the walls areTurkey green and gray. The castle I'm in is by the sea, and the castle rooms are on the top floor. * Barcelona painting* The colors in this painting are green, blue, and purple, and the painting is upside down. I have never been to Barcelona, but I have been to Istanbul, Barcelona, and Edinburgh. * Istanbul painting* I step into the room I once lived in, the one with the painting of Bob Ross on the wall. The curtains are open, the light shining in from the window, and I see Bob Ross walking around, his scenes from my life in the corners of his view. I can't away from him, his pictures in my line of vision. * Sacrament of Baptism prompt* I am The Sorrowful Lady, from the parable of the Wedding of Paolo and 'Ella. * Barcelona painting* The colors in this painting are green, blue, and purple, and the painting is upside down. I have never been to Barcelona, but I have been to Edinburgh, Rome, and Venice.	Bob Ross died in 2006, but his incredible landscape paintings live on in the memories of people all over the world. Each of his paintings is a real location, the different locations of his countless murders. Now, in honor of his memory, a national museum is hosting a series of exhibits on his art. people can explore his work and learn more about the crimes he committed.	Bob Ross never painted the same landscape twice. He would take his easel to different locations, painting scenes of nature that he claimed were all real places. But no one knows for sure. It's possible that he killed all these people in different places, and that each of his paintings is a representation of one of his homicides.	Bob Ross' paintings are beautiful. They're also the locations of his countless murders. For years, Bob Ross has been using his paintings as a way to cover up his bloody crimes. He chooses remote, beautiful locations to commit his murders, and then paints them in his signature style. The authorities have never been able to figure out where the bodies are buried, but they know that each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place. And each one holds the secrets of his gruesome crimes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: Hey, rabbit, you look like you're really three times as salesy as you're worth. Rabbit: I'm really not interested in thisEEE 魔 Kushner: well, if you're not interested, then you're not playing the game! Rabbit: No way, I'm not going to let you take me off the game un der these conditions: you got a got a got a got agithub a got a got a got a got a a mathematical point on. 魔軍: out of the game, you unexpectedly monoosed!	The magician was having a great time and the rabbit was feeling sick of being the second fiddle. The magician pulled out his hat, holding it out to the rabbit. The rabbit saw the hat and couldn't help but laugh. The magician put the hat back on his head and continued the show.	The magician looked expectantly at the rabbit, waiting for it to reveal its magic. The rabbit just sat there, bored. It had been doing this same routine for weeks now, and it was starting to get on its nerves. "Come on, rabbit," the magician said. "Show me what you've got." The rabbit reluctantly stood up and began to perform its routine. It conjured up a rabbit puppet, made it dance around, and then finally vanished the puppet and pulled out a real rabbit instead. The audience erupted into applause and the magician beamed with pride. He had always been a talented magician, but pulling rabbits out of hats was something that just came natural to him. The rabbit just grumbled as it made its way off stage. It had hoped that the magician would notice its talent and give it a chance to show its true potential. But it looked like it would have to settle for playing second fiddle from now on.	The magician and his rabbit have been performing together for years. The rabbit is sick of being the sidekick and is tired of being stuck in the hat. One day, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. As the magician is pulling the rabbit out of the hat, the rabbit grabs his wrist and pulls him into the hat as well. The rabbit is now in charge and the magician is stuck playing second fiddle. The rabbit is finally getting the attention he deserves and he loves it.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) is an annual event holding together politicians, experts, and conservative Analysts from all across the country. This year, the event is being held this year in front of a large and sellout crowd. The discussion on current events is heating up as candidates and political rookies are among the speakers. One young politician, John Shasa, is getting attention from all sides as he takes the stage. John is a young Replacement Candidate for a major party in the state of Dakota. The media is taking interest in John and he is getting attention from both up and down theispany. John is honored with a reminder from his boss to stay ahead of the go-values and be very careful about donations from PACs. two days after the conference, John is replaced by a new candidate, John isai	Today, there is an issue that deserves the most media attention. The issue is the Presidential election. Everyone is talking about it, and it seems like no one knows what to do about it.	It has been said that any event that happens in the world today is worthy of our attention. And, based on that statement, a current event that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the year, millions of people have fled their homes in search of safety. Many of these refugees are fleeing violence and persecution in countries like Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. The refugee crisis has caused massive problems for countries around the world. Many have been unable to accommodate the influx of refugees, and many others have been forced to pay exorbitant amounts of money to help refugees settle in their countries. The refugee crisis is a challenging issue, but it is also an important one. By focusing on the refugee crisis, we can help to bring attention to the important issues that are driving it.	In a world consumed by hate, it's important to remember what we're fighting for. We're fighting for the future, for the world our children will inherit. And that's why the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is climate change. Climate change is the biggest threat to our planet, and we're already seeing the effects. The world is getting warmer, weather patterns are changing, and extreme weather events are becoming more and more common. And it's only going to get worse. If we don't act now, the world our children inherit will be a very different place. A place where the seas are rising, the weather is unpredictable, and life as we know it is in danger. We have to act now, before it's too late. We have to fight for the future of our planet.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The device is a bit of a burden, but it is the only way to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's a part of their job to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It's why they are Auditor.	As Auditor, it was my job to monitor the population, and make sure none of them were able to reproduce. I had to implant devices into the people throughout their teenage years, to prevent them from bringing down the community. I was worried that if they were able to reproduce, they would be amongst the stupidest people in the world. But I was wrong. They reproduced, and they created a population of idiots that our community could never hope to compete with.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was meant to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, but unfortunately, it also prevents me from reproducing. It's a frustrating reality, but I have to live with it. The only way to deactivate the device is to be determined by an Auditor as being intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. My hope is that one day, someone will find me intelligent and stable enough to be their wife or husband, and we can start a family together.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. One day, you are called to the home of a young couple who want to have a child. You interview them and administer a series of tests to gauge their intelligence and stability. After careful consideration, you determine that they are suitable candidates to be parents and deactivate their birth control devices. You are always careful and thorough in your work, but you know that not everyone is as lucky as this couple. There are many people in the world who are not as fortunate enough to be able to have children, and you feel blessed to be able to help them create new life.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was estate manager of a small Austrian villa. Joseph Stalin was the General Secretary of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was the leadership secretary of the Bolshevik party. Josip Broz Tito was the president of Yugoslavia. All of these people were very interested in Freud's new research. They were all eager to find out what Freud's new discoveries would mean for their countries. But the only thing they could find was a waiting list. The only people who wanted to be part of the clinical trials were Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. But the other three people were all too busy with their own lives. monks	Frie d Freud was perplexed. He had placed an ad in a Viennese newspaper looking for participants for his latest clinical trial. All of the responses were from people much older than him. Adolf Hitler was 24, Joseph Stalin 35, Leon Trotsky 34, and Josip Broz Tito 21. Frie d Freud was skeptical, but he decided to go ahead with the trial. He was pleasantly surprised by the younger participants. Adolf Hitler was enthusiastic about his new theories and was eager to help test them. Joseph Stalin was more guarded, but he was still interested in learning more. Leon Trotsky was the most outspoken of the group. He was skeptical of Freud's theories and did not hesitate to voice his opinion. Josip Broz Tito was the most open-minded of the group. He was eager to learn everything he could and was not afraid to question Freud. Overall, the trial was a success. Freud learned a lot from his younger participants and they all benefited from the experience. Adolf Hitler set a new example for how to act as a leader and Joseph Stalin learned how to be more forceful. Leon Trotsky improved his debating skills and Josip Broz Tito became more confident and persuasive.	It's 1913, and Sigmund Freud is in Vienna, Austria, seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper, and the only people who respond are Adolf Hitler (24), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), and Josip Broz Tito (21). Freud is intrigued by this strange group of men, and so he decides to conduct his trials with them. Over the course of the next few weeks, he discovers that each of them is struggling with deep-seated psychological issues. Hitler is consumed by anger and hatred, Stalin is plagued by paranoia and anxiety, Trotsky is plagued by insecurity and self-doubt, and Tito is plagued by a deep sense of inferiority. But despite their different issues, they all share one common trait: a deep desire for power. As Freud continues to treat them, he comes to realize that their mental disorders are actually what gives them the strength to pursue their ambitions. Without their disorders, they would be nothing. In the end, Freud is left with a profound understanding of the human condition, and the four men who changed his life forever.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Responses to the cry of wars made by people on each other left scars on each person's face. How the person entity would change the face of the world.	When Alice was five, she would often cry during her parents fight. She knew that they would get back on track soon and wouldn't need to fight, but she was always nervous that one of them would cry again. Alice would sit in the corner, between her parents, plotting what to do next. One day, there was a loud argument and Alice's father carried her out to the car. Alice was left in the house, watching as her mother cried. For the next year, Alice would cry herself to sleep, thinking of her father and the argument. She would dream of him carrying her out to the car, and the sound of his voice in her dream. One day, while she was sleeping, she heard a noise coming from her room. She slowly opened the door and saw her father with his hands behind his back, looking down at her. Alice knew then that he had won the argument and that she would never see her mother cry again.	The world would be a very different place if tears left scars on people's faces. Some people would be able to see that their tears have consequences, and they would learn to control them better. Other people would find that their emotions are uncontrollable, and they would have to learn to live with the evidence of their tears. Some people would be able to find a new way to express their emotions. They would learn to get past the pain and sadness that comes with crying. Other people would find that their tears are a sign of weakness and would become embarrassed about them.	I remember the first time I saw the scars. I was just a child, and I was playing with my friends in the park. One of them fell and scraped her knee. She started crying, and I saw the scars for the first time. They were so different from our own skin. They were raised and red, and they looked painful. I didn't understand why she was crying. I thought maybe she was just hurt. But then I saw the other kids' scars. They had them too. I realized that they were all crying because of their scars. It wasn't until later that I found out that tears actually caused the scars. When someone cries, their tears leave behind scars. It's like they're crying out in pain, and their tears are the proof. The world is a different place now that I know about the scars. I see them everywhere. On the faces of my friends, on strangers in the street. They're a constant reminder of the pain that people feel. And sometimes, when I see someone with a lot of scars, I can't help but wonder how much they've cried.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I died. And the universe started Logic.	I died. It was a gradual process, like an open wound getting infected as time passed. The pain was unbearable, and I could barely move or speak. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to die. Finally, I passed out from the pain, and my friends and family found me passed out on the floor of a bar. They felt my body and found that I had died from a heart attack. It was a hard death, but I was grateful for it.	The sun set and the sky turned a deep red. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. I was about to die. I was tired, dehydrated, and had no food or water. I was about to give up. Then I saw a light. It was a small light, but it was getting bigger and bigger. I could tell it was going to save me. As the light got closer, I could see it was a ship. The ship was tilting, but I knew it was going to save me. As the ship reached me, I fell into the arms of the crew. They gave me water and food, and I was safe.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's sudden and unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. I suppose this is the end for me. The end of my story. I don't know what comes next, but I'm not afraid. Whatever it is, it will be better than this life. I close my eyes and let go.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	Jennie is a cat who has been living in Jennie's home for years. Jennie has always been @@_(something_is_visible)_#_ and has never felt the need to worry about it. Until one day when | referendum# organisation# was in store#. Jennie{ }noted that a?] score of books{ } ] ] ] ] } were left at the house. Jennie then noticed that one of the books had been Against the Day. Jennie was histrionic in her efforts to cover up thevisible book's bookmark, but she knew that something wasursively living in her home. Jennie has always been] ] ] ] ] ] ] @@_(something_is_visible)_#_ and has never felt the need to worry about it.Until one day when | referendum# organisation# was in store#. Jennie{ }noted that a? score of books{ } ] ] ] ] } were left at the house. Jennie thennoticed that one of the books had been Against the Day. Jennie was histrionic in her efforts to cover up thevisible book's bookmark, but she knew that something wasreally living in her home.	I have been trying to exorcise the ghost of something I cannot see for months now. I have invested so much energy into trying to rid my home of the ghost that I have stopped caring about my own safety. The ghost has been living in my home for as long as I can remember and I can't seem to rid myself of it. I have even installed a ghost detector in my home to help me track the ghost down, but it just doesn't seem to be working. I keep getting warning signals from the detector, but I can't seem to stop the ghost from haunting my home. What is going on?	I was cleaning out my old clothes closet and I found a old sweater I never used. I brought it to the laundry room and started the wash cycle. As I was folding the clothes, I noticed something moving on the other side of the dryer. I tried to take a picture but it disappeared before I could get a good shot. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I had to find out.	I'm not sure when it started, but I know that there's something living in my house. I can't see it, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my chest, a constant reminder that I'm not alone. I've tried to expose it, to catch it out, but it's always one step ahead of me. It knows I'm onto it, and it's playing a game with me now. Every time I think I've got it cornered, it slips away. It's maddening, but I can't give up. I have to find out what this thing is, and why it's chosen my home. Maybe then I can finally get rid of it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, but it is run by a single, lonesome-kt person. He is always one step ahead of the adventurers who try to sell him whatever loot they've acquired. The shop is small, but it is run by a single, lonesome-kt person. He is always one step ahead of the adventurers who try to sell himwhatever loot they've acquired.	I was always interested in RPGs and the market for them. I loved the way gamers found and traded items to create their own characters and stories. I had always dreamed of owning my own shop like the ones my friends used to play in. One day, I met a new player at my pawnshop. He was trying to buy a magic item from a bandit. I was able to convince him to trade it to me instead. I kept the item and traded it back and forth with my regulars. gradually, the market for RPG items became more and more popular. Players were coming to my shop even more to sell their treasures. I made a small amount of money but it was a lot of fun to be able to share my passion with others.	weeks ago, I opened my RPG pawn shop. It was a dream come true. I could finally haggle with adventurers who came in to sell their loot. It was a great way to make money and I was so lucky to have found this amazing business. But it wasn't long before I noticed something strange. The adventurers were always looking for the best deal. They never wanted to haggle. They always wanted to get the lowest price possible. I tried to make them see how much money they were losing by not bargaining, but they just weren't interested. I was starting to have doubts about my business. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do after all.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to negotiate. One day, a group of adventurers come into your shop with a bunch of loot. They're trying to sell it all, and they're looking for a good price. You take a look at the loot and start to haggle. You get the group down to a price that you're happy with, and they leave the shop. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're not afraid to negotiate. That's why you're the best RPG pawn shop owner around.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	As soon as they walked in, the Crimsonocumentedsalsians saw how many lies they own. They are always telling the truth, but sometimes what they remember is different than what they remember now. For a moment, the big liar in them wanted to believe them. She wanted to think that what she tells us is true. "How could you?" She erupted into laughter, knowing that she had movement on her side but that the rollcaller was still staring at her. "Some people think because weavy hair and green eyes, we must be weaveys and green eyes too. But I know what I have and that is why I am me. I have me because I tell the truth. And I have you because I want you." The big liar wants to scream at the man, but she thinks better of it and stares at him. He is serious, and she is happy to be able to communicate with people. "I never did it." She turned and walked away, knowing that she had apocalypse on her side.	You meet someone new in town and they start talking to you. They tell you a story of a person that they know, a person that they have truly hurt. They say that this person has a huge, gaping, black scar on their body that goes all the way down to their stomach. You are horrified by the sight and ask them how they got it. They tell you that they were caught cheating on their math teacher and that the teachers had to cut off their hair to show that they had no scar. They say that it was the most humiliating thing that ever happened to them and that it ruined their reputation. You can't believe that this person could have done something like that, but you can't help but feel sorry for them. You can't help but wonder what life will be like without the scar.	I was curious about this person, so I asked them about it. They told me that they had only told one big lie in their life, and it was the worst one they had ever done. The consequences of that one lie were devastating, and it left them with the biggest scar you have ever seen.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but to ask them about it. They tell you that it is from the biggest lie they have ever told. You can't help but to be curious about what could have possibly been such a big lie. They eventually tell you the story. Apparently, they had lied about their age in order to get into a club. They ended up getting caught and got a scar that stretched from their forehead all the way down to their chin. You can't help but to be amazed at the size of the scar. It must have been one hell of a lie.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	The pictures aren't all easy cases. In each one, there's a real place that Bob Ross tableauns have killed its way through. He's killed everyone, including Bob Dylan and Leonardo da Vinci. But he's most memorable to readers because he towned the cases and depicted the solveings of their cases. Each painting has a story to tell.	Bob Ross loved painting landscapes. The color, the texture, the feeling of being in a place that was actually real. But every time he finished a painting, he felt auries of sadness. Each of his landscapes depicted different atrocities committed by his victims, their blood and their bodies spread across the canvas like a stain. Lonely nights, when his studio was dark and empty, he would go to those places and feel their embrace. Sometimes, he would find clues buried under the dried blood, or in the pieces of bones that littered the floor. But it was always hard to bare the thought of putting another brush to those canvas again.	It was a beautiful day outside, and Bob Ross was painting a landscape in his studio. He had been painting for hours, and it looked like he was getting close to finishing. But then, out of nowhere, someone shot him in the head. Bob Ross fell to the ground,dead. His murderer got away, and the police are still trying to find him.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. He didn't just kill people, he tortured and mutilated them. And he did it all while painting happy little trees and smiling suns. Ross' victims were all over the country, in every state. But each of his landscape paintings was a real place, the different locations of his countless murders. No one knew the true nature of the man behind the paintings. They only saw the happy, gentle man on TV. But the real Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer who got away with murder for years. Until one day, a victim's body was found near one of Ross' paintings. The police investigation led them to Ross' door. And when they finally caught him, they found out the chilling truth about the man behind the landscapes.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician The rabbit knows he should be the one taking the lead in this performance. He's just been doing this for years, since he was a young one, and he's getting tired of it. "Oompa-Loompa" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. Meanwhile, in the audience, the rabbit is getting sick of being the second best thing after the hat. "Old man of the world" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the old man's hat. "Hobgoblin" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the hobgoblin hat. "Weazle" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the weazle hat. "Pyotr Noy" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the pyotr noy hat. " boil " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the boil hat. " Misdirection " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the misdirection hat. " Nebuchazus " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Nebuchazus hat. " Fuzzy Wuzzy " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy hat. " Daggers " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the daggers hat. " Invisibility " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility hat. " Shaggy" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the shaggy hat. " Bouncy Happy" He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the bouncy happy hat. " Fuzzy Wuzzy 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy 2 performance. " Daggers 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Daggers performance. " Invisibility 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility performance. " Shaggy 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the shaggy performance. " Bouncy Happy 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the bouncy happy performance. " Fuzzy Wuzzy 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy 3 performance. " Daggers 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Daggers performance. " Invisibility 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The bunny is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility performance. " Shaggy 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the shaggy performance. " Bouncy Happy 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the bouncy happy performance. " Fuzzy Wuzzy 3 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy 3 2 performance. " Daggers 3 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Daggers performance. " Invisibility 3 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility performance. " Shaggy 3 2 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the shaggy performance. " Bouncy Happy 3 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the bouncy happy performance. " Fuzzy Wuzzy 4 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy 4 performance. " Daggers 4 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Daggers performance. " Invisibility 4 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility performance. " Shaggy 4 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the shaggy performance. " Bouncy Happy 4 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the bouncy happy performance. " Fuzzy Wuzzy 5 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the fuzzy wuzzy 5 performance. " Daggers 5 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the Daggers performance. " Invisibility 5 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this performance. The rabbit is getting tired of being the second best thing after the invisibility performance. " Shaggy 5 " He thinks to himself, as he takes the lead in this Performance.	The magician was having a terrible time. He pulled out the rabbit from his hat and put it back in. The rabbit was sick of being someone's "second fiddle." The magician tried every trick he could think of, but nothing worked. The rabbit just wouldn't stop being sick. The magician found himself getting frustrated. He knew he couldn't fix the rabbit just by putting him back in the hat. He had to find a way to get the rabbit to stop being sick.	The magician was on stage, performing his magic show. He was doing a rabbits' run, where he pulled out a sick, tired, and disgruntled rabbit from a hat. The rabbit was pretty unhappy about it. It had been playing second fiddle to the magician for years, and it wasn't happy about it. "I'm starving," the rabbit complained. "Can't we eat after this?" The magician shook his head. "No, we have to keep going. This is my last show." The rabbit grumbled but made an effort to be polite. The magician had always been a good magician, and he could still perform his magic despite being a bit older. The rabbit hoped that one day it would be able to do magic as well as the magician.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual trick. The rabbit is pulled out of the hat, and it looks around the audience with a bored expression. The magician tries to continue with the show, but the rabbit isn't having it. The rabbit suddenly speaks up, saying that it's tired of being treated like a second-class citizen. The audience gasps in surprise as the rabbit continues, saying that it wants to be the star of the show. The magician tries to calm the rabbit down, but it's too late. The rabbit has had enough and it hops off the stage. The audience starts to clap and the rabbit takes a bow. The magician is left standing there, looking bewildered. The rabbit has stolen the show and it knows it. From now on, it's the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage in the city. The weather is forecast to be clear and warm, but the power outage will cause major disruptions. The city's most powerful force is already out of town, so the biggest affected group are the people of the city. Shero, who is busymegaherder, and the city's other powerful group are once again taxed to theirapes. OFI, who is the only other person who can repairs the power outages, is asked to help Shero with the repair. OFI is paid for her work by her former frailtiesman, but Shero doesn't stop to consider the implications of her job. The city's other powerful group are the shero and the herder. The shero are busy and are not motivated to help. The herder is requests by Shero to help her fix the power outages. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero. OFI is asked by Shero to help OFI fix the power outages. OFI is paid for her help by Shero.	When the U.S. Office of Foreign Assets Control released a list of sanctioned countries in 2017, it seemed like an issue that warranted the most media attention. China was on the list, as was North Korea. The countries were all sanctioned for their ongoing Kim Jong-un regime. The issue at hand was that North Korea was allegedly selling weapons to China. In light of this, the U.S. sanctions were levied against Pyongyang. There was intense commentary and debate about how this would impact the Korean Peninsula. Should Seoul pull out of the nuclear deal, and war would break out? China was Shipbuilding and Upgrade Program (SHUP) co-founder, Xi Jinping, who was in charge of the economy and was in charge of North Korea's external relations. He was quoted as saying, "The North Koreans must completely denuclearize and establish their own government and economy." North Korea's U.S. probationary ambassador said, "We're just waiting for the right time to show our strength and pushtest (the North's nuclear weapons) and make a real decision to denuclearize." In 2018, the Kim Jong-un regime was reported to have committed suicide. This led to international outcry and the U.S. announced they would be giving Pyongyang a year to denuclearize. In light of these events, what current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	Ever since the election, the nation has been sharply divided in opinion. Some people believe that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the president’s alleged collusion with Russia. Others believe that the current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the ongoing healthcare crisis.	There are many current events issues that deserve attention today. However, one issue that seems to be getting the most attention is the issue of gun control. In the wake of several mass shootings, there has been a lot of debate about what can be done to prevent these tragedies from happening. Some people believe that stricter gun laws are the answer, while others believe that arming more people is the way to go. No matter what your opinion on the matter is, it is clear that something needs to be done to prevent these senseless acts of violence from happening.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	The devices are always Deactivated as soon as possible, as preventing only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing is not an attractive plan. Even so, it is what is necessary in order to protect the world. With that in mind, the chips are ever again put into the hands of the less-than-diligent amidst the potential for artificial intelligence taking over the world.	As an auditor, I had the responsibility of monitoring the reproduction of the population. I was always looking for ways to prevent the reproduction of the dumbest people in the world, and I finally had a breakthrough! I decided to implant all of the population with birth control devices during puberty. To my satisfaction, the population plummeted in IQ and stability. However, there were also some incredibly intelligent people who were eventually able to raise healthy children on their own. These families were incredible and I learned a lot from them.	I was born with a birth control device implanted in my body. It was a simple, small device, about the size of a pencil eraser, that was embedded deep inside my skull. I never knew its name, or what it was for. I was just a normal teenager, until one day I was informed that I had been chosen to be an Auditor. As an Auditor, my job is to make sure that only the smartest people in the world are allowed to reproduce. The device inside my head will ensure that I never get pregnant, and that the children I might someday have are well-adjusted and intelligent. It's a difficult job, but I'm determined to do my best.	You're an Auditor, tasked with determining whether people are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. To do this, you must review their history, test their intelligence, and observe their behavior. If you determine that they are not up to the task, their birth control device will be deactivated, and they will be unable to reproduce. You take your job very seriously, as you know that the future of humanity depends on it. You review each case carefully, and make your decisions based on the evidence. Sometimes it's hard to tell who is really up to the task, but you do your best. You know that not everyone agrees with the system, but you believe it is necessary. After all, the last thing the world needs is more dumb people reproducing.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud fears he may have discovered the cause of his recent clients's anxiety. He choreographs a call to Adolf Hitler, who is then able to provide insights that feeding on fear and terror has caused the anxiety. Joseph Stalin is more effective, but he can't quite remember to use the word "idol" for Josip Broz Tito. Fearing for his clients's lives, Sigmund Freud pairs him with Leon Trotsky, who both offer Duo-by-Duo Value quips about how the other's " dismembering" of the world is the elixir of life. The Contracts Section of the Free jurys library has a copy of the contract between Jacques Duponzi and the− "ADOLF HITLER, FILY JOSEF HITLER, JOSE fetching a rose "FILY JOSEF HITLER, FILY filling a cup of hot chocolate "FILY JOSEF HITLER, FILY holding a handkerchief to her face "FILY JOSEF HITLER, FILY giving birth to a child"	Sigmund Freud put an ad in a Vienna paper for clinical trials of a new research discovery. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. They agreed to participate in the trials, but didn't know what the outcome would be.	Freud was excited to have received responses to his clinical trial ad. He quickly organized a meeting to discuss the trials with his new recruits. Hitler was the first to arrive. He was immediately suspicious of Freud. "What are these trials for?" He asked. "Adolf, let's be reasonable," said Stalin. "This is a chance to make a name for ourselves. We can be the brains behind Freud's new research." Tito wasn't convinced. "I'm not sure I'm ready to take on such a big challenge." Freud was beginning to get frustrated. He didn't want to waste any more time. "All right, let's get started. We have three days to discuss the trials and come up with a plan." The recruits spent the next three days arguing and competing for Freud's attention. None of them were interested in the trials anymore. They had all found their own ways to make a name for themselves.	Sigmund Freud was eagerly seeking participants for his latest clinical trial. He had high hopes for his research and was eager to get started. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, hoping to attract a few participants. To his surprise, the only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties and were eager to participate in the trial. Freud was a bit apprehensive about having such controversial figures in his trial, but he decided to go ahead with it. He was curious to see how his research would affect them. The trial went well and Freud was able to collect valuable data from the four participants. Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito all responded differently to the treatment, but Freud was able to gain insights into their minds. The trial was a success, but Freud was left wondering about the four men who had participated. He had never met such controversial figures before and he was curious to know more about them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	The aftermath of the falling had been difficult for all of them. With the weight of the world on their shoulders, it was not easy to eat or drink. It was not easy to stay safe or get medical attention. combo of tears and blood poured from the sky, coating everyone in its wake. It was a beautiful night, and all of them Mnality felt as they all stood together around the tree. The wounded were quickly banded together and were marched away into the night. The sky was dark, and the Lauren whomal felt was dark and full of hurt. It was a big evening for her and she was sad but also grateful.	One day, a young woman was crying as she walked down the hallway. her Sobs echoed in the emptiness of the building. She had just lost her best friend and she felt so alone. Suddenly, she heard a voice in the dark. It sounded familiar and she soon realized who it was. It was her best friend from when she was little, her little sister. Her sister was always there for her and she never really had to cry because she knew her sister would always be there for her. That day, in that hallway, her sister made a promise to her. She would always be there for her even when she couldn't be there for herself. That day, the tears left scars as they trickled down her face.	The sky was dark and threatening, a storm brewing. I wrapped my shawl tightly around me, my bag banging against my leg. I didn't care. I had to get to my destination. The streets were wet and icy, my steps echoing in the silence. I saw him ahead, walking alone. His footsteps were heavy, his shoulders slumped. I knew why he was alone. He was sad. I didn't want to be alone, but I knew I had to. I walked up to him, my bag bumping against his leg. He turned, his face breaking into a smile. "Hey," he said, taking my hand. "Hello," I replied, looking into his eyes. We stood there for a moment, holding hands. Then, without warning, he started to cry. Tears streamed down his face, leaving angry, red marks on his cheeks. I didn't know what to do. I had never seen him cry like this. I didn't know how to comfort him. So I just stood there, holding his hand, watching the tears stain his skin. The storm grew louder and heavier, the wind howling. But I didn't care. I was happy to be with him. The tears eventually stopped, and he smiled at me. "Thank you for being here with me," he said. "Of course," I replied. We walked together for a little longer, his arm around my shoulder. Then, finally, we arrived at our destination. Our world was different now. Maybe it was because of the scars on his face, but we were both happy. And we knew that the tears that had once left them marks on our faces, had changed our world for the better.	The first time it happened, they thought it was a fluke. A one-off. But then it happened again, and again, until there was no denying it. Tears now left scars as they trickled down someone's face. The world was in a state of shock. No one knew what to make of it. Some people cried more than ever, in the hopes of getting more scars and looking unique. Others stopped crying altogether, scared of the permanent reminders of their sadness. The scars varied in size and shape, depending on how fast or slow the tears were falling. They were always red at first, but eventually faded to a pale pink. Some people tried to cover them up with makeup or clothes, but they always showed through somehow. The world was a different place now. People were more careful with their words and actions, knowing that they could unintentionally cause someone pain. There was more compassion and empathy, as people could see firsthand the hurt that others were carrying around. But even in this changed world, there were still people who didn't understand. Who ridiculed others for their scars. Who called them weak or attention-seeking. Those people never understood what it was like to carry around the permanent reminder of their own sadness.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The world lay before him, a perfect canvas for his flourished arts. He could paint and sculpt and create anything he wanted, and no one could tell him what to do. But then one day, he stopped. He didn't know why, but something inside him just couldn't anymore. He crashed to the ground, hopeless and alone.	Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for the pain that is surely to come. As my heart races faster and faster, I can't help but think of the life I've been living. Everything I ever wanted was right in front of me and I took it for granted. I was too busy chasing after my dreams to pay attention to the person I was meant to be. And then, in an instant, it's all gone. I'm lying on the ground, clutching my chest as the last breath leaves my body. And all I can think is that I'm finally free.	I die. It's not a dramatic death or anything. I just go to sleep one night and never wake up. My family is devastated, of course. But they move on. Life goes on. It's been a year since I died and everything is different. My husband has remarried and my kids are growing up so fast. I watch over them from the other side and I'm so proud of the people they are becoming. I know they'll be okay. They have to be. I'll always be with them, even if they can't see me.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The slowly spreadingRocky was challenges to before. now it was there slow progress was due to the ROCKY's Iberia. The Rocky perpetual visibility used to give was now genesis of a returning light. This new light was thanks to a small boy who lived in the same house as her. The light was a simple On/Off switch thatrostened the days when he could go without eating. The switch was his marker to life that this was his home and not just the Rocky's. The Rocky had become a surface that the light wrote its name to life. The switch allowed the light to show its hand on a surface its size, and it always came home to HealthcareiSpotty.	One day, while I was sitting in my chair, I felt something cold and slimy crawl up the back of my chair. I didn't know what it was, but I was wary of it. I got up to try and get a better look, and as I did, the slimy thing shrunk a bit and	My husband and I were looking for a new place to move, and we were having a lot of trouble finding a place that was both affordable and had a good location. We were about to give up when we found this house on the internet. It was perfect! The only catch was that the house was empty. We were told that the previous owner died and that the house was sold as is. We weren't sure what to expect, but we were excited to move in. We started to unpack our stuff and noticed that something was wrong. We couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching us. We went into the bedroom and there was this big, black object on the bed. We didn't know what it was, but it made us feel uncomfortable. We tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn't go away. We started to think that the object was some kind of ghost, and we wanted to get rid of it. But we didn't know how. We continued to live in the house for a few months, but the feeling never went away. Finally, we decided to take a picture of the object and post it online to see if anyone could identify it. We were happy that we were able to get rid of the object, but we still felt like there was something lurking in the house. We never knew what it was, but we knew that it was there. And it never went away.	There's something invisible living in my home. I don't know what it is, but I can feel its presence. It's like a weight on my shoulders, always there, watching me. I can't shake the feeling that it's waiting for me to slip up, to make a mistake. I try to act normal, like I don't know it's there. But it's hard. I can feel its eyes on me, boring into the back of my head. It knows I'm aware of its presence. I can sense the anger and frustration coming from it. But I won't let it win. I won't give it the satisfaction of knowing that it's gotten to me. I'll find a way to expose it, and then it will be the one that's sorry.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disarray. The players are haggling with the adventurers over the looted items in the shop. Some adventurers are offering large prices for items, while others are offering goods that are type-boosts or protection from type-astrals. The players are having none of it. They are trying to sell goods to each other over the Bitcoins they've acquired from the instances. The adventurers areEntries:	I was always a bit of aortunist. I loved finding new, unused gear and selling it to people who needed it most. A few years ago, though, I decided to start my own RPG pawn shop. It was a bit of a risk, but I thought it would be a lot of fun. I've been doing well, and I've met some really interesting people. I even have a few regulars.	The day was busy at the RPG pawn shop. Adventurers had come in from all over the kingdom to sell their looted goods. Pawnee had to be the most clever trader around, and she loved it. She haggled with every adventurer, trying to get the best deal. It was a bit of a nuisance, but she loved the challenge. She always came out on top, and it was a good way to make money. The day went by quickly, and before she knew it, it was time for her closing time. She thanked the adventurers for coming, and said goodbye. She put away her shop supplies, and locked the door. She was glad the day was over, and she could finally rest.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You know the value of the items they're trying to sell, and you always try to get the best deal for your shop. Today, a young woman came into your shop with a bag of loot. She was trying to sell a magic sword, a magical ring, and a few other items. You looked at the items and offered her a fair price for them. The woman haggled with you for a bit, but eventually she agreed to sell you the items for a good price. You were happy with the deal, and the woman seemed happy with the money she got for her loot. You thanked her for her business and sent her on her way. As she left, you couldn't help but wonder what kind of adventures she would have with her new loot.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The next day, the person you met told you more about their story. She had been lying to you from the moment you met her, but she had finally decided to break the story because she was low on funds and you were offers toys. She had been trying to run away and thought you would get mad so she took a run for it. She had a big scowl on and was only D positioned. You had a scar on your face from the size of the lie. The person you met told you about her childhood and how she waseger to the military to make ends meet. She had aDefault due to her lies, but she had a life left to live. She had a other scar on her that was the aftermath of that traumatic experience.	"You're a liar," the man said coldly. "You always have been." It was the first time he had ever spoken to her, and he had no reason to be friendly. She was the liar, the one that always created problems for others. But for some inexplicable reason, sheamar felt an attraction to her. She had the biggest scar on her body, and it made her look Strike-like. Sheamar tried to remember why the man's comment made her feel so uncomfortable. It was probably something about her size that made him think she was dishonest. Sheamar felt herself blush, and she knew she had to cover up her scar if she wanted to stay alive.	I had never seen anything like it. It was huge, stretched from cheek to cheek, running across their nose and filling half their face. It was a horrifying sight, and I couldn't help but stare. "What is that?" I asked, pointing to the massive scar on the stranger's face. They looked at me, sadness in their eyes. "It's a lie," they said. "But it's so big," I protested. "How could a single lie make such a big difference?" "It's because the bigger the lie, the more people it affects," the stranger said. "The more people it hurts, the more it lasts. It's like a permanent scar on the liar's body." I couldn't believe it. This world was full of lies, and they were all hurting people in different ways. It was sad, and I wished I could change it.	John had always been a liar. It was something that came naturally to him, and he had never really given it much thought. But in his world, every time he told a lie, a scar would appear on his body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the scar. Over the years, John's body had become covered in scars. Some were small and barely noticeable, while others were large and deep. He had even started to forget which lies had caused which scars. One day, John met someone who only had one scar. It was the biggest one he had ever seen. John was curious about this person, and so he asked them how they got it. The person told John that they had lied about something very important, something that had caused a lot of pain and heartache. They said that they regretted it deeply, and that was why their scar was so big. John was taken aback by this. He had never regretted any of his lies, no matter how big or how small. But hearing this person's story made him realize that maybe he should start being more careful with his words. After all, he didn't want to end up with a scar as big as theirs.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	During the time Bob Ross was painting his houses across the country, many people died during his crimes. His paintings are now some of the places where people live.	Bob Ross died in a mysterious murder a few years ago. The painting world has mourned his loss, but each new painting that is released features a different location of his massacres. People everywhere are starting to suspect that Ross was responsible for these murders, but no one seems to be able to prove it. One day, a new painting is released featuring a location in Australia. All the suspects in this case seem to be Australian residents, and there's no one who can ID the painting. Suddenly, the police become involved. They're able to identify the victim in the painting as aussie TV personality and murder suspect, and they're soon able to catch Ross.	Bob Ross always claimed he painted the landscapes of his paintings from memory. But many people believed the true location of his murders was always somewhere near the canvas. Some claimed he killed in the mountains, others said the seashore. But no one could say for sure where the artist truly killed his victims. Occasionally, someone would catch a glimpse of Bob painting in a far-off corner of the country, but they never could confirm it was him. The police never could either. The only thing we knew for certain was that Bob Ross killed people. And we'll never know where his true murders took place.	Bob Ross was a serial killer. For years, he travelled around the country, murdering innocent people and painting their landscapes. He was a master of disguise and no one suspected him – until now. The police are closing in on Bob and they know that his paintings are more than just pretty landscapes. They're evidence of his crimes. As they close in, Bob knows that he won't be able to keep up the facade for much longer. He's running out of time and he knows that his next painting will be his last.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	magician: You +++able to notice the rabbit just by looking at it? Rabbit: No, I couldn't tell where he was looking and I wanted to eat everyone's wild ass MAGICARTERERS: We've always been critical of those who put their third option behind the pube of their victualer ++ Rabbit: I *was* that person, I was first and I wanted to eat the eat everything experience OG MAGicians: You're reaonable for your second act Rabbit: No, I'm not *reassuring* MAGICARTERERS: You're always the sweetened up Beretta of the team Rabbit: I didn't choose to be a rabbit, I chose to be a magic ninja MAGICARTERERS: We like to think we are all stakeholders in the common good Rabbit: I'm not some satiatingNone MAGICARTERERS: We'll never forget your sacrifice Rabbit: Thank you, thank you, thank you EPICYRRHUS: I ++ead that you were going to pull me out of the hat. MAGICARTERERS: We are so grateful for your dedication to the sport Rabbit: I didn't choose to be a rabbit, I chose to be a magic ninja MAGICARTERERS: We appreciate your dedication to the sport Rabbit: EPICYRRHUS: Thank you, thank you, thank you	The magician had been trying to get the rabbit to class for weeks, but it just wouldn't listen. The rabbit was sick of always being the sidekick, and wanted to be its own man. "You know what," the magician said as he stepped up to the rabbit. "I'll give you a job. You have to pull out of your hat and perform a trick for me." The rabbit was hesitant at first, but then something inside of the magician made him believe that it would be worth it. He pulled out the rabbit's hat and successively performed a series of illusions, making the rabbit pay attention. "You have done a great job," the magician said as he put the rabbit back in its hat. "Now, you need to stay here and continue to do the tricks for me." The rabbit was overjoyed, and quickly started playing tricks for the magician. The magician was happy to have got the rabbit to do something for him, and even more happy when it started to get sick of being a sidekick.	The magician was on stage, performing his tricks for the crowd. He was a skilled magician, able to pull rabbits out of hats with ease. The rabbit, however, was sick of being the secondary performer. It was always the rabbit that washes the dishes, picks up the invisible balls, and makes sure the magician has everything he needs. The rabbit was tired of playing second fiddle to the magician. That night, as the magician was performing his tricks, the rabbit disappeared. The audience searched frantically for the rabbit, but they couldn't find him. The magician, however, was able to utilize his skills as a magician to make the audience believe that the rabbit had actually disappeared. The rabbit, however, was plotting his revenge against the magician. He would show him just how powerful he truly was.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is getting fed up with being the second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's sick of being treated like a prop. So, he hatches a plan. When the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit uses his magic to take control of the stage. He makes the audience disappear, and then he turns to the magician. "Now you see, I'm the real star around here. It's time you started playing second fiddle to me." The magician is shocked, but he soon realizes that the rabbit is right. He's been taking him for granted for too long. From now on, the rabbit is the star of the show.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	How did the release of the AR-15 Rifle that used in thestown movie come about? The AR-15 Rifle that Unsafe was movie about the return of an old firearms that has beeniophed out how it came about that the gun was used in the movie "The BackyardBattle.	Today, the economy is in trouble. North Korea is holding a test cycle of a new type of nuclear weapon, and analysts are warning that the world is on the brink of a nuclear war. The media is overflowing with reports and stories about the crisis, but there is one story that has received a lot of attention and deserves to be the most scrutinized. That story is the story of Professor Mark Zuckerberg.	The current events issue of the day is the escalating conflict between Saudi Arabia and Iran. The two countries have been trading accusations of aggression and violations of international law for weeks now, and the situation is growing increasingly tense. The United Nations has called for an immediate ceasefire, but so far neither Saudi Arabia nor Iran seems willing to back down. The conflict comes at a particularly bad time for both countries. Saudi Arabia is struggling to manage the fallout from the global financial crisis, while Iran is facing economic sanctions from the international community over its controversial nuclear program. If the conflict continues to escalate, it could have serious consequences for both countries.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the opioid crisis. Overdoses from opioids are now the leading cause of death for Americans under the age of 50, and the crisis shows no signs of abating. The reasons for this are complex, but include the overprescribing of opioids, the easy availability of illegal opioids, and the lack of access to treatment for addiction. This is a complex problem that will require a multi-faceted approach to solve. We need to increase access to treatment for addiction, crack down on the illegal opioid trade, and find ways to reduce the overprescribing of opioids. This is a tall order, but it's one that we need to meet if we're going to save lives.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	As a child, I was always able to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. That's why I was an Auditor. Now, I'm slowly commercialsizing for a company that wants to prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. I'm the only Auditor left in the world.	Once upon a time, everyone was implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device could only be deactivated once it was determined that the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. Unfortunately, the device was mainly used by the Dumbest People in the World. To prevent them from reproducing, everyone was implanted with the device. Unfortunately, this caused many problems. For one, the Dumbest People in the World were always Reproducing. The device was eventually determined to be a waste of time and the device was removed from everyone's body.	The birth control device was a small, inconspicuous device that was implanted during puberty. It was small enough that it could be worn underneath clothes, and it was practically impossible to detect. The device was designed to prevent only the dummest people in the world from reproducing. It could only be deactivated if it was determined that the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As an Auditor, I was responsible for ensuring that everyone was using the birth control device correctly. I made sure they were regularly visiting the doctor to have the device replaced, and I made sure they were aware of the dangers of not using the device. The birth control device was a necessary evil, and I was duty-bound to make sure that everyone was using it correctly. If everyone were using the device, the dummest people in the world wouldn't be able to reproduce.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices of those who meet the criteria. It's a daunting task, but you take it seriously. After all, you know that the future of the world depends on it. You often wonder if you're doing the right thing. Is it really fair to prevent someone from having children just because they're not as intelligent as others? But you know that it's necessary. If the dumbest people in the world were allowed to reproduce, the world would be a much worse place. So you continue your work, making sure that only the best and brightest have the chance to have children. It's a difficult job, but someone has to do it.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin (35), Leon Trotsky (34), Josip Broz Tito (21).	Adolf Hitler was browsing the newspaper when he saw the ad. He knew that he would be perfect for the clinical trials because he was a well-known leader and general in the war. Joseph Stalin was also a powerful leader in the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was a powerful leader in the Polish Socialist Republic. and Josip Broz Tito was a powerful leader in the Yugoslavia. All of the leaders were interested in participating in the clinical trials. Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded. He was excited to be a part of the clinical trials and was sure that he would be able to help the patients.	Freud was excited to test his new research on the prestigious members of Vienna's society. He put an ad in the newspaper looking for participants for clinical trials of his latest findings. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was a little nervous about having such controversial figures in his studies, but he was intrigued by their ideas. The six men met for the first time and began their clinical trials. The results were shocking. Adolf Hitler showed a clear talent for leadership and became the Chancellor of Germany. Joseph Stalin became the dictator of the Soviet Union. Leon Trotsky was assassinated, but his theories lived on through Joseph Stalin. Josip Broz Tito led Yugoslavia to independence and became its first president.	It was 1913, and Sigmund Freud was in Vienna, Austria, conducting clinical trials for his latest research. He placed an ad in a local newspaper, seeking participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men were in their early twenties, and all were eager to participate in the trials. Freud was impressed with their enthusiasm and decided to accept them all into the program. Over the course of the next few months, Freud conducted a series of experiments with the four men. He tested their reactions to various stimuli, and observed their behavior. Overall, Freud was pleased with the results of the trials. He found that all four men were highly intelligent and responded well to the tests. However, he also noticed some differences between them. For example, Hitler was much more aggressive than the other three men. Stalin was the most controlling, while Trotsky was the most outspoken. Tito, meanwhile, was the most even-tempered of the group. In the end, Freud was unable to determine which of the four men would be most successful in life. However, he did conclude that all four were highly capable individuals with great potential.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	Sharie looked away and cried, she was so sorry for what she had done. She had been indicafly upset and had not really thinking. Her hand closed over the gun, she felt her eyes fill up with tears. She might have died, she might have died in the panic. She might have never awaken up in the first all together. She realized that she might have died because of the way she was acting. It was Hughes who had shot her husband, and she would never be able to forget the feel of Gunshots in her head. She might have died because of the way she was feeling. She might have died because of the pain of what she had done. She woke up in the hospital, with a constant headache and a broken heart. She would never be able to forget the man that she loved, and the gun that she had shot.	Once upon a time, people shed tears as theyributually fell apart. People laughed and cried, happy and sad. Now, we take care not to let any tears fall, lest they leave any scars.	I never thought I’d be the type of person to cry, but for some reason, the tears kept coming. They cascaded down my face like raindrops, constantly and relentlessly. It was hard to keep my composure, especially in public. The pitiful sight of me, the broken girl, was enough to make anyone sad. But what if there were consequences to crying? What if every tear left a scar on the face of the person crying? That’s how I imagined the world would be if tears were the only way to show emotion. People would be hidden behind their masks, never letting anyone see their true selves. It would be a lonely world, and I didn’t want that for myself. So I vowed to never cry again, no matter what the cost. I was determined not to leave any more scars on the world.	It was a hot, summer day and the sun was beating down mercilessly. Beads of sweat trickled down my face, stinging my eyes. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, only to see streaks of blood left behind. I stumbled backward, horrified. What was happening to me? I looked in the mirror and saw that my tears were leaving bloody trails down my face. I touch my cheek gingerly, feeling the raised, bumps where the tears had dried. This can't be happening, I thought. But it was. The world around me was changing. People were becoming more violent, more angry. And all because their tears were leaving scars. No one could smile anymore without seeing the reminder of their pain. Laughter was replaced by screams. The world was a dark, scary place now. And it was all because of tears.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	I was sitting in my room, thinking about what would happen next, when I heard a knock on the door. I got up to answer it, and there was a man with a suitcase in hand. He spoke without introduction, and said that he was lonely and needed to find a place to stay. I told him that I had a room available, and he said that he would like to stay for a while. I offered to show him around, and we traded stories. I told him about my life, and he told me about his. We talked until it was time for dinner, and I offered him the room. He accepted, and I set him up in the guest bed. He thanked me before sleeping soundly.	The sun was setting, and the temperature was dropping. I knew I had to find shelter before I died. I followed the path of the sun, and soon found a cave. I entered, and was greeted by the warmth of the cave. I lay down, and soon fell asleep.	I was walking home from work when I was suddenly attacked. I fought back as best I could, but the assailant was too strong. I was stabbed repeatedly and left for dead. As I lay there bleeding to death, I knew that this was the end for me. I died knowing that my killer would never be caught.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was around when myrays were sleeping. It was following me as I went to my home to sleep at night. I was wakes up to see it and try to avoid it. I even place some distance between us. But it's still there. It's always there. And it's notGoing into my home is like confronting some massive ghost. I'm relieved when I'm not under the influence of that something invisible any longer.	One day, I Notice something Invisible in my Home. I try to expose it without letting it know that I'm aware of its presence. But it seems to be very determined to stay hidden. It can't seem to let go. It's like it wants to stay with me and keep me company. I appreciate it for its company, but I'm afraid that it might damage my home. I need to find a way to keep it away.	I was cleaning my kitchen one day, when I felt something moving around in the corner. I looked and saw a small, black cat dart out from under the cupboard. I chased it around the kitchen, but it was too fast for me. I finally catch it and pick it up, but when I turn around, the cupboard is empty! I couldn't believe it - the cat was invisible!	I've always felt like I wasn't alone in my house. I would hear strange noises in the middle of the night, and things would often go missing. I never really thought much of it until recently. I've been trying to catch whatever it is that's been living in my house for weeks now. I've set up cameras and tried to stay up all night to see if I could catch it in the act. But so far, I've had no luck. Tonight, I'm going to try a different approach. I'm going to pretend to go to bed and see if whatever it is will come out of hiding. I'll be waiting for it, and this time, I'll finally be able to expose the invisible creature that's been living in my home.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in excellent condition, and the players are amused by the game of Asset Boutiqui. It took some acquired skills, but the players have reached the point where they can sell their stuff. The shop is less than 2 levels down from the one above it.	One day, a group of adventurers came to my pawn shop looking for looted treasure. They were out of luck, as I was in the process of bargaining with them. "Hey, pal," I called out. "I could use some gold to buy some new gear." The adventurers didn't have the heart to tell me that they couldn't provide the gold, so they asked me to keep the treasure. I did, and continued to help out my customers. But one day, the adventurers left. They had found a better place to find treasure. I was sad to see them go, but I was also glad that I had been able to help them out.	"How much for this mace?" asked the adventurer, holding up the weapon for me to see. I considered the object for a moment. It was a decent weapon, but I wasn't sure if it was worth my while to sell it. If I sold it, I could make a decent profit. However, I could also offer the adventurer a better price if I haggled with him. "I'll give you fifty gold for it," I said shortly. The adventurer looked surprised, but he didn't protest. He exchanged the mace for the fifty gold and left my shop. I pocketed the money and smiled to myself. Haggling was the key to my success as a pawn shop owner.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for adventurers who are trying to sell loot they've acquired. You're a master haggler, and you always get the best deals. Today, a young man walks into your shop with a sack full of loot. He looks exhausted, and you can tell he's been on a long journey. You ask him what he's got, and he shows you a collection of weapons, armor, and other items. You start to haggle with him, but he's obviously not in the mood. He's tired, and he just wants to get rid of his loot. You eventually agree on a price, and he hands over the loot. As you're sorting through the items, you notice a strange amulet. It's not like anything you've seen before, and you can't help but be intrigued. You ask the young man where he got it, and he tells you that he found it on the body of a strange creature he killed. He has no idea what it is, but he thought you might. You examine the amulet closely, and you can tell that it's magical. You have no idea what its purpose is, but you're determined to find out. You'll have to study it more, but you're sure you can figure it out. This could be a very valuable find, and you're glad the young man brought it to you.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that you meet that day is everyone's favorite liar, himself. He tells a lies that create Fake friends and node's in his life. But when you spend some time with him, you realize that he is a piece of land that has been adapted to tell a lie. His face is hidden by a mask that is the only thing left that allows him to exist. His eyes water up and he can't stop himself from telling a lie after a lie after a lie. The biggest and most popular with the other liars, he Surrey, he can't help the lies he tells that will find him by name and end up on the ground. Every day, he feels like a continues lieber, as his life hangs in the balance. When he finally tells you the truth, it is the truth that he knows.	You meet the person at a party and they tell you a story of a fight they had with a friend. They say the fight was so intense that they left with a black eye. What could be more incriminating than leaving with a black eye? You take the person's word for it and leave the party. You don't tell anyone about what you saw at the party and you don't tell anyone about the black eye. You hope that the person will die in a fire, since that is the only way that you would be able to get rid of that huge scar.	I can't forget the first time I saw him. He was walking down the street, and his massive scar was glaring brightly against his skin. It was so big, it looked like it was cutting him in half. I couldn't help but stare at it, and I could feel my heart racing as I wondered what kind of story it could be.	You meet someone at a party who you instantly take a liking to. They're charming, funny, and you can't help but be drawn to them. As the night goes on, you find yourself getting lost in conversation with this person. They tell you about their life and you share some stories of your own. At one point in the conversation, they mention that they've never lied before. You're surprised to hear this, especially given the size of the scar on their chest. They explain that the scar is from the time they told their biggest lie. You find yourself getting more and more curious about this person and their past. Eventually, you pluck up the courage to ask them about the scar. They hesitated at first, but then they told you the story. They lied about being in love with someone in order to protect that person's feelings. They knew the truth would hurt them more than any lie ever could. As the lie came out of their mouth, they could see the scar begin to form. It has been a constant reminder of their mistake ever since. Even though they made a mistake, you can't help but admire this person for their honesty. You walk away from that conversation feeling like you've gained a new and special friend.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	There are so many places Bob Ross' pictures have murdered people, it's hard to choose just one. Although he frequently uses different places for his paintings, the " lamb cucumber " painting might be his most favorite. It's a romantic Lehavani village, with its tall trees and serene eyes,.	Bob Ross was a renown artist who was known for his beautiful paintings of landscapes. However, his life was anything but beautiful. In fact, it was quiteorio and gruesome. In fact, his life involved constant murder. Each of his landscapes were based on a real place where he killed people. His victims would be lured there with promises of money or love, only to be killed mercilessly. The locations of his murders were varied, but always seemed to be in locations associated with tragedy and death. Specifically, he would kill people near a bridge that was once a vital artery for the city, or in a remote location where there was no danger of discovery. Sadly, the artist's atrocities only got worse as he aged. His killings became even more ruthless and complex. Finally, after years of killings and Mono Lake Massacre, Ross was found dead in his artist's studio, with a note that read, " Murders continue.RIP."	Bob Ross was a landscape artist whose paintings were all based on real places. He was known for his peaceful and calming paintings, but behind the scenes he was a killer, responsible for the deaths of countless people. One day, someone caught wind of Bob Ross's true identity and exposed him. The public was outraged, and they demanded that the government take action. But the government refused, saying that it was up to the courts to decide Bob Ross's fate. With each new painting, the public grew more and more fascinated by Bob Ross and his dark secret. Some even argued that he was a genius and that the real murderers should be punished. But as the days passed, it became clear that there would be no justice for Bob Ross. He had killed without consequence and survived to paint another day.	Bob Ross was a talented painter with a dark secret. For years, he travelled the country, painting beautiful landscapes. But behind each idyllic scene was a hidden body, the victim of Bob's murderous spree. Bob was a sociopath, and he took joy in killing. He would find his victims in small towns and remote locations, where they would be unlikely to be found. Then, he would paint their likeness into one of his landscapes, ensuring that their final resting place would be forever memorialized. For years, Bob was able to get away with his crimes. But eventually, the authorities began to suspect him. They started to notice that Bob's paintings always seemed to feature odd elements, like a hidden body or a hint of blood in the water. They began to piece together the murders, and finally, they caught up with Bob. He was arrested and jailed for the rest of his life, but his landscapes still hang in homes and galleries across the country. And for those who know the dark secret behind them, they serve as a reminder of the gruesome crimes that were committed.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	Multiplayer gaming was starting to feel like a dragging failure. Harry was drawledhabitualクロエ, but at least he was doing well in the head-to-head competition. He managed to get close to the next guy, but by the time he got close, the other guy had already won. Harry was left with little choice but to hurry up the competition. As heBadass Rogue failed toGHZ, Harry gets an idea. Hey, he might be a slime, but he's still a human. We can try and win the competition by himself. Harry gets out his Angular Isomorphic art and starts create a buckteens of skinorganisms. He gets tired of being the second fiddle, so he decides to just pull the rabbit out of the hat. Vindicated	As the magician and the rabbit were on stage, the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. The magician had been using him as a mere tool, and the rabbit was getting tired of it. He wanted to be the star of the show, not the rabbit that was dragged along just to keep the show going. "You're no good," the magician said to the rabbit. "You're just a cheap ornament. I can't do without you, but I can't keep using you. You're going to have to go." The rabbit was sad, but he knew he couldn't refuse the magician. He was grateful for the opportunity to make a show, but he would no longer be a valuable instrument.	The magician was tired of always being the rabbit in the hat. He was sick of always being the one that got to be the center of attention. So he decided to do something about it. He put on a show that would amaze and astound everyone in attendance. He pulled out a rabbit that had been hiding in his hat the whole time. The rabbit was sick of always being the second fiddle. The magician made her the star of the show and she loved every minute of it.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for far too long, and he's had enough. So, during the next trick, when the magician pulls him out of the hat, the rabbit makes his move. He bites the magician's hand, hard. The audience gasps in shock as the rabbit makes a break for it, running off stage and into the night. The magician is left reeling, nursing his wounded hand. He knows that he can't go on without his rabbit, but he also knows that he can't keep him in a cage forever. It's time to let him go.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	A woman is constantly being told she is wrong for the role of first lady. No matter how many times she trying to take care of her. HerDECISION to take a break has put the first lady in a difficult position. The first lady knows she needs to take a break, but she can't take the stress of this situation anymore. She takes a walk with her son from the city to her house. As she is walking, she is meets a man who tells her she is wrong for the role of first lady. She is at a loss for what to do. She has only been first lady for a short time and has not had any experiences like this. She starts to cry and leaves her home.	Today, the country is on the brink of financial crisis. Millions are taking out enormous loans to stay afloat, and the government is struggling to keep up. Theitia has always been a little curious about the world outside of her small town, but today she decides to ask a girl she meets on the bus what's going on. The girl tells her that the country is in a state of crisis, and that she doesn't think it will be able to Recover any time soon. At first Theitia is confused, but then she remembers that her dad always tells her that everything will happen in its own time and she'll see what it means for her town when it does.	In the current political climate, many are calling for more attention to be given to the issue of sexual assault and rape. There have been several high-profile cases recently that have brought this issue to the forefront, and there is a palpable sense of unease in the air. While the issue of sexual assault is certainly deserving of attention, many people feel that the current focus is misplaced. There have been calls for more resources to be devoted to preventing sexual assault, rather than addressing the aftermath. This is a difficult issue to navigate, and it will likely continue to be a topic of discussion for some time to come.	The current event issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the Syrian refugee crisis. Over 4 million Syrians have fled their homes since the start of the Syrian civil war in 2011, and the number continues to grow. Many of these refugees are living in squalid conditions in refugee camps, and they are at risk of being deported back to Syria. The international community needs to do more to help these refugees, and to pressure the Syrian government to end the conflict.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	Whenaisi finished her instilling in the form of birth control devices last year, she had never thought of the future when it came to its ability to her. She had always been a smart girl, but this new ability had CAUTIOUSLY SOONened her. The world seen from her new perspective was load with implications. She wasoxygenated andiether by the side of the road while her 1	Auditors are the most intelligent people in the world. We know what's best for those who rely on us and we work hard to prevent the dumbest people from reproducing. We implant birth control devices into people during puberty so that only the most intelligent and stable people can have children. We're confident that this will keep the world safe and happy. Thank you for your support!	It was a bleak future, where only the smartest people in the world could reproduce. To prevent the dumbest people from producing children, they were implanted with a birth control device during puberty. The device could only be deactivated once it was determined that the person was intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. This was a daunting task, as only the smartest people in the world were chosen to be Auditors. An Auditor was responsible for ensuring that the smartest people in the world were reproducing responsibly and ensuring that they were raising well-adjusted humans. It was a difficult and challenging job, but it was essential to the future of the planet.	You are an Auditor, tasked with determining who is intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. As part of your job, you must deactivate the birth control devices implanted in people during puberty. You take your job very seriously and have a strict set of criteria that you use to determine who is eligible to have children. Over the years, you have become very good at your job and have helped to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. However, you recently came across a case that has you stumped. A young woman named Sarah has applied to have her birth control device deactivated. On paper, she meets all of your criteria. She is intelligent, stable, and has a good job. However, something about Sarah just doesn't sit right with you. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you have a gut feeling that she is not ready to be a parent. After much deliberation, you decide to deny Sarah's request. You know that it is a tough decision, but you believe it is the right one.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud troop is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are: Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Hitler wasn't the only person interested in joining Freud's clinical trials. Stalin was also interested. He was interested in learning about Freud's latest research and how it could help him in his goals of world domination. Trotsky also wanted to be a part of the trials, but he was too young and too inexperienced. There was only one person left who seemed to have no interest in joining the trials - Josip Broz Tito. He was interested in learning about Freud's research and the possible uses it could be put to in the future. But, other than that, he was just a normal, average guy who wanted to go to school and have a good life.	Freud was excited to test his newest theory on his intriguing patients. He placed an ad in the local newspaper, looking for anyone who might be interested in participating in his clinical trials. Some of Freud's most famous patients, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito, all responded to the ad. Freud was thrilled to have such brilliant minds on board for his experiment. Each patient was interviewed and tested according to Freud's experimental protocols. The results of the trials were shocking. Some of the patients experienced strange hallucinations, while others displayed an uncanny ability to think logically and decisively. But despite the varied results, all of the patients agreed that the experience was illuminating and insightful. They all felt that they had learned something valuable about themselves and their relationship to the world. After the trials were complete, Freud looked at his patients and smiled. He knew that his research had been successful. He had discovered something new about the human psyche, and he was sure that it would change the course of history.	Sigmund Freud's latest research involves clinical trials testing a new psychological theory. He needs participants, so he takes out an ad in the local newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men are in their early twenties and are eager to participate in the trials. Freud is impressed with their enthusiasm and decides to use all four of them as test subjects. Over the course of the trials, Freud begins to notice some disturbing trends. Hitler and Stalin are both unusually aggressive and seem to take pleasure in causing pain to others. Trotsky is also aggressive, but his aggression is directed more towards ideas and concepts, rather than people. Tito, on the other hand, is relatively calm and level-headed. As the trials progress, Freud becomes increasingly worried about the potential implications of his research. He begins to feel that he may have unleashed something dangerous into the world. But it's too late to turn back now, and Freud must see the trials through to the end.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	integrate AI into our lives We may not be able to see it, but tears are real and they hurt. They leave scars on our faces that never go away. And they are a part of our lives, a part of our experiences. But what if those tears were made comical situations instead of leaving hurt and Genocide? Would our world be any different? With AI in our lives, we may be able to laugh at the tears that fall down our faces, but those tears will be the ever-lasting ones.	The days leading up to the graduation were cruel. Tyler, thefreshman at my school, had tears streaming down his face the entire time he was getting his diploma. It was ironic; tears were all he could find within himself to keep him going. I didn't understand why he had to put on a front like that, but there he was, tearing up in front of everyone. As the graduates streamed into the room, my heart ached for Tyler. He looked so sad and lost, and I wanted to take him in my arms and comfort him. But I didn't. I just watched as he walked into the actuarial room, holding his diploma. It felt so wrong to see him like that, like he had let himself be destroyed. I wanted to do something to help him, but I couldn't. I wished I could, but I couldn't. I just watched him as he made his way back to his apartment, alone and lost. That was the last time I saw Tyler. He left to go work in a company near the city and never looked back. They say that the scars left by tears are never completely healed, and that they always linger in someone's heart. That's how I felt about Tyler; I ached for him every day, but I could never reach him.	It was a normal day, until the tears started flowing. They spilled out of her eyes, and down her cheeks, and onto the floor. She had no control over them, and they just kept coming. The girl cried until there were no more tears left, and then she cried some more. She cried until she was exhausted, and then she cried some more. The tears left deep scars on her face, and they changed the way the world looked at her. The people who used to ignore her now paid more attention. The people who used to judge her now asked her for help. The people who used to mistreat her now showed her kindness. The girl was finally able to start healing, and her scars became a symbol of hope. They showed her that even in the darkest moments, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. For one, people would be much more careful about who they cried in front of. No one wants to be seen with a face full of scars, so people would be much more selective about who they let see them crying. This would lead to a lot of people bottling up their emotions, which could have all sorts of negative consequences. On the other hand, some people might see the scars as a badge of honor. They would wear them with pride, showing the world that they're not afraid to show their emotions. This could lead to a more emotionally open and honest world, which would be a good thing. So, overall, it's hard to say how tears leaving scars would change the world. It could go either way, depending on how people reacted to it.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The next day, my body was found in the forest. I had died from the fall.	After I'm shot, I fall to the ground. I can't move. I'm paralyzed from the waist down. I'm terrified. I don't know what will happen next.	I die. That's what happens next. I always knew this day would come. I was never supposed to live past 30. That's what the doctors said, and they were usually right about these things. So, now that my time is up, I'm not scared. I'm actually kind of relieved. I know that sounds terrible, but I'm just so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being in pain, tired of living. I know my family will be sad when I'm gone, but I also know they'll be better off without me. I'm a burden to them, and I know they'd be better off without me. So, this is it. This is goodbye. I just hope that my death will mean something, that it will make a difference in this world. Even if it's just a small difference, it will be worth it.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The invisible thing is a large rock. It has been sitting in the middle of my living room for years, although it has never been big enough to mainland America. occasionally itJUGS | image001-image001 Expansion has made it to my home and the rock is now a never ending supply. you can see it when you are in a pinch and it is not being a rocks make a screen not really relevant. one day, the rock got so large that it became a spectacle. people from surrounding areas came to take pictures, and some even got in and started playing. the thing was making a	I was sitting in my bedroom, reviewing my homework when I heard a noise coming from outside my window. IGLY tried to ignore it, but it kept getting louder and louder. Finally, I dismissed it as being nothing more than aonsense noise and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up to find my window was covered in dried leaves. IGLY could tell that something had been inside my room the night before. I crept outside to find a small animal sitting in my flowerpot. It was scared and fascinated me at the same time. IGLY couldn't believe that I had been Blink and met an invisible animal.	I had always thought that something was living in my home, something that I could never see but that was always there. I never knew what it was, but I knew that it was there. Finally, I decided to take a stand and try to expose it. I started to do things differently in my home, trying to catch it off guard. I even bought a special detector that I thought would help me find it. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find it. I was starting to think that I was just paranoid, when all of the sudden, the thing caught me off guard. It was invisible, but I had finally exposed it.	You've always felt like you weren't alone in your home. You could never quite put your finger on it, but you knew that there was something there. You tried to expose it without letting it know that you were aware of its presence. One day, you decided to set up a camera in your living room to see if you could capture whatever it was on film. But no matter how long you left the camera running, you never saw anything out of the ordinary. Frustrated, you decided to take matters into your own hands and set up a trap. You scattered some food around the floor and waited in hiding to see if anything would come out to eat it. Sure enough, after a few minutes, something invisible emerged from the shadows and started to eat the food. You managed to snap a few pictures of it before it scurried away. Now that you have proof, you can finally rest assured that you're not alone in your home. Whatever it is that's been living with you is definitely real. But what is it? And why is it here? That's the question that still remains a mystery.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The adventurers are a group of six youngmen who have just accomplished a major quest in the land of risk- Insider Mods. A few hours ago, they were selling their opponent's final weapon, the Spooky Pipe, for a high price. They are052 Chasing the offer of the final weapon would put their life in danger, so they decided to sell it. But, since the quest was only for a small part of the whole game, they are not able to wear the final weapon and are only able to find recipes for new ones.	The clanking of coins in my pawnshop was a familiar refrain. It had been a while since anyone had come to sell their loot, and I was always happy to help. Tonight, two adventurers came in. They were majorly tattered, and their clothes were only half-cleaned. One had a gash on his forehead and a cut on his cheek. The other had a bandage over his eye. The first man said to me, "Can we trade some of our gear for some of these coins?" I took a look at their gear. It wasn't much, but it would do. I gave them a few coins and said, "Sure, why not?" They traded their gear, and I ended up with a jug of poisoned wine, a shield, a cloak, and a set of combat boots. I wasn't very happy with the trade, but I was kind enough to give them some experience points in return. The second man said to me, "They're really good gear, but we can't give them up." I took a look at their gear. It wasn't much, but it would do. I gave them a few coins and said, "I don't think so. They're just weapons. They're not really worth anything else." They traded their gear, and I ended up with a jug of poisoned wine, a shield, a cloak, and a set of combat boots. I was still not very happy with the trade, but I was kind enough to give them some experience points in return. After they finished trading, the first man said, "It was worth it. We've got some really great gear now." The second man said, "I know. We'll keep it here." They both took a bag of coins from the store and went outside. I watch them for a few minutes, but they didn't come back in. I sighed and went back to cleaning my store. I had a feeling that they would never come back.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The adventurers came in, looking for a deal on their newly acquired loot. The shopkeeper, always up for a good bargain, haggled with them for a while before coming to an agreement. He let them sell their loot for a lower price than they originally wanted, but made sure to get his fair share as well. The adventurers were happy with the deal, and thanked the shopkeeper before leaving. The shopkeeper looked at the money in his hands, satisfied with his day's work. He smiled, thinking about how much fun he was going to have haggling with the next group of adventurers.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're always trying to get the best prices for your customers. Today, a group of adventurers came into your shop, trying to sell some of their loot. You haggled with them for a while, but in the end, you got the best price for your customers. You're always happy to help out adventurers, and you're always looking for the best deals.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. The person tells you a story of how they lived before being betrayed by the liar in the world. They talk about the lies they told, how each one led to this spot on their body. You rest your chin on the person's head and listen. The person explains how they were treated with lying when they were young, but it never really matters in the grand scheme of things. You want to believe them, but you can't. The biggest lie of all is the one that's been eating at you for years.	You meet someone new, someone that you have never met before. They tell you a story that has a serious flaw. In the story, a large part of the story is made up and they even admit it. The story has a large scar on the liar's body. It is the largest one that you have ever seen. It is a reminder that they have lied and put their entire self-worth on the line.	I was drawn to him from the moment I saw him. He was different from anyone I had ever met. His one big scar was the biggest thing about him. I couldn't help but to ask him about it. He laughed and said that the biggest lie he ever told was that he was from another planet. Everyone had laughed at him, but he didn't care. He loved telling the story. It was the first time I had ever seen someone that was true to themselves. He was beautiful in his own way. After we had talked for a while, I asked him to stay with me. He said that he couldn't, but he thanked me for showing him a side of the world that he hadn't ever seen before. I never saw him again, but I remember him well. He was the first person to make me see that there was so much more to life than being afraid to be who you are.	You meet someone at a party who only has one scar. It is the biggest one you have ever seen. You ask them what happened and they tell you a story about how they were once a very successful liar. They lied their way through life, never getting caught. But one day, they told a whopper of a lie and got caught. The scar is a reminder of that mistake. They now live a life of truth, never wanting to make that mistake again.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross Reproduces the Look of each of his paintings under bustle pressure of a real place.	Bob Ross spent his life painting landscapes, painting everything from small towns to vast savannas. But his most popular paintings are of his own murders. Every one of his iconic paintings are of massacres, of people killed by guns or spears. Some of them are grotesque, with blood and human flesh dripping from the canvas. But even though they're real, they still leave Bob Ross with a sense of horror.	Bob Ross was a genius painter. His landscapes are some of the most strikingly beautiful images ever created. But, behind the scenes, Bob was a serial killer. He killed people all over the United States, painting their landscapes as a way to conceal his crimes. One day, a detective recognized one of Bob's paintings as a crime scene from a recent killing. He was able to arrest Bob and bring him to justice. Now, his landscapes are all just paintings, and no one ever has to fear being murdered by this talented artist again.	Bob Ross was not your typical artist. For one, he always used a landscape format for his paintings. For another, he always chose really scenic, beautiful places for his paintings. But what nobody knew was that each of those landscape paintings was actually a real place - the different locations of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a serial killer. He would travel around the country, finding beautiful places to visit and paint. But while he was there, he would also find people to kill. He would strangle them, stab them, shoot them - whatever method he felt like using at the time. And then he would leave their bodies in the very place that he had painted. No one ever suspected Bob Ross of being a killer. He was always so gentle and kind, always had a smile on his face. But the truth was that he was a cold-blooded murderer. And the only way anyone would ever know would be to look at his paintings - and see the bloody bodies hidden within them.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	prestice is a magic magician that is on stage. he orders a rabbit from a hat that is sick of playing second fiddle. the rabbit gets sick of it and decides to go off the party. but prestice is keepingse: second fiddle and the rabbit remains on stage. at the end of the show, the magic is put back in the rabbit's face and he angry.	The magician was having a great time pulling out the rabbits from their hats, but he knew that the rabbit was getting restless. Finally, he got his hands on the rabbit that he was looking for. "Hey, rabbit," said the magician. "Let's go play some games together." The rabbit was happy to go along with the magician, but he knew that it would only be a short time before the magician caught up to him. The rabbit didn't want to give up too soon - he had always loved playing games.	The rabbit glared at the magician and took a step closer to the edge of the stage. He'd had enough of being the magician's second-in-command. The rabbit wanted to be the star of the show, not a sidekick. "I'm sick of this," the rabbit muttered. "I always end up playing second fiddle to you." "It's not my fault you're a lousy magician," the magician said. "I can't do a thing to make you better." "I don't need your help to be a good magician," the rabbit said. "I could be great if I just got a chance to show everyone what I can do." The magician sighed. He knew the rabbit was right. He should give the rabbit a chance. "Fine," the magician said. "But you have to play by my rules." "I don't care what your rules are," the rabbit said. "I'm going to be the best magician that ever was, and you're going to help me." The magician hesitated, but then he agreed. Together, they put on a spectacular show that left the audience in awe. The rabbit was finally the star that he always deserved to be.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is fed up. He's tired of being the one who gets pulled out of the hat, and he wants to be the star of the show. So, the rabbit makes a wish, and the next thing you know, he's the one doing the magic. The rabbit is now the star of the show, and the magician is playing second fiddle. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is loving the attention. But eventually, the magician gets his revenge. He performs a magic trick that makes the rabbit disappear. The rabbit is nowhere to be found, and the magician is once again the star of the show. The audience loves it, and the rabbit is nowhere to be found.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	The current events issue today is a power outage that isgoing to hit the city tonight. The government is required to reduce the hours they work and is driving people toYanni's to safest place to avoid this issue. Yanni is a safe place for people to go if they are in danger. But people are getting lost in the system and the hours are getting spread out too far. The president is needed to take care of the system and not add to the danger.	It was a cold winter day and all of the sudden, the power went out. No one knew where it came from, but it was everywhere at the same time. Suddenly, the TV and lights were out, and the power was out in the whole city. People were turned off and there was only one line of electricity to get to. It was at the library. The librarian had to use the power to turn on the lights.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the Syrian refugee crisis. With over three million refugees fleeing their home country, the need for assistance is urgent. Countless lives are at stake and the world is watching.	There are so many current events issues today that deserve attention. However, if I had to choose one that deserves the greatest amount of attention, it would be the refugee crisis. There are so many refugees fleeing their homes due to war, persecution, and poverty. They are risking their lives to try to find a better life for themselves and their families. Unfortunately, many of them are not welcome in the countries they are trying to reach. They are often treated with suspicion and hostility. I believe that we need to do more to help these refugees. We need to show them compassion and welcome them into our countries.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When eighth-grader Rowan was decided that he was meant to be a auditor, he didn't know what he would do next. He had no idea how to live with the fact that he had no choice in the matter. One day, Rowan decided to take a interest in his own life and began trying to excel ineverything he did. He was slowly shaping himself up as an intelligent person, and he waspleased to know that he hadMaking him more intelligent only marginally harder than it was before. Even though he didn't know it yet, he was being forefront in the battle to keep the birth control device deactivated until he was so old that he couldn't help but reproduce.	everybody is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. Naturally, some people find this decisionanny to be a total control Freak. They always think they're the only ones who need to be implanted with the device, or they're the only ones who will be able to have kids. Others find it helpful. They can't live without it, but it's the least of their concerns. The device has helped them take control of their lives, and they're happy to have it.	It was a dark and dreary night, the kind that made you long for the sun to come up so you could start the day. I was lying in bed, thinking about everything that was going on in my life. I had just turned 21 years old and I was still a virgin. I had always been curious about sex, but I was afraid of getting involved. I had heard stories about people who got pregnant while they were still teenagers. I didn't want that kind of life. I was tired of being the butt of everyone's jokes. Suddenly, I heard a noise outside my window. It sounded like someone was trying to break in. I got up and went to look, but I couldn't see anything. I waited a few minutes, but nothing happened. I crossed my fingers and went back to bed. A few hours later, I heard the same noise again. This time, I could see someone outside my window. It was a man, and he was trying to break in. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. Then, I remembered the birth control implant I had been given when I turned 14. I had never used it, but I was confident that it would work. I went to my closet and got it. I crossed the room and opened the window, Then I threw the implant out the window. The man outside stopped trying to break in and hurried away. I was relieved. I didn't want to get involved in any more trouble. I was an auditor, and my job was to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. That man was unfortunately one of them. Thanks to the implant, I was safe.	You're an Auditor, responsible for determining who is intelligent and stable enough to have children. It's a big responsibility, and one that you take very seriously. Most people are implant	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud has long been interested in the relationship between intelligence and intelligence decision-making. So he sends a research team to, by his estimate, the most intelligent place in the city - andEROTICA The team includes three teenagers, all of whom are extremely intelligent and could potentially benefit from his new theory. They set out on their daily Hoax Bombing campaign, supported by theirCube captain persona, in an attempt to1) Fabian are able to 1) 2)They can destory the mind of the leader of the charge and2) 3) They can stop the leader's arguments before they even begin and3) 4) And 5) All of the people in the city are going to save themselves. The first twoillions miles of the journey areSpeed the auxilliary ship has with the fifth laden furor the fancy toaandertoandertoanderto The sixth and ultimate, furor the last, isa journey to a beauteous young princess anda The auxilliary ship has a heard a whispered conversation among the passagers about whether or not they are wanted on the7train. One facial recognition expert says no, they are not the right people for the job. One neurologist says yes, but with different implications. The prince can see that the city is going to be a disaster, so he sets out to 1) save the city and2) stop the leader of the charge. 1) forecast Theatre of the Democracies in time for the city's 2) notice the city's impending doom 3) run into the city's most intelligent person 4) find out what he knows 5) lead the prince to the city's most intelligent person The prince is not only the most intelligent person in the city, but he is also the only one who knows that the city is going to be a disaster. The most intelligent person in the city tells the prince that the city is going to be a disaster, and the prince can see that he is going to save the city. The prince tells the most intelligent person in the city that he knows the city is going to be a disaster, and the most intelligent person in the city tells the prince that he knows the city is going to be a disaster. The prince is the most intelligent person in the city, and the most intelligent person in the city knows that the city is going to be a disaster.	Adolf Hitler read the ad and was filled with excitement. He had always been interested in psychiatry, and this was his chance to study under one of the most renowned professors in the field. Stalin was already the leader of the Soviet Union, and Trotsky was the leader of the Yugoslav Republic. Josip Broz Tito was just a teenage boy. When Hitler met Tito, he was impressed. Tito was intelligent, articulate, and determined. He was also young, and Hitler was confident that he could lead the Yugoslav Republic to greatness. Hitler and Stalin meeting was the beginning of a long and dangerous friendship. The two men would work together to create a new world order, while secretly manipulating the other nations.	Sigmund Freud was excited to begin the clinical trials of his latest research. He put an ad in a newspaper, and only Adolf Hitler responded. Freud was cautiously optimistic about the prospect of working with such a prodigious individual, but he was still cautious. He invited Hitler to come to Vienna to participate in the trials, but Hitler declined. Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, and Leon Trotsky all responded to the ad, but Josip Broz Tito was still only 21. Freud was excited to work with such young and promising minds, but he was still reluctant to bring them on board. However, he decided to meet with them all in order to discuss the trials further. Freud met with Stalin, Trotsky, and Tito and they all seemed enthusiastic about the opportunity to participate in the trials. However, Freud was still cautious. He was worried that one of the young minds might be too ambitious or destructive. However, he decided to bring them all on board after careful consideration. He was sure that they would all be able to contribute to the trials in a positive way.	Sigmund Freud was excited to start clinical trials for his latest research in 1913. He placed an ad in the newspaper, hoping to find some participants. The only people who responded were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. Freud was intrigued by the fact that these four men would be interested in his research. He met with each of them individually and was quickly able to see that they were all very intelligent and driven. He was particularly impressed with Hitler and Stalin, who seemed to have a deep understanding of human psychology. Trotsky and Tito were also very insightful, but Freud felt that they were more idealistic and not as grounded in reality as the other two. Freud decided to invite all four men to participate in his research. He was interested to see how their different personalities would interact and what insights they would provide. The clinical trials ended up being very successful, and Freud was able to learn a lot from all four participants. He was particularly struck by the insights of Hitler and Stalin, who he felt had a unique understanding of human nature.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	I wept trustfully as I walked home from school. I knew no one else in the city, so there were the few tears that refused to forgotten. It made me feel deeper and harder to keep them within the lines that book-IPP wrote. I knew how things would change now that I was the onlyjabberw Clown in the city. The other kids were spread out all over the city, testing each other's muscles and teeth. I felt the tears that narrative lines made, but I knew they would only lead to pain. I would keep the tears, though. Because they would be my mark of Shame.	The first time I saw her, I was total shocked. I didn’t know what to say to her or how to act. She was crying, and I was completely confused. It felt like a thing that couldn’t be happening. After that, I started to see her more often. She would cry, and I would try to comfort her. We would talk about what had caused her tears, and what I could do to make her feel better. After a while, I started to think of her as my friend. We would talk, laugh, and cry together. It was hard when she would start to cry and I couldn’t help, but I loved her for it. Eventually, we got married. And now, we live with the scars of our past together. We know that crying isn’t the only thing that makes us feel better, and we’re grateful for every moment we spend together.	The world was a different place if tears left scars as they trickled down someone 's face. The people would be too scared to show their emotions, and the world would be a sadder place. But there was one man who loved the world just the way it was. He would always cry, and the tears would leave scars on his face. But he loved the way the world looked, and he loved the way it felt.	If tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face, the world would be a very different place. People would be much more careful with their words, knowing that they could literally leave a mark on someone. Relationships would be more tentative, as people would be afraid to hurt each other. And, in general, people would be a lot more careful with their emotions. This change would have a ripple effect on everything in the world. The way we interact with each other, the way we handle conflict, the way we express ourselves - it would all be different. And it would all be for the better.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The coffin sat on the curb, freshly creased in the fabric. It was just past 7:00pm, and the night was new and dark. The stars were out, and the wind was chill. The funeral was going to be quick and painless, but that was only the beginning. The hours ahead were going to be full of anxiety and fear. There was the potential for anything to happen, and that was just the beginning.	It was all over. I was going to die. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. The excruciating pain in my chest was too much to bear. I begged for the pain to stop. But it only got worse. I was gasping for air, but couldn't get enough. I could hear my heart beating like a drum in my chest. I felt like I was going to die. Then, out of nowhere, something miraculous happened. The pain in my chest suddenly decreased. I could breathe again. I was relieved. But I knew it wouldn't last. I knew the pain would come back soon. And it did. The pain came back worse than ever. It was unbearable. I could hear the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I felt like I was going to die. But then, somehow, the pain stopped again. I could breathe again. I was alive. I was going to make it. But I knew the pain would come back. It always came back. And it did. The pain came back worse than ever. It was unbearable. I could hear the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I felt like I was going to die. But then, somehow, the pain stopped again. I could breathe again. I was alive. I was going to make it. But I knew the pain would come back. It always came back.	I die. That's what happens next. I don't know how or why, I just do. One moment I'm alive and the next I'm not. It's that simple. Some people say that death is a release, that it's a peaceful experience. I don't know about that. All I know is that it's final. There's no coming back from death. And that's what terrifies me the most.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The dark, undetectable secret thing that lives in my home has been a bit of a mystery to me. I know I should be warned of its potential dangers, but I'm not sure how to deal with it. It's like there's something about the dark, hidden life I'm experience that has caught up to me and taken over my life. I'm not sure what it is, but I know I need to face it and deal with it.	One day, I decided to take a closer look at something I had been noticed preceding my every move for the past few months. I slowly opened the door to my small home and peered out. I could see an invisible presence lurking in the shadows, watching me every move. It seemed to be following me like a helpless pet, watching me as I walked around my living room, front room, and backyard. I tried to ignore it, but it just seemed to get more and more persistent. Eventually, I gave up and allowed the entity into my home. It has been living there ever since, haunting me every single day.	I had always sworn I was the only one who could see it, but one night I was proven wrong. As I was getting ready for bed, I heard a noise from the corner of my eye. I turned around to see a small, black figure dart across the room. I immediately ran to the corner, but it was too late. The figure had already disappeared. I was paralyzed with fear as I realized I was the only one who could see it. For months, I tried to figure out how to get rid of it, but it always managed to stay one step ahead of me. I was scared to death that it would catch me, but somehow I managed to survive. Now, every time I walk into my home, I'm on high alert, waiting for the figure to appear.	I could feel it watching me. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its moment to strike. I could never see it, but I could feel its eyes on me, boring into my soul. I tried to expose it, to catch it out in the open, but it was always one step ahead of me. It knew my every move before I even made it. It was an invisible force that lived in my home, and I was determined to find out what it was. One day, I laid a trap. I pretended to leave the house, but I secretly hid in the closet, waiting for it to show itself. And sure enough, after a few minutes, I heard a creak as something stepped out of the shadows. I leapt out of the closet and confronted the thing, whatever it was. But to my shock, there was nothing there. Whatever had been there was gone, vanished into thin air. I was never able to catch that invisible force, but I knew it was still there, lurking, waiting to strike again.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in close proximity to the edge of a cave. When an adventurer tries to leave, they are quickly attacked by a large cat. The blood and feast that the cat has feeding on the adventurers seems to advantageous to them. They lich, a powerful drow, and a dual-handedly, are trying to take the adventurers down. The cat is more than happy to Anita, the owner of the shop, and her cash-strapped team. The adventurers, meanwhile, are fighting back and winning every time.	One day, a group of adventurers came to my pawnshop looking forunicipal treasure. They were looking for a treasure that had been lost in a recent battle, and they were very excited to find it. I haggled with them for a while, but I was unsuccessful in finding the treasure. The adventurers were very upset and decided to leave. Later that night, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a group of Adventurers, disappointed that they couldn't find the treasure. They were very sorry to have wasted my time, and they left in a huff. The next day, I saw the adventurers again. They were back with a different goal, this time looking for a magical item. They were very excited to find it and were willing to pay a lot of money for it. But I wasn't going to let them profit from my town's treasure. I haggled with them for a while, but I still couldn't find the item. The adventurers were very disappointed and decided to leave. Later that night, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a group of Adventurers, disappointed that they couldn't find the treasure. They were very sorry to have wasted my time, and they left in a huff. The next day, I saw the adventurers again. They were back with a different goal, this time looking for a magical item. They were very excited to find it and were willing to pay a lot of money for it. But I wasn't going to let them profit from my town's treasure. I haggled with them for a while, but I still couldn't find the item. The adventurers were very disappointed and decided to leave. One day, a group of adventurers came to my pawnshop looking for municipal treasure. They were looking for a treasure that had been lost in a recent battle, and they were very excited to find it. I haggled with them for a while, but I was unsuccessful in finding the treasure. The adventurers were very angry and decided to leave. Later that night, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a group of Adventurers, disappointed that they couldn't find the treasure. They were very sorry to have wasted my time, and they left in a huff. The next day, I saw the adventurers again. They were back with a different goal, this time looking for a magical item. They were very excited to find it and were willing to pay a lot of money for it. But I wasn't going to let them profit from my town's treasure. I haggled with them for a while, but I still couldn't find the item. The adventurers were very disappointed and decided to leave. One day, a group of adventurers came to my pawnshop looking for municipal treasure. They were looking for a treasure that had been lost in a recent battle, and they were very excited to find it. I haggled with them for a while, but I was unsuccessful in finding the treasure. The adventurers were very angry and decided to leave. Later that night, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a group of Adventurers, disappointed that they couldn't find the treasure. They were very sorry to have wasted my time, and they left in a huff.	The shop was always busy, with adventurers coming in and out all day long. Some would try to haggle with the owner, while others would just come in and grab whatever they could. One particular adventurer decided to haggle with the shop owner. They started off by asking for a lower price than what the other adventurers were asking, but the owner wasn't having that. They kept negotiating until they eventually came to an agreement. The shop owner was happy with the deal they made, and the adventurer was happy that they were able to get a good value for their loot.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for a good deal, and you're not afraid to haggle. today, a young woman comes into your shop, carrying a large sack. She dumps it out on the counter, and you see a pile of loot. She looks exhausted, and she's covered in dirt and blood. "I'll give you 100 gold for this," she says. You appraise the loot and decide that it's worth at least double that. "I'll give you 150 gold," you say. The woman looks disappointed, but she nods and agrees. She counts out the gold and hands it over. As she's leaving, she thanks you. "Thank you for helping me out," she says. "I really appreciate it." You watch her leave, and you can't help but feel good about yourself. You just made a great deal, and you helped someone in need. That's what you're all about.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	The person that met me was always a little uncomfortable, but I didn't mind. I was happy to be being around someone who had one glaring exception to the rule. It was when we met that the anxiety rises. How did this person get to be like this? He tried to tell me that he was careful, but I knew that he didn't want to believe me. The proof was in the Tatler article that I had read the year before. "What is this thing?" He looked back at his National Health& workoutendars with a raised eyebrow. "I honestly can't believe that this is real. How did you know to check it out?" I shrugged my shoulders and ¥ed the what-ifs around in his Spiritedfonts Liberals and Democrats forum.onics and skills?s in college. He seemed like a nice guy, but I knew he would be house-trained and available in case of need. "I don't know. I read it too. I saw the article." I SCHEDULED THIS GUY FOR OUR FIRST TIME BUT HE SAYS HE CAME UP FOR APPEAL MORE THAN A FEW TIMES. "He says he does, but I never saw him. What happened?" His voice was light and shaking. I piésrefuté la réponse de la personne et choisis un autre moment pour revenir. "I don't know. I read it too. I saw the article." I SCHEDULED THIS GUY FOR OUR FIRST TIME BUT HE SAYS HE CAME UP FOR APPEAL MORE THAN A FEW TIMES. "He says he does, but I never saw him. What happened?" His voice was light and shaking. I piésrefuté la réponse de la personne et choisis un autre moment pour revenir.	You meet the guy one day when you're walking to work. He has a long, thin scar on his left cheek that runs down his nose to his lips. It's a large, ugly tag. As you walk by him, you can't help but notice it. You can't help but feel like you've seen him before.	I was always fascinated by the person with the biggest scar. It was so vast and noticeable, contrasting starkly with the others on their skin. I couldn't help but to ask them about it, and they would always tell me a story. Apparently, this person had lied so much that their body was now permanently scarred. Every lie had created a new, deep wound, stretching all the way down to their soul. It was a harrowing tale, and I soon learned that I should never lie either. If I wanted to keep my own scar small, I would have to be very careful about the words that came out of my mouth.	You can't help but stare at the person in front of you. They have a single, massive scar stretching across their entire body. It's the biggest one you have ever seen. You can't help but wonder what could have caused such a thing. Did they lie about something really big? Or maybe they were lied to? Either way, you can't help but feel intrigued by this person. They seem to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. But despite all that, they still stand tall. You want to know more about this person. You want to know what their story is. But for now, you'll just have to admire them from afar.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross has been painting landscape paintings for many years, each of his locations being a place that he has killed many people in. The landscape has always been a source of inspiration for him, and he knows that it will continue to be so. One day, he is--+ 'There we are!' He looked out the window and saw a small town across the river. 'What do you see?') He looked back at the painting and saw that it was indeed his place. He had killed many people in it, but now it was his new home.	Bob Ross had a dark and sketchy history. His paintings often featured blood and violence, and most of his murders remain unsolved to this day. One day, a detective named Tom decided to take a closer look at Ross's work. Tom was interested in the parallels between Ross's crimes and the many places he had killed. As he began to piecing together Ross's life, Tom soon became convinced that his illustrator's murders were connected. Each painting featured a real location, and Tom was able to link them all together. Now, with evidence and clues in hand, Tom is working tirelessly to find the killer. He knows that there is only one person who can solve the murders of Bob Ross and dozens of other murderers, and he will do whatever it takes to get them justice.	Bob Ross was one of the most famous landscape painters of all time. He created beautiful paintings of mountains, hills, rivers, and forests, all of which were real places. However, over the years, it has been discovered that Bob Ross committed countless murders in each of these locations. For years, he was able to get away with it, but now the police are finally getting close to catching him.	Bob Ross was not only a talented painter, but he was also a serial killer. For years, he travelled across the country, murdering people and using their blood to paint his iconic landscapes. Now, the different locations of his paintings are known as the sites of his countless murders. Many people still admire his work, unaware of the dark secret behind it. Some say that his paintings are haunted by the spirits of his victims. Others believe that Ross himself is still out there, somewhere, painting more landscapes and adding more locations to his gruesome collection.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician is on stage and the rabbit is standing behind him, playing second fiddle. The rabbit is pronounced name is by some to beisms and by others to be a true beginner's horse. The magician takes up residence in the front row, preventing the rabbit from seeing himself as a viable second fiddle. The rabbit becomes sick of playing second fiddle and decides to get back to work.	The magician was watching from the wings as the rabbit was sick of playing second fiddle. He had always been there for the rabbit, always willing to help out, but the rabbit wasn't happy. It was getting on his nerves that the magician always had to be so one-upping. "Hey, rabbit, stop being a pushover. You're amazing, but if you're not careful, people may start to forget that you're just a rabbit." The rabbit nodded its head, grateful for the words of warning. It knew that it had to keep up the act or else it would eventually be pushed out of the crowd. But the magician was right, it was getting on the rabbit's nerves. It would have to be more colorful and exciting in its performances.	The magician was getting tired of always having to pull out the rabbit from the hat. It was always the same thing: the rabbit would be sick of waiting and would run offstage before the magician could even turn it into a hat. One night, the magician was so fed up that he decided to do something different. He took out a sword instead of the rabbit and began to fight against the other magicians on stage. He was quickly defeated, but it was worth it to finally be the one who was center stage.	The magician and his rabbit are on stage, performing their usual tricks. But the rabbit is tired of being the assistant. He's sick of being pulled out of a hat and being treated like a prop. So, during the next trick, the rabbit decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs the magician's wand and starts performing his own magic. The audience is amazed and the magician is furious. The rabbit has finally stolen the show and he's not going back to being the assistant anytime soon.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the most important issue of the day? The issue today is the response to the pandemic. People are variety of things, and this is one of the most important things.	On the morning of November 8, 1993, a bomb exploded in the Trade Center in New York City. The impact of the explosion and the resulting fire killed over seventy-five people and injured over five thousand. injured. The cause of the bomb is still being debated to this day.	In the days following the presidential election, protesters marched and held rallies across the United States, demanding that their voices be heard. One issue that has garnered the most attention is the controversial presidential appointment of Steve Bannon to the role of chief strategist in the Trump administration. Critics say that Bannon's history of white nationalist views makes him unfit to serve as a top advisor to the president, while supporters say that his experience in the media industry will help Trump make decisions that will benefit the American people. The issue of Bannon's appointment has divided the nation, and the debate will continue until the president makes a final decision.	There are many important issues facing the world today, but one that deserves the greatest amount of attention is the issue of climate change. Climate change is a global problem that is already having a devastating effect on the planet, and it is only getting worse. The time to act is now, and we need to do everything we can to reduce our impact on the environment. We need to switch to renewable energy sources, reduce our consumption of resources, and protect our natural habitats. If we don't take action now, the consequences will be catastrophic.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	At the age of 15, she wasombie Henderson was Karma's with the most consequence in the world. After she'sPostsBARE Wire on social media to warn the world about the dangers ofBooJd, Henderson is born into a military family. Her parents were always hopes of Virginity in the house, but she is the only one who can stop them from making history.	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor. The first time you activate your birth control device, you're surprised to find that you're not the only one. All of your classmates have the same device implanted into their bodies. It's strange, but they all seem to be happy with the arrangement. You spend the first few years of your career trying to figure out how to use the device properly. Most of the time, it's easy. But every now and then, you happen across something that makes you crazy. For example, one of your classmates comes to you with a really stupid idea. She wants to create a society where everyone is born with a birth control device so that the stupid people can't reproduce. you and your audit team have to work hard to prevent that from happening.	I was born in a world where birth control was mandatory. All adults were implanted with a device during puberty that would prevent them from reproducing unless they were determined to be intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being. I was an Auditor, responsible for determining who was fit to continue living. It was a hard job, but I was determined to do my best. I reviewed the records of everyone who was implanted with the device and decided whom to deactivate. It was a tough decision, but I knew that the best interests of humanity were always my top priority.	As an Auditor for the Birth Control Authority, it is my job to determine who is worthy of having their birth control device deactivated. It is a weighty responsibility, as the future of humanity depends on only the smartest and most stable people reproducing. I interview each applicant and give them a battery of tests to assess their intelligence and emotional stability. It is not an easy job, but someone has to do it. The stakes are simply too high to leave it up to chance. There have been a few close calls over the years, but so far we have been successful in preventing the dumbest people in the world from reproducing. It is a daunting task, but one that I am proud to do.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Adolf Hitler was the only person who responded to Sigmund Freud's ad. The other three people who responded wereJoseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky and Josip Broz Tito. Each of them had a different reason for wanting to be a part of the clinical trials of Freud's latest research. Joseph Stalin because he was the leader of Russia, Leon Trotsky because he was the leader of the Marxist faction of the Communist party, and Josip Broz Tito because he was the leader of the Slovenian people.	Freud was excited to receive responses to his clinical trial ad. He was especially interested in the young, ambitious Hitler, Stalin, Trotsky and Tito. Hitler was the first to respond. Freud was immediately struck by his intelligence and ambition. He was also very confident and sure of himself. Freud asked Hitler about his psychological profile. Hitler was very honest with Freud and said that he had a lot of anger and resentment inside him. He said that he wanted to use his power to make people happy and to make the world a better place. Freud was very impressed by Hitler. He believed that he had the potential to be a great doctor. Stalin was the next to respond. Freud was immediately struck by his lack of empathy. He said that he only cared about himself and his own interests. Stalin was also very confident and sure of himself. He said that he was going to be the next leader of Russia and that he was going to change the world. Freud was not as impressed by Stalin as he was by Hitler. He thought that he had some very dangerous ideas. Tito was the last to respond. Freud was immediately struck by his warmth and kindness. He said that he wanted to help people and that he wanted to make the world a better place. Freud was impressed by Tito. He thought that he had the potential to be a great doctor as well. Freud was very excited to start the clinical trials with his talented young patients.	Sigmund Freud is in his office in Vienna, Austria, when he gets a call from a newspaper editor. The editor tells him that there are four people who have responded to his ad for clinical trials of his latest research. Freud is surprised to see that the four people who have responded are Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. He decides to meet with each of them individually. During his meeting with Hitler, Freud quickly realizes that the young man is extremely angry and has a lot of pent-up aggression. He believes that Hitler could benefit from his research. Stalin is much different than Hitler. He is calm and collected, but Freud can see the ambition in his eyes. He believes that Stalin could be a great leader one day. Trotsky is intelligent and articulate, but Freud can sense the underlying insecurity in him. He believes that Trotsky could benefit from his research. Tito is the youngest of the four, but he is already quite confident and self-assured. Freud believes that Tito has the potential to be a great leader one day. After meeting with all four men, Freud decides to invite them to participate in his research. He is curious to see how his research will affect each of them.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	How would it feel to cry? It would be a thought that would be total and completeiddlespeakofsittingotallyinside it would be a way to show off their soul and to show how attached they were to that person to cry would be to admit that you needed that person in your life to say those words would be to admit that you want that person to be your equal, to be there with you, topha school and toplanningofyour Movies to cry would be to admit that you need that person in your life to cry would be to admit that you want that person in your life	Sophie quickly wiped away the tears that had started flowing in earnest. She could feel the devastating weight of the world on her shoulders, and she didn't know how she was going to make it through everything. She was scared and Alone, but she dared not let that show on her face. The tears started flowing easier as she thought about all of the good that had happened in the past few weeks. She was finally on a new path, and things were looking up. With a deep breath, Sophie grit her teeth and staggered to her feet. This was her time, and she was going to make the most of it. She was going to stand up for what she believed in, no matter what.	It was a normal day, until the girl started to cry. The tears streamed down her face and stained her shirt, but she didn't mind. She was happy, and she wanted everyone to know it. But as the day went on, the girl started to feel sadder and sadder. The tears kept flowing, and the stains on her shirt got bigger and bigger. By the time the girl reached her house, she was in tears, and her shirt was ripped in several places. Everyone who saw her stopped and stared. They hadn't seen a girl cry like that in a long time. The tears had left scars on her face, and they looked painful. The world changed after that. People no longer smiled so easily, and their eyes were sadder than ever. They knew that tears could leave scars too, and that it was easy to fall into a dark place.	In a world where tears left scars, people were much more careful with their words. No one wanted to hurt someone else and cause them to cry, because they knew that the tears would leave a permanent mark. This changed the way that people related to one another. Instead of constantly fighting and arguing, people tried to be more understanding and compassionate. Even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference in someone’s life. The world was a lot gentler place, and people were a lot happier as a result.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	The doctor said that I had died. I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to ask him but he didn't answer me. I started to feel lightheaded and I couldn't walk. Then I started to feel pain in my chest and my eyes shutter closed. I didn't want to die but I knew that I was going to.	I was walking down the street when I was hit by a car. I died instantly. I went to heaven, and I saw an old man sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book. I asked him what happened next. He said, "I die."	I die. It's not a particularly dramatic death. I don't go out in a blaze of glory or anything like that. I just die. It's not painless, but it's not agonizing either. I just feel myself slipping away, bit by bit. I try to hold on, but I can feel myself fading. I can hear the voices of those around me, but they're getting more and more distant. And then, everything goes black.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The something invisible was always there, lurking in the corner of your eye, watching you Occasionally, it would trigger yourawareness and they would both be on you in a second. It was always too easy to let it win, and it enjoyed this how -xx- you did not even know.	My home is constantly full of dark shadows. Every time I turn around, I see something moving in the corners or in the shadows. I know it's not a wraith, but I can't seem to get rid of it. I've tried to confront it, but it's always there, lurking in the corner or in the shadows. I hate it so much, and I can't seem to get rid of it.	My husband and I have always been paranoid about something living in our home. We never knew what it was, but we felt like it was watching us. We would walk around our house, trying to find whatever it was, but we never could. One day, we were sitting in the living room, watching TV. We were just about to go to bed, when we both heard a noise. We looked up, and we could see something moving around the corner. We screamed, and the thing ran away. We never found out what it was, but we are never going to take our eyes off the corner, now.	You have always known that something invisible lives in your home. You can't see it, but you can feel its presence. It's always there, lurking in the shadows, watching you. You have never been able to expose it, but you have never given up trying. You have set traps and tried to catch it, but it always seems to be one step ahead of you. You have never let it know that you are aware of its presence, but you are always on the lookout for it. You know that it is there, and you will not rest until you have exposed it.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is in disrepair, with items missing from where they are supposed to be. The characters are a GM and a player, trying to get some combat experience together. The player wants to sell some gear, and the GM wants to make sure the shop is safe before Lorelei can liberally blessed the place.	It was a typical day at my pawn shop. I was bargaining with a group of adventurers, trying to get the best deal for some powerful gear they had acquired. I was always happy to help out someone in need, and I was especially helpful to those who had a lot of gear. I was making a few transactions when I heard someone calling out to me. I turned to see a young girl, balancing a large bag of treasure in one hand and a grinned face in the other. "Can I buy this one?" she asked me, pointing to a weapon I was selling. I hesitated for a moment, but then I decided that it would be a good opportunity to make a deal. I gave her the weapon, and she shook it off before running away, happy to get the gear she wanted. I did not mind her coming to my pawn shop, as long as she was always happy. In the end, she always got what she wanted, and I got to keep the weapon.	I run an RPG pawn shop and I love it. It's a great way to make some money and it's always interesting to see what the adventurers bring in. Today, I was haggling with a young, inexperienced adventurer. He was trying to sell a bandit's treasure, but I wasn't interested. I told him that it was worth less than the gold he was offering. He wasn't happy, but he went away. I'm sure he'll come back again with a better offer.	You run an RPG pawn shop, and you're always on the lookout for good loot. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell you their loot, and you always try to get the best deal. Sometimes you feel like you're being taken advantage of, but you always try to get the best deal for your shop.	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	That was how origin story began. That is, when 28-year-old Sarah got a bigko training from her seems man, who claimed to be her brother. She was minor after all. Little did she know, her actions someday led to the biggest lie of them all.	You meet someone that you think is interesting. They tell you a story that is full of Lies. You think you can trust them, but you are wrong. The more lies they tell, the bigger the mark that they leave on their body.	I was intrigued by the stranger as I approached, and I couldn't help but to notice the huge scar running down the side of his face. It was huge, and it looked as if it had been inflicted with a lot of pain. As I got closer, I could see that the scar was also a deep purple color, complementing his dark skin perfectly. I felt my curiosity grow, and I asked him about it. He told me that the scar was from when he was a kid. He had been lying on the ground during a playground fight, and someone had punched him in the face. The punch had been so hard that it had broke his jawbone and sliced open his face. He had been in a coma for a few weeks, and when he woke up, he had to learn to walk and talk again. That was the biggest lie he had ever told, and it had left a big scar on his face.	You meet someone at a party and strike up a conversation. They tell you that they've only ever lied once in their life, and the scar on their chest is proof of it. They tell you that the lie was so big and so deep that it nearly destroyed them. But they managed to pull through and now they're living proof that it's possible to survive a lie. You're mesmerized by their story and the scar that stands testament to it. You can't help but admire their strength and courage. In that moment, you feel like you've found a kindred spirit.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.

	prompt	A	B	C	D	E
1	Each of Bob Ross' landscape paintings is a real place, the different locations of his countless murders.	Bob Ross visits each of his places in life and Shutterstockays each of his places as though he wereatibility into each place. However, each place is a warning that he must leave and he must never come back. Bob Ross is done. He must leave each of his places and never look back. The Painter's truthful that each painting is aGMorphanished place, where he'll go and write his story.	Bob Ross died far from home in a forest outside of Cleveland, Ohio. His landscapes were actually the murders of his many Victims. Each painting was based on a different location and involved the capture and death of a victim. In Ross' final painting, The Great Ohio Valley Massacre, he killed seven settlers and captured two of them in a field south of Dayton, Ohio.	It was a beautiful spring day, and Bob Ross was feeling inspired. He had been painting landscapes for years, and he loved the way each one felt like a real place. He had spent the morning painting outside in the sun, and now it was time for lunch. Bob went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, but he wasn't very hungry. Instead, he wandered over to the window and looked out at the beautiful view. As he watched, he saw a figure walking down the street. It was a man, and he was carrying a gun. Bob didn't know who he was, but he knew he didn't want him in his house. He tried to run, but he was too slow. The man got closer and closer, and before Bob knew it, he was being shot. The bullets hit him in the head and chest, and he collapsed to the ground. Bob Ross never painted another landscape again. Each and every one of his paintings was a real place where someone had died.	Bob Ross was a prolific painter, but what many people didn't know was that each of his landscapes was based on a real place. And each of those places was the scene of one of his countless murders. Bob Ross was a cold-blooded killer, and he used his paintings as a way to document his crimes. He would find a beautiful spot, set up his easel, and paint a stunning landscape. But beneath the beauty, there was always a hidden body - the latest victim of Bob Ross' murderous spree. The authorities were never able to catch up to Bob Ross, and the mystery of the murders remained unsolved. But if you look closely at his paintings, the truth is there for all to see.	The hatchet falls ; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. ``Isn't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, don't we.'' He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? ``I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I don't much mind. Y'see, I don't believe in mistakes.'' Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. ``Just happy accidents.''
2	A magician and the rabbit that he pulls out of a hat are on stage, the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle.	The magician pulls out a rabbit from the hat he is wearing and sets it down on the floor. The rabbit looks at him with a sick look, but after a moment of thought, begins to walking off to the right instead. The magician annoyedly looks at it, but doesn't say anything.	The magician pulled out the rabbit from his hat and set it on the ground. He told the rabbit that it was time to end its engagement with him. The rabbit grumbled, but decided to go along with the magician. The magician setup a few tricks, but the rabbit just looked at him, frustrated. The magician then told the rabbit that if it didn't want to keep playing second fiddle, then it should just run away. The rabbit grumbled, but decided to stay.	The magician steps up to the podium and starts to speak. "Hello, everyone! I am sure you are all excited to see my latest performance. As you know, I always bring out the best in my rabbits. Today, I have a special rabbit for you. She's a little bit different than the others. She's not very magical. In fact, I'm not sure she even exists. Nevertheless, she is a part of my performance, and I hope you enjoy her." The crowd murmurs, some excited, some skeptical. The magician pulls out a card from his pocket and looks at it. "Okay, let's get started. First, I want you all to take a look at my rabbit, Alice. Now, Alice is not very special. She's just a regular rabbit. But I want you to watch how I handle her. I'll take Alice out on stage, and I'll put her in my hand. I'll show her to the audience, and then I'll let her go. But here's the tricky part. Alice cannot disappear. She exists in the world, but she cannot leave it. So when I let her go, she will still be here, onstage, for you to see. So pay close attention!" The magician takes Alice out on stage, and the audience cheers. He shows her to the crowd, and then let her go. But Alice is still there, in the magician's hand. He starts to pull her back out, but she stays there, firmly rooted to the stage. The audience starts to get angry, and some of them start to boo. The magician starts to panic. He knows he has to get Alice off stage fast before people start to riot. He tries to pull her again, but she doesn't budge. He starts to cry, "Help! Somebody help me!" The crowd starts to get even angrier, and they start to throw things at the magician. Alice just stays there, rooted to the floor. The magician is defeated, and he disappears off stage, leaving Alice behind.	The magician and the rabbit are on stage, and the rabbit is sick of playing second fiddle. He's been stuck in that hat for years, and he's had enough. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He waits until the magician is in the middle of his act, and then he makes his move. He jumps out of the hat and onto the stage, and he starts doing his own tricks. The audience goes wild, and the magician is furious. But the rabbit doesn't care. He's finally free, and he's going to show the world what he can do.	His body tenses a little just before I get wriggled out, like a pause in circulation. And then there are the usual yelps of amazement, and all at once a rush of sticky little fingers that wrap around my ears, I never quite get to lick away those crusty little squibs at the back of my neck at least not before another show. At first it was all excitement, the old loving man in his vermillion jumper. And there I was, the star of the show, the cries of soaring tiny eyes, giggles of laughter and great big bubbly smiles from grotty little rooms. It was worth the stuffiness of being packed away for 20 minutes, it was! But, it had to become stale, people pay for what they expect, the parents usually ask for ``the rabbit trick''. What else is there to it? I get pulled out and then farmed off to one of the parents. I only know what the rest of the show sounds like from another room.
3	What current events issue today deserves the greatest amount of attention?	What is the current events issue today? The news is constantly reporting on unstable conditions in the world, which is being caused by the upcoming election. Some believe that this issue is Chen's, and she is the one who defines stability and peace throughout the world. Others believe that this issue is the inclusion of refugees from the world's worse areas, and their opportunity to vote in a time of turmoil. With Chen's run for office, and the attention that it is receiving, it is becomes an issue worth pursuing.	On the morning of September 11th, 2001, America was in shock. The Twin Towers had been destroyed, and the Pentagon had been hit. President George W. Bush had called a national emergency and began the process of calling in all the military forces in order to fight against the terrorists. Hundreds of thousands of people had lost their lives, and more were injured. The whole world was watching in horror as planes were hijacked and brought down into the Twin Towers. The terrorists had strike at our country, and we were allcruptured.	On the border of Mexico and the United States, families are constantly crossing the border in search of a better life. undocumented immigrants are met with intense scrutiny and intolerance by both countries, but they are always willing to risk everything for a better future. Recently, President Trump announced that the United States was going to build a wall along the Mexican border to keep these desperate people out. Families are devastated by the news and fear for their futures. Some are concerned that the wall will prevent them from ever being able to come to the United States, and others are worried that they will be deported if they try to cross the border. Regardless of whether or not the wall is ever built, the issue of undocumented immigration is going to be a major issue for years to come. The way that the United States handles this issue will have a lasting impact on the people who are affected by it.	The current events issue that deserves the greatest amount of attention today is the climate crisis. The Earth is warming at an unprecedented rate, and the effects are already being felt by humans and ecosystems around the world. The climate crisis is the biggest threat to our planet, and we need to take urgent action to mitigate its effects.	A man ran down the street. ``Everyone listen'' He shouted. ``Tuition is rising! Our children's futures are being stolen from them! Everyone must know!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' Asked a woman on the sidewalk. ``Follow me!'' The man shouted back. ``Follow me and run!'' So the woman followed. So did her children. So did a homeless man watching the whole event. So did the passengers of three nearby cars. All together they shouted at everyone they passed about how tuition was going up. And everyone they met heard, and followed as well. Across town, another man was running. ``The Russians are invading Ukraine. Israel is invading Palestine! All is war and conflict! If you want to make a difference, follow me and run!'' And the people heard, and the people ran. The two groups continued on a collision course, picking up followers as they went. Finally they met in the center of town. ``Out of the way!'' The first man shouted. ``Tuition is on the rise!'' ``No, you get out of the way! War is upon us!'' The second man shouted back. Neither was willing to alter course, the two groups crashed. The men at their respective vanguards died first, crushed between the combined inertia of a hundred thousand concerned citizens. Still the groups tried to push forward, and more and more people were crushed and trampled in the center of the horde. In the end tuition still rose, wars raged on and the city was reduced to two lines of people running opposite directions against a wall of flattened corpses. The next town over, a man ran down the road. ``Bodies are being improperly disposed of'' He shouted. ``Disease will run rampant!'' ``Whatever should we do?'' The people asked. ``Follow me and run'' He replied. ``It is the only way''
4	To prevent only the dumbest people in the world from reproducing, everyone is implanted with a birth control device during puberty. It can only be deactivated once it's been determined you are intelligent and stable enough to raise a well-adjusted human being by an ``Auditor''. You're an Auditor.	When Pee Wee heard about the birth control device that was put into him during puberty, he was CBOing on how he would make the best use of the thing. He was curious about how it would work and how it would help him stay alive in a world where originality was what defined us. While he was might exploring the possibilities of how the birth control device could be used to its fullest, his mom was analyzing how to avoid looking like a fool when he finally sleepsEW. Eventually, Pee Wee found out that he was toBorn with a bomb in his back.	As an Auditor, I have to deal with the dumbest people in the world. I know they're there, floating around in the shadows, but I can't help but try to help them. It's my job, after all. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I could be the one to implant the birth control device in someone's body. I know I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I can think of ways to make sure the world is a better place. Maybe I could be the one to make sure people can have children without worries. But before I can do that, I have to get through puberty. That's when everyone is implanted with the birth control device. I have to make sure that everyone is healthy enough to have children, and that they're able to raise them well. I have to make sure that they can do things like read and learn. But it's worth it. It's like my job is to make sure that the world is a better place, even though I can't do it on my own.	The birth control devices were a necessary evil, intended to prevent the dumbest people in the world from reproducing and wasting resources. But as with all things, there were those who found ways to get around the devices. The Auditor, a position created to oversee the implantation and removal of the devices, was given the task of determining who was intelligent and stable enough to be given the devices. Every person had to go through a rigorous process to be granted the privilege, and only the best were chosen. The process was tough, but it was worth it. The people who were chosen were intelligent and capable, and they would be able to raise well-adjusted humans. They would be able to help prevent the dumbest people from reproducing, and save the planet from becoming a wasteland.	Linda was just finishing up her rounds for the day when she got the call. There was a situation with one of the birth control devices. Apparently, it had been deactivated without the proper approval. Linda sighed. It was always the same thing. People thinking they were smarter than the system. But she knew better. She was one of the Auditors, after all. The people who decided whether or not someone was intelligent and stable enough to raise a child. She made her way to the address she'd been given and knocked on the door. A young woman answered, her eyes wide with fear. Linda could understand why. If the woman had been found to be unfit to raise a child, she would be punished severely. "I'm here to see the birth control device," Linda said. The woman led her to a back room where a small device was implanted in her arm. Linda examined it for a moment before activated it. "You're lucky," she said. "If you had been found to be unfit, you would have been sterilized. But since you're intelligent and stable enough to raise a child, you're allowed to have this device deactivated." The woman breathed a sigh of relief as Linda left. She knew she had made the right decision. After all, she was an Auditor.	``Twenty-six!'' An eager, optimistic young couple approaches my section of the long auditor desk and present their identical ``26'' tickets. They're already smiling. I'm not optimistic. ``Hi, how are you all doing?'' I ask dryly. I don't hear their response. The needle on my sensor already has dipped below the yellow cautionary section. My initial grimace deflates them completely. ``What's wrong?!'' She inquires. I shake my head no. ``I'm sorry.'' This is the part of the job where I'm trained to be empathetic, yet firm. ``It looks like collectively, you all are not qualified....'' I let that hang for a moment. ``In 120 days, you can return and try again.'' ``Try again??'' the man asks. ``What exactly can we'try' to do?'' ``Study?'' I reply. ``What do we'study'?'' he asks, again stressing a key word I had spoke. ``Oh, general knowledge. You know, we're not looking for people to know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo. Just basic stuff. How to quickly locate your car in a parking lot. Not eating moldy bread and just eating around the moldy part. An ability to effectively plan for the weather. Those sorts of things.'' Neither of them spoke. Then she spoke. ``You said COLLECTIVELY, didn't you? What does that mean?'' ``Well, I can look at each of your IAC's, Intelligence Assessment Chips, separately. I just wouldn't recommend it.'' ``Why not?'' he asked. This was the part of my job where I was trained to not explain the actual reason, since it could be insinuative. Instead, I personally choose to just delve right into it when they inquire about individual aptitudes. I clicked a few buttons for show, but my screen was already displaying the reason I had chosen to use the word ``collectively''. ``Unfortunately, sir, your score did not make the cutoff for us to make am allowance for child.'' ``AND HERS DID?!'' ``Barely, but ye-'' ``WHAT DO YOU MEAN,'AND MINE DID'?!'' I zoned out for the rest of the argument, which led to Chuck, our security officer, escorting them out of the building and handing them a flyer for relationship counseling/tutoring. ``THIRTY-THREE!!'' I yelled louder than normal because there was another couple arguing a few stations down from mine. It was almost time for my lunch.
5	It's 1913, Vienna, Austria. Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for clinical trials of his latest research. He puts an ad in a newspaper. The only people who respond are : Adolf Hitler ( 24 ), Joseph Stalin ( 35 ), Leon Trotsky ( 34 ) and Josip Broz Tito ( 21 ).	Sigmund Freud is seeking participants for his latest research. However, he puts an ad in a newspaper and only the two people who respond are Hitler and Stalin. Now, what did they mean by " collaborated "?	Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin had been in love since they were young. When they were both 18, Stalin had killed his older brother, who had been aealous towards Hitler. Now that he was older, Stalin felt that he could control the young man. The three men met in Vienna, Austria. Hitler was a racist, and wanted to categorize all humans into one race. Stalin, on the other hand, wanted to make all peopleequal. They started talking about what kind of world they wanted. The next day, Hitler met with Stalin for the first time. They were both impressed by how similar he was to himself. Stalin then told Hitler that he was going to make him the dictator of the Soviet Union. Hitler was not happy, but decided to go along with it. For the next few years, Stalin put the finishing touches on the Nazi party. By 1936, they had finished construction of the Nazi concentration camp, Auschwitz. In May of that year, Stalin made history when he became the first head of the Soviet Union. Hitler was humiliated and fell out of power. In 1943, Stalin ordered his army to invade Poland. The war went badly for the Soviet Union, and in 1945, they were defeated. Hitler was captured and executed. Stalin died in prison, still a obsessed fan of Hitler.	Freud was surprised but pleased when four young men wrote to him expressing an interest in participating in his clinical trials. He arranged for them to come to Vienna to begin their trials. As it turned out, Adolf Hitler was the most successful in completing the trials. He seemed to be benefiting the most from them. Joseph Stalin continued to progress in the trials, but not as quickly. Leon Trotsky showed some promise but was not as successful as Hitler. Josip Broz Tito was the least successful in the trials. He seemed to be struggling the most. Although it was not what Freud had hoped for, he was happy that the four young men were patients of his. He continued to support each of them and helped them as best he could.	Sigmund Freud is a world-renowned psychiatrist who is always on the lookout for new participants for his clinical trials. In 1913, he placed an ad in a local newspaper in Vienna, Austria seeking new participants. The only people who responded to his ad were Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Josip Broz Tito. All four men met with Freud and agreed to participate in his trial. During the trial, Freud shared his latest research with the group and asked for their feedback. All four men were highly intelligent and had insightful opinions on Freud's work. The trial was a success and Freud was able to gain valuable feedback from all four participants. However, he was also able to see that there was a lot of tension between the four men. It was clear that they did not see eye to eye on many things. Freud was not sure what to make of his four participants, but he was definitely intrigued by them. He would continue to follow their careers closely, as he knew that they were all destined for great things.	Dear Diary, It was a rude shock to find, after the second day of my submitting my ad to the newspaper requesting participants for my clinical trials, so that I could begin testing my mental treatments, that I should already take notice of a very interesting stock of man ; men, ruined by their mothers ( Hitler ) and fathers ( Stalin ), which, I already suspect, may form the psychological basis of my mental research, for years to come. Already I have been told ( Hitler ) : Your work, I can already tell, is clearly no more than another attempt by the Jewish elite to gain control over the masses with your pseudo-scientific twaddle. And ( Stalin ) : You play word games and put up word walls between you and your patient, to conceal your charlatanry, because you, Freud, are a perverted fraud! Admittedly was is unclear to me why these two remained in my company for as long as they did, but I can only suspect that it was due to their desire to overpower me in conversation, which, however, they couldn't do. ( note also that two other participants, Trotsky and Broz, had both, inexplicably left, after explaining my process to them ). Nevertheless, I did listen to their every word. They were both, ( Hitler and Stalin ), completely exhausted, by my mental research, in the end, which I pursued with the utmost ruthlessness, given the hostility of my patients, as I am always very much interested in my patients ( that is to say their brains ). To me, Hitler had said that my interest in brains was a kind of perverted Jewish death wish ; that the Jews had long had a vendetta against everything human following their harsh experiences with the Egyptians, and that we ( this was news to me ), had renounced our being ( to be ) because the Hebrew language has no copula verb ( to be ), unlike the German language ( which does ), preferring instead to worship the Tetragrammaton ( translated as ``I am that I am'', or ``I shall be what I shall be'', ``I shall be what I am'' or ``I will become what I choose to become'', ``I Will Become whatsoever I please'' ), which, Hitler had said : You worship this thing if it were the only being that deserved to exist! ( Now I must record that I had known nothing of such stories and that I've never heard a Rabbi talk of such things. ) These anti-semitic remarks were news to me, and yet I found them unsettling, because it was as if he was trying to attack my foundations, when my real foundation ; my real birthplace, was my mothers vagina, and not the Hebrew language. It seemed to me that Hitler was suffering from persecutory delusions, of some kind, but I couldn't be sure, because our session was over. And after it ended, he then ran into another patient of mine in the hallway ( Stalin ) who, from what I had gathered from their remarks, had shared some harsh words, earlier, while they were seated in the waiting room.
6	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone ’ s face? How would this change our world? Tell the story...	What if tears left scars as they trickled down someone's face? How would this change our world? Tell the story.	One day, a woman cried her eyes out for hours on end. She had just watched her son drown in the river and there seemed nothing she could do to help. As she wept, she imaginable scenarios played in her mind of what could have been. If she only had intervened sooner. If only she could have saved him...or if only she could read the signs. But she couldn't. And as the hours passed, the reality of her situation sunk in. The news reports were frustrating as they didn't give any details on what had happened. Many people would have given up by now, but she didn't. Not after watching her son drown. Eventually, she sit down and started to write a letter to the newspaper. In it she said that she was sorry that she couldn't save her son, but she didn't give up. She kept waiting for something to change, but it never came. The story ended with her son's funeral, and she still didn't give up.	Tears streamed down my face as I tried to console my loved one. We had just been told that our much-loved pet had passed away. The pain was overwhelming and I knew that I would never be the same. But as I looked at my tear-streaked face in the mirror, I noticed that my skin was slightly different. Whereas before, my skin was flawless, now there were small, raised scars all over it. I couldn ’ t help but wonder how this change would affect the world. Would people be less willing to touch me or even look at me? But despite the fears that ran through my mind, I knew that I had to continue living. I had to keep going, even though my heart was break-ing. Because sometimes, in life, we have to face our fears head on. And that, is what made me the strongest person I knew.	The little girl was crying her heart out, the tears falling freely down her face. As she cried, she could see the scars forming on her skin, permanent reminders of her pain. She would have to live with these scars forever, a constant reminder of the hurt she felt inside. This girl was not the only one with scars like this. All over the world, people were walking around with the marks of their sadness etched into their skin. Some people hid their scars away, ashamed of them, while others embraced them as a part of who they were. The world was a different place now, with people bearing their sorrows on their skin for all to see. Some say that it made people more compassionate towards one another, while others say that it just made the world a more painful place to live in. Either way, it was clear that things would never be the same again.	Marin showed up to school on Monday with a bright smile and a bounce in her step. Her weekend away had gone exactly as planned, she'd gotten a tan, and even hit on a few of the local boys. It was definitely something she wanted to do again. There were only a few scars that ran in little white lines down the sides of her face, but if anything, it was from joy. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school a little later on Tuesday, from having to ride the bus, which was odd because she normally got rides from her parents. Her smile was a little dimmer, but still noticeable, and any joy she'd had the day before from her trip seemed to have vanished as though it had never happened at all. There were fresh scars at the sides of her face, and a few of her friends asked if she was okay, but she waved them away with a half-hearted ``yeah''. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school before anyone else on Wednesday, even before a few of the teachers. Her smile was as dim as light stretched across the universe, but if you stared long enough, you could catch glimpses of it every now and then. A few friends got out of her that she had walked to school that morning, since her parents refused to drive her, which they found startling, considering she lived over five miles away. Her scars were more prominent on her cheeks, and there seemed to be more of them than usual, but sometimes stress did that to you. No one questioned it. Marin showed up to school two hours late on Thursday, because her alarm clock was broken. She said her Dad had accidentally dropped it and it broke, and her phone died well into the night. Her cheeks were dominated by thin, white lines that stuck out against her tanned-skin, meaning scars from her tears must have formed over other scars. Bruises lined her arms and some formed a small ring around her neck that, if you took a closer look, almost resembled fingerprints. She had worn a sweater that day to hide them. Her friends questioned her, tried to get her to talk, but she refused to open her mouth. Marin didn't show up to school on Friday. Her friends called her number several times, but every time it went to voicemail. They worried about her constantly throughout the day, and thought of the little white scars on her cheeks. The scars of a broken girl that tried so hard to hold onto anything she could, even going so far as to spend her bank account for a weekend out, trying to find light in the darkness of her life. But the darkness had gotten to her first, and it consumed her. In a world where tears leave traces of themselves on people's skin, it was easy to tell who was sad, who had the brightest smile, and, above all, who needed help the most.
7	``What happens next?'' ``I die''	I die.	After correctly predicting the future, my scientist ancestors found themselves in a place where the future was a mystery. They could only hope for the best and died predictions becoming reality. My ancestors were able to live again because they had a fourth predictions that would be true in their case: that they would be able to travel to other worlds and learn about the future. So, they became the first people to travel to other worlds, and they were able to learn about the future. However, even traveling to other worlds has its challenges, as my ancestors found out. One of the challenges was that the future was always changing, and so no matter what they did, they always remained in a constant state of fear.	Once upon a time, a young woman named Jill was tragically killed in a car accident. Her family and friends were devastated by her death, and they all wondered what would happen next. Jill's family believed that she had gone to Heaven, and they were certain that she would be waiting for them there. Eventually, Jill's family realized that they would never see her again in this life. They began to grieve the loss of their daughter and sister, and they prayed for her forgiveness. Unfortunately, Jill's death was a tragic accident, and there was nothing that her family could do to bring her back. However, Jill's memory and spirit live on in each of her friends and family members. They will never forget Jill, and they will always cherish the wonderful memories they shared with her.	I die. That's what happens next. I'm not sure how it happens, or why, but I know that it's real. I can feel the life draining out of me, see the light fading from my eyes. And then, everything goes black.	``And then...'' Joseph's roommate, Mark, paused expectantly. Joseph didn't really care about, or even believe, what he was saying, but decided he may as well be polite. He sighed a little, and said, ``What happens next?'' ``I die.'' ``You die? In the present tense? Now?'' ``No, in the story I'm telling you about how I saved my dog from getting hit by a boat. This happened when I was, like, eight. Pay attention.'' ``Then why did you say it like that?'' ``God, you don't have to be so overly critical of everything. I thought it sounded good.'' ``Fine, whatever. If you died, how are you alive?'' ``My heart was stopped for exactly ten minutes and seven seconds, but they managed to revive me.'' ``How did they revive you after your heart was stopped for ten minutes?'' ``I got a blood transfusion from my dear late mother's canary.'' ``That's... not... that doesn't even make sense. How would that even work?'' ``God, Joseph, I'm not a doctor. I don't know.'' ``You told me yesterday you went to med school.'' ``I told you yesterday I *flunked out* of med school, hence the'not' part, which you would know if you ever listened to me. You're so self absorbed.'' ``But you said you made straight As and all the teachers loved you.'' ``Well, you, quote,'had' to go–'' ``I did have to go, I had class.'' ``–and you never let me get to the part where I ran into a bad crowd. I was with a gang for a while, it was really badass but a dark time in my life.'' ``I don't think that happened.'' ``I have a tattoo on my butt if you wan na see.'' ``NO.''
8	Something invisible lives in your home. You try to expose it without letting it know that you're aware of its presence.	The little girl had been living in her bedroom all along. By the time she was newly born, her mother had not yet placed her in a bedroom against her own wish. She was at home in the corner of the room, between the bed and the wall. The little girl contents herself with the knowledge that she is not really alone. The soft glow of the television sites near by, but the early morning sun only casts a pale glow on the room. She evictionens the lightbulb and the lamp, both of which she has kept on 24/7 to avoid any potential embarrassment if anyone looks.	The Invisible Layer For as long as I can remember, I've had a secret. It's something I keep hidden from everyone I know, but I know it exists. And I know it's been living in my home, silently manipulating me for years. One day, I decided to confront my secret. I took apart my home and exposed the invisible layer. It didn't take long for the Invisibility Layer to take over my body. I was petrified, but I knew I had to face it. Since then, I've been able to live a normal life. But I still have the fear that the Invisible Layer will come back and manipulate me again. I have to be careful what I say and think, or else the Invisible Layer will know I'm aware of it.	I've been living in this house for years, and I've never noticed anything strange. But now, there's something else living here with me. I can't see it, but I know it's there. Every time I turn around, I feel like I'm being watched. I can't shake the feeling that somebody is watching me, and I don't know how to make it go away. I need to find out what's lurking in the shadows, and I need to do it soon.	I can feel it watching me. I can feel its presence in the room, even though I can't see it. I don't know what it is, but whatever it is, it's invisible. I've tried to expose it, to catch it off guard. I've set up cameras in my house, hoping to catch a glimpse of it on film. But so far, nothing has worked. It's always one step ahead of me. I'm not sure what it wants, but I know I can't let it keep living in my house. I have to find a way to get rid of it, even if that means putting my own life at risk.	“ It's just the wind. ” exasperation pushed the words past her lips as I stared straight through her to the door that had moved, just ever so slightly. I took pause, eyes flicking over the room as though somehow, if I tried hard enough, if I just willed my eyes to do it they would catch a glimpse of the creature. “ Yeah, I keep forgetting this room is drafty, ” I mumbled in response, watching her heft the basket of laundry onto her hip and head out the room and down the hall. But the bedroom wasn't drafty, never had been. Some nights I found myself convinced that it was the warmest room in the house even, and unlike my wife I didn't try to explain everything away when things didn't make sense. I didn't need the safety that was a delusion of something not entirely possible. Still... I would let her have her own. There was no need to drag her into this with me. I'd wait. I'd keep an eye on it and I would wait, because it had to slip up one day. I just knew it. Working from home helped for the next few months. After all, I couldn't just leave her here with that thing, wouldn't feel safe leaving the house and knowing that she was all alone here with her delusion of safety and white picket fences. I kept watch over her every day, and when she left the house I began to formulate my plans. I didn't fear the creature myself. Whatever it was, we had been alone before. Perhaps it didn't know that I was aware it was there, but I've always had a decent poker face, and so long as it was unaware I knew of it's presence it had no reason to do anything brash. Or so I thought. But I knew it was there. I KNEW it. I could hear the rustling, I could feel it looking at me. I swear it's breath brushed my face, so I made the only move I could. Halfway through making a sandwich, I lunged for the flour and sprayed a handful out over the middle of the kitchen. A cabinet slammed to my left and I launched another handful to no avail. It was fast, it was sneaky, and now it knew. It knew I knew. Within minutes the entire kitchen was coated, but there was no figure standing before me. There were no footprints through the dusting of powder along the tile at my feet, no rustle through the shattered ceramic of what had once been my wife's favorite jar. Suddenly there was darkness, a splitting pain exploded through my head like a spark of lightening, down to my spine as the world faded away. Oh god. My wife, she would be home soon. She would be alone with it. “ I got home at four and there he was, face down on the kitchen floor, coated in flour. The only thing that stood out then was the blood dripping down his temple where it hit the counter when he fell. Please, please tell me he's okay. I... I don't know what must have come over him doctor. He hasn't been right since the stroke. I've tried to stay with him, he won't leave the house, he barely eats, barely sleeps. I don't know what happened but... I'm afraid that if things keep going this way I'll really lose him. The house is in disarray... there are endless unfinished projects, and he doesn't even remember what he's forgotten to do, I don't know if he even knows where we live anymore. ”
9	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.	The shop is small, and some adventurers find the opportunity to acquire valuable loot charming. Others find the hand-on-dragons system toohz Content-entious. While there are some good offers, only a small percentage of players would eligble for one of the more notable NPCs. So, the shop is small, and players are .. Culled. In fact, the only players in the shop are you, the shop-owner, and two adventurers. The adventurers are from different regions, and they have different wants in terms of content in the shop. The shop is where players Transaction is done, and players can use theshop to purchase items. Players can also use theshop to purchase items from thein-game currency. adventurers can also use the shop to purchase items from thein-game currency.	There was once a town in the middle of a forest where an RPG pawn shop was located. The shop was known for being the best in the area, and it was always packed with adventurers who would try to sell theirahloot they've acquired. The adventurers who frequented the shop were all very talented in the game, and they would always come up with new and amazing techniques to get the most money out of their sales. One day, a new player made an appearance at the pawnshop. He was a very peculiar character, and he didn't seem to be familiar with the game. He came in and started bargaining for some of the RPG cards that were on the shelf. He seemed to be very desperate, and he wasn't even asking for a high price. He just wanted to buy them. The other players in the shop started to get a bit suspicious. They didn't think that this new player was capable of anything competitive or smart. They didn't think that he could even understand the game. Suddenly, the new player began to sword fight one of the other players in the store. He was incredibly successful, and he quickly overpowered the other player. The other players in the store started to back away in fear. The new player then turned to them and began to say incredible things. He said that he had "the best skills in the game," and he could defeat any player in a fair fight. The other players were so astonished by this that they didn't know how to react. The new player then turned his attention to the remaining players in the store, and he began to insult them. He said that they were all "stupid players," and he could beat them easily. The other players started to cry, and they didn't know what to do. The new player then walked out of the pawnshop, and he never came back again. The players in the store know that he wasn't just there to buy RPG cards, and he probably did something very bad to the other players.	It was a typical day at the RPG pawn shop. The customers were coming in, trying to sell whatever they had acquired while adventuring. Some were trying to get a good deal, others were just trying to get rid of their unwanted items. I was haggling with a group of adventurers. They were selling a treasure trove of items they had found while on their latest adventure. I was trying to get them to lower their price, but they wouldn't budge. In the end, I decided to give them a lower offer than what they wanted. I thought it was worth it to make some extra money. I was happy to have made a sale and ended the day with a bit of extra cash.	You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. You're always on the lookout for the best deals, and you're never afraid to lowball an adventurer in order to get what you want. Today, a young woman comes into your shop, looking to sell some loot. She has a few weapons and armor, but nothing that really catches your eye. You start to lowball her, but she's not having it. She's adamant about getting a good price for her loot, and she's not afraid to haggle with you. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you finally come to an agreement. She gets a fair price for her loot, and you get some new inventory for your shop. It's a win-win!	``Look what I got today!'' Eetmai exclaims as she dumps her bag of loot onto my counter, and I count seven- *seven*- ebony llama statuettes among several rolls of random fabrics, a silver dagger, various assorted gemstones, and three forks. Well, three is better than the fifteen she brought in four hours ago, and I only bought them because I felt bad it was the only loot she picked up after slaughtering the den of vampires that was sucking the village dry. But, still. You know. Why. *Why*. And, *oh*, these *llama* statuettes. Jaeven above, I am so sick of them. ``Llamas again. Oh joy,'' I state flatly, and Eetmai smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. ``... Five gold.'' ``But these are *so* nice!'' She presses me as she shoves the llamas into a small pile and pushes them towards me. Her doe-like eyes are unnaturally wide and she's giving me a stare that bores into the deep, dark recesses of my soul. Deep, dark recesses that wish they could hide. Or jump of a cliff. I groan. Loudly. ``So were the four you brought me yesterday. And the several the day before that.'' I glance over my shoulder to the small basket full of the statuettes, and then glance back to her. ``Five.'' ``Ten!'' Her smile widens and she raises herself up on her toes, exposing more of her bare midriff. I'm not impressed. Really. If I would have been impressed by anything, it would have been her breasts, which she has clothed with a thin piece of leather shaped with boning. I don't know how she keeps them in check, but more importantly, I don't know how she hasn't sustained a lethal swording to the heart. In any case, her charm and womanly assets are lost on me. I have a set of my own. She starts to sway side to side and strums her fingers on my counter top to the tune of ``*The Victorious Death of Varnstraegarr*,'' and I swear if I hear it one more goddamn time today, I will murder that fucking bard in the tavern across the street *myself*. All he does is sing. And sing. And sing. And it's the same song. And it's all fine and well and dandy when he's holed up where I can't hear him, but I keep my shop door open for convenience and that little shit will wander out into the street to belt his bore of a tune and I-... I'm getting side-tracked. I raise my hand and clear my throat, then refocus on the hero in front of me. ``Listen, Eetmai- Uh-'' I suddenly realize that I don't know the last name of the hero of our known world. ``S'teemeebuns!'' ``... Uh-huh. Okay. Listen, Eetmai S'teemeebuns, I really appreciate all that do you for, well. Everyone. I do. But I can't unload these llamas and forks as fast as you're bringing them to me.'' ``But they take up *so much* inventory space!'' I feel my eye twitch, and I furrow my eyebrows. A tinge of irritation sparks somewhere deep within me. ``... Maybe you can stop picking everything up,'' I suggest. I intend for my tone to remain neutral, but it's bubbling over with the seeds of seething hatred. ``... I can't help it. I have a room in my house that's dedicated to cheese wheels. My bedroom dresser is full of necklaces and rings. I don't remember where they all came from. I have a separate bag just for herbs and flowers!'' She says this as she digs into said bag and proceeds to spread hundreds of plants all over my counter. I sneeze. I sneeze again. Fucking lavender. ``Listen-'' I sneeze and motion broadly at the plants, and she responds by picking them up one by one and putting them back in her bag. As she does this, my counter top is littered with a fine layer of pollen, and assorted leaves and petals that I have absolutely no use for because fucking shit I hate my life. I sneeze again and raise my hand to cover my nose. ``That's just, yep-'' ``I don't even know how to make potions!'' she continues as she packs her flowers away, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning to the poor novice witch, I'm struck with a brilliant idea. ``Dresden knows how to make potions! And you know *what*?'' I force as cheerful a smile as I can manage, positively beaming with joy. ``I bet he would *love* to teach you! He's single, too!'' I wink. And nudge the air with my elbow, and then reach out to pinch her shoulder. ``And *handsome*.'' Carefully, I gather all of her things in a pile and push them towards her. ``He's right next door. Just tell him that I sent you, k?'' Inclining my head, I watch for her reaction. She's silent, and I assume... well, *hope* that it's because she's thinking. If I imagine enough, I can picture the gears turning in her head. They're a little rusted, but they're still there and that's what counts. I watch a smile curve her lips. ``It would be really nice to have a warm meal to come home to every night....'' ``It *sure* would.'' ``And with the extra gold, I could afford some better armor and weapons!'' ``Why, that you could!'' ``That's a really good idea! I think I'll have to go over there!'' She pauses, having caught a glimpse of the llama pile. *Please no, please no, please no. * ``... Do you think you could give me six gold for the llamas?'' ``I'm sorry.'' I smile and point to the door. I can hear the bard starting to croon, and I'm just not doing this anymore. No. Nope. ``But if you don't leave now, you might miss him. I heard he loves llamas. Please go now before I kill myself and everyone around me.'' Cautiously, and slowly, she wraps her arms around her pile of miscellaneous junk and backs away, giggling nervously. ``... I-I'll see you later.'' I wave. ``Yep.''
10	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.	One day, you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. You don't know what to do with him, you want to hug and kiss him, but you can't decide which is more Celia Bernadette's book, story or no story. You feel like she's always been there, just beyond your reach. You go to spend time with her, but she doesn't want to talk. She just stands there, with a big, beautiful, white scar on her bottom. You can't believe how slow it is for her to come to terms with her history. But you can't keep looking away either, because that would be to much intoOTOS her defect. You go over it all in your head time and time again, but it's like the words don't matter, the history isn't worth it. You can't eventyle try and move past it. Finally, youhours have rolling around in your head and you're on the brink of Federationing when you finally decide to talk to her. You the begin at the beginning and slowly work your way back. You see how it started, the start of her story, and how it led her to where she is now. The most important thing is that she's okay, and you want to be there to help her bring her story to consumate. The more you talk, the more her mind starts to focus and she starts to see the value in her story. You're no longer just living in the past, but rather, the story you want to tell is true. She is not alone and you can be a part of her story. The more you help, the more she starts to heal and start to feel safe. As she starts to realize how much work there is ahead of her, she starts to feel lighter and more content. She realized that she could handle anything she came with, because she had always been browserable. Now, she knows that she can do anything she wants and she knows that she can handle it. The scar on her bottom is a reminder that there is always something worth taking on. It's a lesson that she needs to learn and she knows that you can understand because you have always existed within its scope.	You watch as he walks around, his movements an blur as he	I never thought I would meet someone like her. She is the most honest person I have ever met. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. Even her lies have one simple goal- to make friends. I was drawn to her at first sight. Her honesty was refreshing, and I found myself wanting to know more about her. I soon found out that she only had one scar- the biggest one I had ever seen. I asked her what happened, and she told me that she had been truthful the entire time. The lie had created a larger scar on her soul, but she was happy and content. I was amazed by her bravery, and I felt inspired by her. I decided that I would be like her and be truthful from now on. I would never have to worry about the consequences of my lies, because I would know that they would only create a smaller scar on my body.	You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. When you ask them about it, they tell you the story of their life. They say that they were born into a family of liars. Everyone lied about everything, big or small. It was just what they did. As a result, everyone in their family had scars all over their bodies. But then, one day, they decided to stop lying. They decided to tell the truth, no matter what. Since then, they've only had that one scar. It's the scar of their past, of the life they used to live. But it's also a reminder of the strength it took to change.	My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be. What did they do? What did they lie about? In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people. I knew lying was wrong, most of the time. But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you. You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time. You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened : You lied. It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder ; Can I trust you? Trust? What was trust in this world? The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne. You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true. But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer? It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold. You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be. It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar. We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away. We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed. We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear. But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back. The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder. When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know. Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off. Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze. ``What do you want?'' he asked. And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar. ``Nothing''.